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PART II
MAY, 1780
RATHBONE HOUSE
LONDON, ENGLAND
DO YOU UNDERSTAND the phrase ‘engine of love assaults’?
For the first time in a week, Celia had reason to smile. If she had not been so very hungry and tired, so very much in despair, she might have laughed. She had watched Judas—Elliott (oh, how she loved his name)—consider every possible explanation for how Miss Simpleton could be Fury, discarding them one by one until he had nothing left—except to see if she could maintain her façade through something he knew she could not help but giggle at.
“Feeling better?” Mary asked softly as she stood behind Celia and brushed her hair out. It was a bother, fitting all of her hair up under her wigs, but she refused to shave her head as the wigmaker suggested. Cocoa was too easily shaken out and dye too unreliable, so wigs were her only recourse.
“Aye, a bit,” she lied.
“How is it Tavendish accompanied you home?”
“He and the marquess are old friends, and he suggested to Rathbone that perhaps he should tend to his wife. So … he did. I think. He left us alone in the garden for, oh, hours.” Two hours and eight minutes, to be precise, as she had been watching the sky to keep time. “Did Rathbone and Harriet come home together?”
“Oh, they did,” Mary drawled with great disapproval. “And bellowing at each other fair to raise the dead.”
Celia shrugged. “’Tis more than they’ve done since he returned. Did they happen to finish that argument in bedsport?”
“Definitely not.”
“She is not mad, you know. She is grieving. Deeply. So is he. He told Lord Macaroni—” She stopped when Mary chuckled. “Glad you find that amusing. I don’t.”
“Oh, Celia, laugh. The man is preposterous.”
Celia harrumphed and continued. “Aunt Harriet bade him not to return without Sarah alive and sane, and he has been trying to do that for twenty years. I’m not even sure she remembers that. He also knows about her affaires and inability to sleep, but he certainly does not sleep any more than she does.”
Mary stared at Celia in shock, sorrow erasing the humor she had found in Celia’s jest. “Oh, my.” Mary placed her hands on Celia’s shoulders and squeezed lovingly. Their images in the mirror could not be more disparate: Where Mary was slender and petite whilst retaining her splendid bosom, Celia was tall and—with near three stone gone—as ungainly as a drunken skeleton. When she wasn’t starving, she was a right Amazon. When she was, her tits collapsed like a sail suddenly without wind.
Where Mary’s skin was a light gold, smooth and without blemish, Celia’s was a pasty white that, unprotected, burned at the mere suggestion of sunlight. Where Mary’s hair was a pure white, turned from a dark golden blonde, Celia’s had darkened to its natural color, identical to her father’s once-orange mane. When she was out of London and on the water, it would again lighten to—
“Peach hair,” Celia grumbled.
“Judas found that particularly fascinating,” Mary said quietly.
Celia sighed. “Mother, what do you want from me with regard to him? One moment, you champion him though he cannot wed me. Another moment, you hate him for that very thing. I cannot keep up.”
“Things could change,” she offered with a weak smile. “I just want to see you happy, and I don’t know anything else that might do so. I have never seen you sparkle with joy so much as you did with him.”
Celia said nothing as she arose and climbed into bed. She refused to argue about this tonight, not when the vestiges of how Judas—Elliott—had been kind to Miss Simpleton lingered in her brain. He had needed to collect himself as Lord Macaroni, but he had not needed to entertain her beyond the point he had determined she was not Fury.
Fanny Hill.
Her smile remained melancholic as she recalled that day, the laughter and kisses.
If she had ever had a doubt that Ju—Elliott might be less amusing on land, his elaborate masquerade put it to rest. No, he did not care for it and it wearied him, but in entertaining himself with it, he entertained her. It was the same mischief that had spurred him to take her figurehead and made her long to reveal herself to him so they could share the jest and together do outrageous things in and to Society. The possibilities were endless.
In fact, his offer to assist her with her book report tempted her to reveal herself to him as nothing else yet had. Celia despised Hestia Grisham and Constancia Aynesworth, but not because they were cruel to The Simpleton. Everyone was, to varying degrees.
She despised them because they were not terribly intelligent, thus clumsy and uninteresting about their cruelties. So Celia thought it uncharacteristically clever of them to approach her to request she present Fanny Hill to a gathering, though they were not clever enough to know how badly such a prank could fail without guidance—particularly when it involved an illegal text.
The scheme was rife with weakness and begged a smarter, better prankster to blow it apart.
Thus, Celia had accepted their invitation, obliging her to read past page twenty-seven to the end, all the while either laughing hysterically or bored senseless, so that she could wring every dram of humiliation possible from the two who had, in their quest to be cruel, unwittingly given themselves over to … a pirate.
An educated one with nothing better to do.
And wouldn’t it be grand if she could draw Judas into it!
Celia sighed. She was loath to let him know who she was, for he would take her to bed and love her and she would be that much the worse when they again parted, as they must. She had wished for one last opportunity to feel him against her, in her, before she sailed to Algiers, had stayed in London so that he could find her. He was actively searching for her with the sanction of a government that had no idea he was a traitor.
But now that her wish was within her grasp, she could not bear it.
She could not bear the pain of another parting from him.
She could not bear the possibility she would weaken and consent to be his mistress.
As vulnerable as she was, she should not allow him access to her mind or her body—and God forbid he make her laugh, because that would shatter her will more effectively than bedsport.
But Aunt Harriet would continue to feed her as sparingly as she always had, and if Celia could not consistently slip out of the house every second or third night for a decent supper, she would be forced to reveal herself to him. He would soon become the only way she could get out of England before dying of hunger or being thrown in the Tower to die of hunger.
Unless …
“Mama,” she said abruptly. “Our purposes here have been stymied time and again. Talaat would say ’tis God’s will and a sign that we are not to be here, and at this point, I am half tempted to believe such a thing. That aside, between Bancroft, Rafael, Rathbone, and Woman, I’m hopelessly outgunned. I have never been too proud to run and I’ll not start now.”
“We’re leaving?” she whispered hopefully.
“Aye, within the fortnight, if not before. I will begin making arrangements as soon as I can slip away to my office. We will have to concoct an excuse—mayhap your French protector demands you hie to his side. Mayhap I can forge a missive from Rafael. I will devise something clever, but we cannot be seen to rush. As for Maarten— Either I will have to find another way to get his documents, or I will fail and live with the regret of an unpaid debt.”
If you don’t want to wait 2 years to get to the end, you can buy it here.
Pirates!
Things could change
So mother gets the last laugh (and her fondest hope). I do hope she lives to see that.
I will also be interested to learn what documents could be so valuable for the risks she has taken.
The documents are a macguffin.
Genuine question, because I’m trying to figure out if they are or aren’t.
The documents are irrelevant to Celia. Her purpose is to repay a debt.
However, they are VERY important to Maarten.
They are ALSO important to Elliott.
When does a macguffin stop being an object whose purpose or contents is irrelevant, and start being important unto itself?
I’m not sure I understand the distinction. In what way does the importance in of itself emerge independent of the motivation provided to the characters?
That’s kind of what I’m asking. The purpose of the briefcase in Pulp Fiction was never stated and it never got where it was supposed to go. That’s the pure definition of a MacGuffin.
Maarten’s documents aren’t JUST to get Celia where I need her to be for the plot. SPOILER SORTA The documents are VERY significant to Elliott AND you find out why and what they are AND they get where they’re supposed to go.
When does it stop being a “special” plot device (MacGuffin), and is just a regular pivot point like most anything else?
When it’s contents and nature matters.
I would say the papers doi not have macguffin status after the events you describe.
I was mostly joking, although it would be a fun plot twist if the documents had turned out to be a macguffin.
Theres a Dachshund under the blanket
https://www.glibertarians.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/11/20251128_185826-scaled.jpg
https://www.pinterest.com/pin/193936327673645784/
How do the cats treat him?
With well-earned suspicion.
There’s a new bill that would allow pharmacists to diagnose, treat and bill things like covid and UTI’s without the involvement of a doctor. Doctors are out in full force to protect their guild arguing that pharmacists don’t know how to take proper medical histories or can’t run all the tests they can as if they haven’t already made a mockery of the regulations of their own profession through things like teledocs. Or as if doctors are really testing kidney function before prescribing Paxlovid to patients.
Pharmacists are no more or less incompetent than the average doctor, but their egos and self-interest would never allow them to admit that.
I’d vote for that.
I’d go further and make most meds OTC.
Meanwhile in Ukraine, SNAFU:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nf4Cgy56slU
Claim that Charlie Kirk was on Onlyfans as @ownthelibz1776 and subscribed to a trap’s page. Gave her $30k. Was last active the very day he was shot. So he woke up the morning of his death and fapped to a trannie supposedly.
I’d like to think that if I was one of the most influential right wing media personalities known for his Christian hot takes on things like porn and trannies, I’d probably be a bit more discreet about my conduct.
Yea, sure you did. Just created that account that day you did!
+1 Ted Haggard?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HZmHC75FDqQ
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ted_Haggard#Sex_and_drug_scandal
Mrs. Holiness and I went to the gym together tonight. We agreed on a time to leave.
When I was leaving Mrs. H was walking out just in front of me. Perfect timing!
I decided to goose her and keep walking on. She figured out immediately that I was the scofflaw. I was a bit disappointed though that I wasn’t rung up for being a “groyper” or whatever the kids are calling it now.
Ooh went to sleep and didn’t see this. Will read later.
Day 2 of the Weekend+ of Color. May be busier? *Tudor Holy Cross* Onward, glibby soldiers.
What do you like to listen to, Evan? I like the comedy in the 90s.
https://www.siriusxm.com/channels
Happy Saturday, frens!
🤓❄️✊🏼
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZ2oXzrnti4
🎶🎶
Deport the blankets and the sheets!
“Bedsport” should be used more in day to day vocabulary.
So I put the smoke detector from the Thanksgiving adventure back up after dinner on Thursday.
Made pizza for dinner last night, no issue.
Smoke detector starts chirping around 2AM.
🤔
It’s an hour early – did you miss a DST time change?
@ToG: Comedy’s a very good start. I’m sure the music will be found.
What about neutral or not-insane news? US-focused,but global if pertinent.
The aisles aren’t as nuts, but fairly busy. Haven’t been in grocery, yet. Oversize til 10am lunch. Lots of Razor scooters for kids, a good share of tvs.
We sell at least seven sexual stimulators for women. Never picked one, yet. Curious.