What Say You to My Suit?

"Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie."

January 28th

Anne drummed her fingers against her thigh. It had been snowing in Verona for nearly two days, trapping everyone inside her uncle's house. She wasn't a lover of the outdoors by any means, and she couldn't find any fault with the house itself. It was much finer to Anne's eye than her cousin's house, where they had stayed from summer until Christmas. If she had to admit to it, the real trouble was being trapped in the house with her mother. Lady Catherine de Bourgh was not in the habit of brooking disappointment, and their journey to the capital was in danger of being an immense one. The original plan had been to return home after her cousin's wedding, which was now only a week away. Time was running out. Being snowbound at Fitzwilliam House would be a dream to her back in lonely, dreary Varainsee. 

There was really only one thing to do. She needed a husband to anchor her here. Anne didn't think she should have to do it, but it was the only plan she had. Either she lowered herself or she went home with her mother. 

Like Fire and Powder

"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."

July 28th

The heat had abated in Verona; the violence had not. The Mob Laws were now being enforced, making public assemblies of more than ten people a crime. The Ducal Guards, now supported by reinforcements from nearby districts, established nightly barricades on the major carriage roads. Drunkenness, insulting gestures, and drawn weapons were now also now criminal offenses worthy of arrest and fines. Further elevation of temporary restrictions was being debated by the Council.