A place where I can ramble about books, crafts, dances, and whatever else strikes my fancy.
“I feel quite ill,” she said, leaning heavily against the window frame. “I do believe I’d sell my soul for some smelling salts now.”The bevy of suitors left the room, racing to be the first to satisfy her desire. The duchess went quickly to the room’s vanity, inspecting her appearance. As usual, she looked faultless, waterfall of ringlets down her back, flowery hat perched at a jaunty angle. But her delicate face was focused as she slipped the coin into her glove. Two engravings pressed hard into her palm. The counterfeiter’s skillful imitation of the royal profile was softer, but the King’s little gold beard pressed into her love line. Her own addition, hastily scraped in with a sharpened hairpin, gave the name of the counterfeiter himself. The suitors returned. A Marquis had been most successful, and carried the small fragrant sack aloft. His lean height allowed it to be quite out of reach of his rivals, and he presented it with an elegant bow.“How can I ever repay you?” the duchess asked, taking the sack and slipping the coin into his hand.“You need not,” he replied. “Rest assured that I shall always pursue justice for the crown and all his emissaries.”The rivals were puzzled at this, but for all his valiant showiness, the Marquis received a smile from the duchess herself.