Anti-litigation charm; JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe, to her we bow. Warner Brothers and Various Publishers also have their own rights. We are just playing in their backyard and we promise to clean up when we have finished.
This is in response to the REGENCY CHALLENGE on WIKTT.
Plagiarism is sometimes the sincerest form of flattery, Plot elements identifiable from fic's on Whispers, WIKTT, and fanfiction.net are likely to be just that. To those who write them........ Wow.
Now on with the story:
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter Two: The Disaster.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Lady Hermione Granger looked at her reflection in the mirror ignoring comments of, "Red hair is not a becoming in a lady. Are you sure you want to read that? I would suggest the 'pink', a most becoming shade." The daily litany was irritable only in that it reminded her that she was fair from the bon ideal of London's Ton. In fact, if her father had not blackmailed her into a Season she would have been perfectly happy to remain in Epping. Her father however had gotten it into his head that she needed a London Season and the chance to meet with a wider circle of potential partners than was available at home. The fact that she had scared off half the locals and had hexed the rest may have had some bearing on his decision.
Viscount Marcus Granger, a widower, had sufficient Blunt to not only fund his only child's season, but to also settle on her a considerable fortune on her marriage. Thus, Lady Granger who also had an inheritance from her maternal grand-mother was worth almost thirty thousand pound. For thirty thousand many had approached Lord Granger asking, in some cases begging, to be allowed to take the hand of the beautiful, stylish and wealthy Miss Hermione Granger. He usually shared these with Hermione over supper, enjoying the sport of 'suitor slaying' as he and his daughter discussed with considerable wit the failings of each. But it weighed heavily on him that his daughter might end up alone.
Unable to take her up to London himself, and lacking the necessary contacts to lead a girl into society, Marcus Granger had finally called in the vowels he held on one Lord Vernon Dursley, Baron Privet. The Dursley's had a daughter of similar age to Hermione, and would be aiming to make a splash in society with her. Calling in the markers Lord Granger had offered to assist Dursley by funding both girls, and settling five thousand pound on Phyllidia Dursley, in exchange for the markers if Dursley and his Wife were to assist Hermione make a successful come-out. Of course, if Dursley refused he could instead repay the vowel, immediately.
Dursley had no choice, and so it was with great 'rejoicing' that Hermione had joined the Granger Household for the Season. Miss Phyllidia Dursley, and her mamma had been horrified to learn that they were expected to shepherd some country bumpkin through the Season, and had in fact almost put a stop to the scheme before it began. It was only when the true state of their financial affairs were made clear to them that they were convinced of the feasibility of the scheme.
In fact, once the social pages had been checked and the fortune of Lord Granger discovered Phyllidia and her mother were more than happy to assist the poor thing. "Imagine mamma, the life she must have lead? Locked away from polite society." Phyllidia was heard to say whilst perusing the latest fashion plates. If she had to help this country bumpkin she would make sure it was worth her own while, a new wardrobe at the very least.
"Yes, poor child. I heard she had attended Miss Knowlealls Academy for Young Ladies in Waltham Abbey." Lady Dursley commented, her face to buried in the social pages. A slight frown threatened, but was sent packing by a strong will, as she thought of Miss Knowlealls Academy, a known breeding ground for Bluestockings. If Miss Granger was one of that breed she and her daughter would have their work cut out for them. "What do you think of a pink pelisse trimmed in rose?" She asked her daughter.
That had been eight weeks ago. Two weeks ago Miss Hermione Granger had arrived. The six weeks between those dates had been spent launching Phyllidia successfully. The fact that they were to be assisting a poor unfortunate had in fact added positively to Phyllidia's consequence among the Hostesses. "Such a kind girl, willing to share her light with other less fortunate." The balloon had burst for Phyllidia and her mother when Hermione stepped off the coach. Red hair, short, no figure worth noticing, and her dress. . .
Hermione had been bundled into a long hooded cloak so fast that she had barely registered that she had arrived in London. Two screaming harpies had descended upon her and had her trussed like a chicken so fast that her head spun. Thanking their lucky stars that they had brought the closed coach to meet Miss Granger, Phyllidia and her mother began to panic at the sheer scope of the task before them.
"What can father have been thinking?" Phyllidia cried. They had three weeks to turn that into something acceptable in society. The three weeks being the date set for Hermione's come-out.
"Maybe Madame Visen can be called upon to assist." Lady Dursley thought furiously, working her way through an internal list of acceptable wig-makers, coiffurers, and in desperation barbers. The hair was the first thing that HAD to be dealt with.
Unfortunately for the Dursley women, Miss Granger was made of very stern stuff. Any attempt to change the nature of her hair had the changer running for cover as she destroyed their pretensions with a sharp wit, and their own hair styles with an even sharper ability to hex. Finally accepting defeat on that front the women had gone to work on Miss Granger's sense of fashion.
These battles were surprising easy to win they thought. Of course what they failed to realise that Miss Granger was quite happy to accept advise on style, colour was always easy to change so that war wouldn't surface until they actually let her out of the house. Madame Cestene, a very discrete proprietess on Bond Street was called in to assist in the dressing of Miss Granger. She found Miss Granger to be surprising well informed on fashion, given she had been led to understand that Miss Granger was a trifle 'country', and the available fabrics. In fact, Madame Cestene, was pleased to say the girls had a fine sense of what would, and what would not suit her. The only dark spot was the request by Lady Dursley for a set of turbans to be designed to hide most, if not all of that hair.
The final battle, one doomed to failure, was Miss Granger's deplorable habit of 'reading'; not the society pages which was acceptable, no she had to want to read Ars Chemica, Potionus and Transfigurations quarterly. Worse, she had subscriptions. The day the first journal was delivered the butler had almost had a heart attack, when the second journal arrived Lady Dursley's abigail threatened to leave her employ. In the end a truce was arrived at; Miss Granger could continue to receive her journals, but under not circumstance were they to be bought downstairs to the sitting room, EVER.
After two torturous weeks the Dursley women decided that Miss Granger could join them in the morning room for the informal visits that characterised polite morning activity. Miss Granger was to sit at the back of the room, and to watch and learn. If her behaviour was deemed suitable they might extend the freedom to a walk in the park. Miss Granger did as she was asked, always mindful that her father wished this, but at times she was sorely tempted to escape.
This morning however she had been requested to stay in her rooms as an important guest was expected. Having listened to Phyllidia describe all of the eligible bachelor's that currently sort her favour Hermione wondered which would visit this morning, and whether Phyllidia had plans to bring him up to scratch. Given last night was the night Phyllidia had been slated to be formally introduced to the Earl of Snape it was not hard to guess who the visitor was to be, the difficulty was that Hermione had read some of the Earls work in Potionus and would dearly have loved the chance to talk with the man. Thus she faced the mirror and tried hard not to think of sneaking down the stairs. It wasn't until later in the morning that she remembered the copy of Ars Chemica that she had been reading the day before; she had left it on the little table in the morning room. . .
*******************************
TBC Jeanette
This is in response to the REGENCY CHALLENGE on WIKTT.
Plagiarism is sometimes the sincerest form of flattery, Plot elements identifiable from fic's on Whispers, WIKTT, and fanfiction.net are likely to be just that. To those who write them........ Wow.
Now on with the story:
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter Two: The Disaster.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Lady Hermione Granger looked at her reflection in the mirror ignoring comments of, "Red hair is not a becoming in a lady. Are you sure you want to read that? I would suggest the 'pink', a most becoming shade." The daily litany was irritable only in that it reminded her that she was fair from the bon ideal of London's Ton. In fact, if her father had not blackmailed her into a Season she would have been perfectly happy to remain in Epping. Her father however had gotten it into his head that she needed a London Season and the chance to meet with a wider circle of potential partners than was available at home. The fact that she had scared off half the locals and had hexed the rest may have had some bearing on his decision.
Viscount Marcus Granger, a widower, had sufficient Blunt to not only fund his only child's season, but to also settle on her a considerable fortune on her marriage. Thus, Lady Granger who also had an inheritance from her maternal grand-mother was worth almost thirty thousand pound. For thirty thousand many had approached Lord Granger asking, in some cases begging, to be allowed to take the hand of the beautiful, stylish and wealthy Miss Hermione Granger. He usually shared these with Hermione over supper, enjoying the sport of 'suitor slaying' as he and his daughter discussed with considerable wit the failings of each. But it weighed heavily on him that his daughter might end up alone.
Unable to take her up to London himself, and lacking the necessary contacts to lead a girl into society, Marcus Granger had finally called in the vowels he held on one Lord Vernon Dursley, Baron Privet. The Dursley's had a daughter of similar age to Hermione, and would be aiming to make a splash in society with her. Calling in the markers Lord Granger had offered to assist Dursley by funding both girls, and settling five thousand pound on Phyllidia Dursley, in exchange for the markers if Dursley and his Wife were to assist Hermione make a successful come-out. Of course, if Dursley refused he could instead repay the vowel, immediately.
Dursley had no choice, and so it was with great 'rejoicing' that Hermione had joined the Granger Household for the Season. Miss Phyllidia Dursley, and her mamma had been horrified to learn that they were expected to shepherd some country bumpkin through the Season, and had in fact almost put a stop to the scheme before it began. It was only when the true state of their financial affairs were made clear to them that they were convinced of the feasibility of the scheme.
In fact, once the social pages had been checked and the fortune of Lord Granger discovered Phyllidia and her mother were more than happy to assist the poor thing. "Imagine mamma, the life she must have lead? Locked away from polite society." Phyllidia was heard to say whilst perusing the latest fashion plates. If she had to help this country bumpkin she would make sure it was worth her own while, a new wardrobe at the very least.
"Yes, poor child. I heard she had attended Miss Knowlealls Academy for Young Ladies in Waltham Abbey." Lady Dursley commented, her face to buried in the social pages. A slight frown threatened, but was sent packing by a strong will, as she thought of Miss Knowlealls Academy, a known breeding ground for Bluestockings. If Miss Granger was one of that breed she and her daughter would have their work cut out for them. "What do you think of a pink pelisse trimmed in rose?" She asked her daughter.
That had been eight weeks ago. Two weeks ago Miss Hermione Granger had arrived. The six weeks between those dates had been spent launching Phyllidia successfully. The fact that they were to be assisting a poor unfortunate had in fact added positively to Phyllidia's consequence among the Hostesses. "Such a kind girl, willing to share her light with other less fortunate." The balloon had burst for Phyllidia and her mother when Hermione stepped off the coach. Red hair, short, no figure worth noticing, and her dress. . .
Hermione had been bundled into a long hooded cloak so fast that she had barely registered that she had arrived in London. Two screaming harpies had descended upon her and had her trussed like a chicken so fast that her head spun. Thanking their lucky stars that they had brought the closed coach to meet Miss Granger, Phyllidia and her mother began to panic at the sheer scope of the task before them.
"What can father have been thinking?" Phyllidia cried. They had three weeks to turn that into something acceptable in society. The three weeks being the date set for Hermione's come-out.
"Maybe Madame Visen can be called upon to assist." Lady Dursley thought furiously, working her way through an internal list of acceptable wig-makers, coiffurers, and in desperation barbers. The hair was the first thing that HAD to be dealt with.
Unfortunately for the Dursley women, Miss Granger was made of very stern stuff. Any attempt to change the nature of her hair had the changer running for cover as she destroyed their pretensions with a sharp wit, and their own hair styles with an even sharper ability to hex. Finally accepting defeat on that front the women had gone to work on Miss Granger's sense of fashion.
These battles were surprising easy to win they thought. Of course what they failed to realise that Miss Granger was quite happy to accept advise on style, colour was always easy to change so that war wouldn't surface until they actually let her out of the house. Madame Cestene, a very discrete proprietess on Bond Street was called in to assist in the dressing of Miss Granger. She found Miss Granger to be surprising well informed on fashion, given she had been led to understand that Miss Granger was a trifle 'country', and the available fabrics. In fact, Madame Cestene, was pleased to say the girls had a fine sense of what would, and what would not suit her. The only dark spot was the request by Lady Dursley for a set of turbans to be designed to hide most, if not all of that hair.
The final battle, one doomed to failure, was Miss Granger's deplorable habit of 'reading'; not the society pages which was acceptable, no she had to want to read Ars Chemica, Potionus and Transfigurations quarterly. Worse, she had subscriptions. The day the first journal was delivered the butler had almost had a heart attack, when the second journal arrived Lady Dursley's abigail threatened to leave her employ. In the end a truce was arrived at; Miss Granger could continue to receive her journals, but under not circumstance were they to be bought downstairs to the sitting room, EVER.
After two torturous weeks the Dursley women decided that Miss Granger could join them in the morning room for the informal visits that characterised polite morning activity. Miss Granger was to sit at the back of the room, and to watch and learn. If her behaviour was deemed suitable they might extend the freedom to a walk in the park. Miss Granger did as she was asked, always mindful that her father wished this, but at times she was sorely tempted to escape.
This morning however she had been requested to stay in her rooms as an important guest was expected. Having listened to Phyllidia describe all of the eligible bachelor's that currently sort her favour Hermione wondered which would visit this morning, and whether Phyllidia had plans to bring him up to scratch. Given last night was the night Phyllidia had been slated to be formally introduced to the Earl of Snape it was not hard to guess who the visitor was to be, the difficulty was that Hermione had read some of the Earls work in Potionus and would dearly have loved the chance to talk with the man. Thus she faced the mirror and tried hard not to think of sneaking down the stairs. It wasn't until later in the morning that she remembered the copy of Ars Chemica that she had been reading the day before; she had left it on the little table in the morning room. . .
*******************************
TBC Jeanette