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Late-afternoon, 17^thof August, 1784

Godfather!

Even in the dim light of the small sacristy, there was no mistaking the sole occupant who waited for Lorsagne, and it gave the old man joy to see his godchilds normally guarded face break into the smile of a child: open, trusting and full of joy.

His passenger delivered safely to his old teacher and confessor, de Saboulin Bollena turned to leave, knowing that another carriage awaited behind the basilica that would take the exiled Jesuit and his godchild to his own house for safekeeping, rest and refreshment before beginning the next leg of their journey. He would join the two this evening for dinner and conversation, and de Saboulin Bollena smiled to himself at the prospect of the Jesuits discomfort when he would have to tell the woman that she would not be traveling to Paris or Bordeaux but would instead be returning to Sorrentina in less than a days time.

Late-afternoon, 17^thof August, 1784

Godfather!

Even in the dim light of the small sacristy, there was no mistaking the sole occupant who waited for Lorsagne, and it gave the old man joy to see his godchilds normally guarded face break into the smile of a child: open, trusting and full of joy.

His passenger delivered safely to his old teacher and confessor, de Saboulin Bollena turned to leave, knowing that another carriage awaited behind the basilica that would take the exiled Jesuit and his godchild to his own house for safekeeping, rest and refreshment before beginning the next leg of their journey. He would join the two this evening for dinner and conversation, and de Saboulin Bollena smiled to himself at the prospect of the Jesuits discomfort when he would have to tell the woman that she would not be traveling to Paris or Bordeaux but would instead be returning to Sorrentina in less than a days time.

1784, 12 September

Dearest Whomever, I find myself once again turning to these pages for solace and guidance when none is forthcoming elsewhere. I grow more restless as the summer turns to Fall, knowing that I must soon make a decision regarding my winter time accommodations. I could stay right where I am, in Italy, quietly content among the people of this lovely Island. It is certainly true that it is inexpensive living here. Also true that saving money while I complete the drama is an absolute goal. My heart's desire is, of course, to return home to Father, family, and most perfect England in time for Yule. But, there, my presence would certainly be a financial strain on Father, who does not need any further strain, already being encumbered by The Grande Dame, my dearest second mother. I should hate to be the cause of further stress for my father. And, if I am to be completely honest -- and why shouldn't I be in the unseen pages of this diary? -- I do desire something even more than to spend the winter with family and friends at home. My heart's greatest desire is to spend Christmas in the company of a certain French soldier.

I have finally received word from him. He tells me that he would like nothing more than to board the next boat south from Marseilles but finds himself pressed into further service for his King. Henri has written, "The King himself has asked for me. How can one refuse such an invitation to serve at the will of Louis?"

I would like to be impressed by this-- how many men can say they have been called by name to royal service? And of course, I am impressed-- it's just that impressed and happy are not the same thing. I would be happier if the French King were to shine his radiant favor elsewhere for just a few months. I don't mean to keep the good Lieutenant from his duties forever, of course, but it would be nice if he were free just long enough for us get to know one another a little better. Henri alludes to his plans for the future and seems to imply that these plans include "my little English novelist," as he calls me. Is it silly that my heart flutters as I write these words? His little novelist. I have been called a novelist before, and many names far less flattering as well. Little has often been a word used to describe me. But his-- or My, in the first person as he uses the possessive -- I have never before been a His or a My. It is that sense of being claimed that makes me blush with pleasure.

Am I too silly a woman to be taken seriously by any serious person? Certainly Dr. Johnson would say I should be contemplating the turns and turmoils of the play at hand. That revered man would tell me to empty my head of all romantic fantasy except that which will be included in my work, thus helping me earn a living through the theater box office.

Oh I I wish Daddy Crisp were still alive! He would certainly have been pleased to find me so besotted as to entertain him with girlish frivolities. Were he here today, I would surely dance a boisterous spree, celebrating the fact that a French soldier has called me his own.

I am surrounded by near strangers, unable to sing my joyful song. Even Lorsagne has been silent these many weeks she has been away in France. I do so long for her return. She at least is not shocked by open conversation of my secret yearnings. I so hope her business in France goes well and comes to a happy conclusion so that she can return here before I am forced to leave. At the very least, I hope she is able to write. Her letters are such a balm to my lonely soul. Of course, Susan and Hetty write frequently. So do Father and Dr. Johnson, but it is Lorsagne to whom I have confessed my deep feelings for my soldier. I miss my friend.

And now I must ready for supper. I am told there will be a gathering of local dignitaries. I am expected to attend. How I detest these parades in which I am a literary monkey expected to enlighten and impress. I would much rather take bread and cheese on a tray in my rooms. If only I were ill-- then I could be excused from enforced social gaiety. Alas, it is my lot to play the lady novelist for an audience of men unlikely ever to read an English novel, much less romances penned by a woman. Perhaps if I dress quickly for the evening's entertainment, I can take advantage of the few remaining minutes of light to take in some sea air before transforming myself into a dancing chimpanzee.

1784, 12 September

Dearest Whomever, I find myself once again turning to these pages for solace and guidance when none is forthcoming elsewhere. I grow more restless as the summer turns to Fall, knowing that I must soon make a decision regarding my winter time accommodations. I could stay right where I am, in Italy, quietly content among the people of this lovely Island. It is certainly true that it is inexpensive living here. Also true that saving money while I complete the drama is an absolute goal. My heart's desire is, of course, to return home to Father, family, and most perfect England in time for Yule. But, there, my presence would certainly be a financial strain on Father, who does not need any further strain, already being encumbered by The Grande Dame, my dearest second mother. I should hate to be the cause of further stress for my father. And, if I am to be completely honest -- and why shouldn't I be in the unseen pages of this diary? -- I do desire something even more than to spend the winter with family and friends at home. My heart's greatest desire is to spend Christmas in the company of a certain French soldier.

I have finally received word from him. He tells me that he would like nothing more than to board the next boat south from Marseilles but finds himself pressed into further service for his King. Henri has written, "The King himself has asked for me. How can one refuse such an invitation to serve at the will of Louis?"

I would like to be impressed by this-- how many men can say they have been called by name to royal service? And of course, I am impressed-- it's just that impressed and happy are not the same thing. I would be happier if the French King were to shine his radiant favor elsewhere for just a few months. I don't mean to keep the good Lieutenant from his duties forever, of course, but it would be nice if he were free just long enough for us get to know one another a little better. Henri alludes to his plans for the future and seems to imply that these plans include "my little English novelist," as he calls me. Is it silly that my heart flutters as I write these words? His little novelist. I have been called a novelist before, and many names far less flattering as well. Little has often been a word used to describe me. But his-- or My, in the first person as he uses the possessive -- I have never before been a His or a My. It is that sense of being claimed that makes me blush with pleasure.

Am I too silly a woman to be taken seriously by any serious person? Certainly Dr. Johnson would say I should be contemplating the turns and turmoils of the play at hand. That revered man would tell me to empty my head of all romantic fantasy except that which will be included in my work, thus helping me earn a living through the theater box office.

Oh I I wish Daddy Crisp were still alive! He would certainly have been pleased to find me so besotted as to entertain him with girlish frivolities. Were he here today, I would surely dance a boisterous spree, celebrating the fact that a French soldier has called me his own.

I am surrounded by near strangers, unable to sing my joyful song. Even Lorsagne has been silent these many weeks she has been away in France. I do so long for her return. She at least is not shocked by open conversation of my secret yearnings. I so hope her business in France goes well and comes to a happy conclusion so that she can return here before I am forced to leave. At the very least, I hope she is able to write. Her letters are such a balm to my lonely soul. Of course, Susan and Hetty write frequently. So do Father and Dr. Johnson, but it is Lorsagne to whom I have confessed my deep feelings for my soldier. I miss my friend.

And now I must ready for supper. I am told there will be a gathering of local dignitaries. I am expected to attend. How I detest these parades in which I am a literary monkey expected to enlighten and impress. I would much rather take bread and cheese on a tray in my rooms. If only I were ill-- then I could be excused from enforced social gaiety. Alas, it is my lot to play the lady novelist for an audience of men unlikely ever to read an English novel, much less romances penned by a woman. Perhaps if I dress quickly for the evening's entertainment, I can take advantage of the few remaining minutes of light to take in some sea air before transforming myself into a dancing chimpanzee.

If Sir Percival Timeless were still alive he would know exactly what to do. Geoffrey often missed the sane, sensible approach his late business partner took to decision making and as much as his companionship. Come to think of it, he also missed Sir Percival's ability to judge character and understand the motivations of the people they dealt with. And Sir Percival's late wife, Elizabeth, however blunt and outspoken she had been, could manage property and oversee construction like no man he had ever met. Their daughter, Sere, had certainly inherited all of their better qualities. How sensible and able she was. It was no wonder that he had been able to leave her to manage this beautiful little island in the Bay of Naples and have things come out well. Too well, perhaps.

One thing was for certain - and he made a particular note to speak to Sere about this - she was not a girl anymore and was much too old to be calling him Uncle Geoffrey. That was cute enough when she was little and needed a name by which to address her father's business partner. But he was not her biological uncle. And she was not even his legal ward any longer because she had reached the age of majority. Legally she was his business partner, for heaven's sake. And that made it an additional bother to try to find her a husband among the noble houses of Europe - someone who would come into possession of half the firm of Edwardstone and Timeless; someone he could work with; someone who Sere would agree to marry. It was easy enough to generate interest in her since if her money was not enough her looks always did the trick. She had turned into a very pretty young woman, and was delightful company. She understood the family business. But she was damnably stubborn about who she would consider marrying and had more than once turned her back on a potential suitor he had chosen. This issue was simply too complex to think about so he put that it aside for now because it was giving him a headache. He would speak to her only about not calling him "Uncle Geoffrey."

An early morning walk around the Rocca Sorrentina would clear his mind and let him see, first-hand and undisturbed, how things had fared in his absence. When he had first invested in the island, the young Elswit ruler had come to him wanting funding to refurbish the Villa and construct the magnificent series of waterfalls and pools that had become the island's signature. He understood from Sere that it had been necessary for her and the Professore to oversee some reconstruction recently to correct a few design flaws, but really the whole thing was quite spectacular.

He found the Professore's assistant, Don Alfonso, in the Accademia sorting records. He was a quiet fellow and spoke English with a liberal sprinkling of Italian thrown in, but could wax eloquent on the most abstruse topics if asked the right question. Certainly nothing on the island escaped Don Alfonso's careful eye and record keeping.

Don Alfonso had nothing but good to say about the workings of the Council of Magistrates: how they had carefully nurtured the island's tourist and commercial trades and expanded the vineyards and honey businesses. Indeed Sir Geoffrey's own observations confirmed the commercial success of the island.

Tiring a bit from his walk, Sir Geoffrey sat down to review the sequence of events for the umpteenth time in his own mind. The firm of Edwardstone and Timeless was now the legal owner of Rocca Sorrentina. The documents he and Sere had presented to King Ferdinand and Queen Marie Carolina had secured the royal deed of ownership. But the question of how to handle the governorship of the island arose at the very first dinner he and Sere had at the palace. Sir Geoffrey was not sure it had been wise of Sere to blurt out that no one on the island, and certainly not the Council of Magistrates, had so much as set eyes on Colonello Pompeo Vecchio who had been the putative Royal Governor for several years. A few days later, after some inquiries, which included a personal visit by Prime Minister Sir John Acton to the old Colonello himself, it became clear that the redoubtable Pompeo Vecchio, hero of numerous battles in the past, was descending into his senile dotage and had altogether forgotten that he had been appointed governor of Rocca Sorrentina.

It had been quite a surprise to Sir Geoffrey to be summoned before the Queen and told that he, Geoffrey Edwardstone, loyal subject of King George III of England, would be appointed Royal Governor of Rocca Sorrentina. The queen, it seemed, was much interested and a bit amused by this new idea that regions could be adequately administered by a Council of Magistrates composed of ordinary people rather than by a nobleman. It was, she said, a personal request of him to act as governor, and she made it clear how terribly useful it would be to the Kingdom of Naples and Sicily to have Sir Geoffrey close at hand. Sere had been delighted with all this, though he himself had not been pleased at all.

What the Queen means, Sir Geoffrey had groused to Sir John later, is that it will be terribly useful to have the financial resources of Edwardstone and Timeless close at hand. I dont see how I can continue to do business elsewhere if I am stuck on a little island in the Bay of Naples all the time.

In reply, Sir John Action had put it all in perspective, "Well you own it, why not govern it too? You can't turn down the Queen. And anyhow, old Pompeo Vecchio has conclusively demonstrated that Rocca Sorrentinas governor need not actually be there to govern it, hasnt he? Just let things continue as they have been."

Perhaps Sir John was right. There would have to be one more trip back to Naples to receive the sash and the Royal Governor's Seal. There would be a proclamation of appointment and some celebratory folderol, and then Sir Geoffrey could come and go as he pleased. Of course he would have to leave Sere on the island indefinitely to continue to work with the other magistrates. This thought made him frown. Their just-concluded business trip reminded him that she was wonderful company and had good business judgment, both quite valuable in a traveling companion and business partner. He could certainly use her skills in other ventures. What's more, it would really be so much easier to find her a husband if he could take her with him. Now his headache was starting to come back, which made him very cross.

There must be something quite magical about the ocean breeze on a warm summer day on a little island in the Bay of Naples because, suddenly, the perfect solution came to him. Yes! That's exactly what he would do assuming Sere was agreeable.

I have just purchased a homestead which will be the location for The Royal Retreat. Now I am just waiting for it to be moved where I want it so I can start creating the environment. In the retreat's first incarnation, RP time will be set from 1786-91, the court of King George III and Queen Charlotte during the time of Fanny Burney and Mary Delaney.

I am very excited! Please spread the word about this historical RP and invite your friends. They can join The Royal Retreat here on Ning or inworld. I am Freda Frostbite in SL (though my rp character is Fanny Burney). Folks can contact me with questions and ideas. It would really rock my world if folks wanted to create the characters of Mary Delaney, George III, Queen Charlotte, as well as the princes and princesses who lived with their parents between 1786and 1791. Particularly interesting male characters would be Charles Burney (Fanny's famous father), George Cambridge and Stephen Digby (men who disappointed Fanny deeply). These are JUST suggestions though. Of course, other RP characters are welcome.

Mrs. Mary Delaney was a talented artist as well as an intimate friend of the King and Queen. Also counted as friends were Jonathon Swift, Margaret Bentinck, and Josepf Banks. She began her career as one of England's most beloved artists at 72 years of age.

Frances Burney was arguably the most popular novelist of her time. Jane Austen was one of her proteges. She was very close to Dr. Samuel Johnson and Hester Thrale. She thought of Mary Delaney as a grandmother figure. It was that friendship that led to Fanny's appointment to the court of George III and Charlotte. Eventually she married a french constitutionalist in exile, Alexandre D'Arblay.

George III and his Queen, Charlotte, were (by all accounts) very much in love for the duration of their marriage. Their time together was marred by loss and tragedy, but theirs was far more than a marriage of royal convenience. The period inclusive for this RP includes an assassination attempt by Mrs Margaret Nicholson and the period of the King's first bout of "madness."

I have just purchased a homestead which will be the location for The Royal Retreat. Now I am just waiting for it to be moved where I want it so I can start creating the environment. In the retreat's first incarnation, RP time will be set from 1786-91, the court of King George III and Queen Charlotte during the time of Fanny Burney and Mary Delaney.

I am very excited! Please spread the word about this historical RP and invite your friends. They can join The Royal Retreat here on Ning or inworld. I am Freda Frostbite in SL (though my rp character is Fanny Burney). Folks can contact me with questions and ideas. It would really rock my world if folks wanted to create the characters of Mary Delaney, George III, Queen Charlotte, as well as the princes and princesses who lived with their parents between 1786and 1791. Particularly interesting male characters would be Charles Burney (Fanny's famous father), George Cambridge and Stephen Digby (men who disappointed Fanny deeply). These are JUST suggestions though. Of course, other RP characters are welcome.

Mrs. Mary Delaney was a talented artist as well as an intimate friend of the King and Queen. Also counted as friends were Jonathon Swift, Margaret Bentinck, and Josepf Banks. She began her career as one of England's most beloved artists at 72 years of age.

Frances Burney was arguably the most popular novelist of her time. Jane Austen was one of her proteges. She was very close to Dr. Samuel Johnson and Hester Thrale. She thought of Mary Delaney as a grandmother figure. It was that friendship that led to Fanny's appointment to the court of George III and Charlotte. Eventually she married a french constitutionalist in exile, Alexandre D'Arblay.

George III and his Queen, Charlotte, were (by all accounts) very much in love for the duration of their marriage. Their time together was marred by loss and tragedy, but theirs was far more than a marriage of royal convenience. The period inclusive for this RP includes an assassination attempt by Mrs Margaret Nicholson and the period of the King's first bout of "madness."

1784, 1 September

Rocca Sorrentina, Italy

My Most Beloved Friend, Susan,

Thank you for your letter of 15 July. I had begun to wonder if you had forsaken me. Of course, I understand how very much in demand is your attention. I can only imagine that husbands and children take a great deal of time and effort. You must be positively frazzled by your busy household. Of course, it cannot be yet as feverishly busy as the home in which we were raised. I do hope you will be able to avoid the birthing bed for the next several years. Our own dear mother might have lived years longer and spared us the horror of our second Mama if only there had been a few fewer of us Burney whelps.

Speaking of our second Mama, I hear from Hetty that she is on a rumble again, something about Sarah's new teacher not teaching her how to behave as a lady ought. I do wonder why she believes that is the fault of the poor teacher when our dear half-sister is so indulged. (Truth be told the girl is still young enough that a little wildness is to be expected, even encouraged. There will be time enough for proper behavior later. I think so long as the girl appears clothed before guests and does not take the King's name in vain, she is behaving appropriately as her age allows.)

I am writing this letter in the wee hours of an Italian morning. I have just come back to my rooms after the most wonderful celebration held here at the villa! It was to commemorate the end of summer, though so far as I know there are still a few precious weeks of this season to be enjoyed. The celebration involved much good Italian food and rollicking dances.

I had the pleasure of dancing the chaconne with a visitor from our own homeland, one Mr. Heximer Thane. Perhaps it was the fine Italian wine that gave me the courage to accept his invitation. Of course, it was also the opportunity of speaking English with one who has spoken it from birth. I do sometimes so much miss hearing our mother tongue unmangled by foreign voices (though I suppose here it is I who am the foreigner). The evening was full of good conversation and much frivolity. It even ended with fireworks!

You will be happy to know I am writing daily here and making some good progress with the drama. I am not as convinced as Daddy Crisp that I am up to this commission, but will certainly do my best and promise that when the play is done, you will be among the first to read it! When you do, I hope you will hold nothing back. Not wanting to make a fool of myself, it will be better to hear the truth from a beloved sister than false praise from one hundred others.

Our most lovely friend, Lorsagne DeSade, is now in France. She went on business of various types. I miss her terribly here at Rocca Sorrentina and hope she returns in the near future. She is doing a bit of business for me while she is there as well, looking into the background of one M. Lt. Henri Badeau.

As you know, I met that most beautiful of men when he came to visit your beloved Molesworth, the most wonderful brother-in-law a sister could ask for. He has corresponded with me almost weekly since the day we met and I am always happy to hear from him. I was also very happy to see him in Marseilles last month when I visited father there. As you already know I am sure, Father met him and it was not a complete disaster.

Unfortunately, The liutenant's work often requires him to be out of touch for weeks on end, during which I imagine all sorts of horrible calamities. Of course my recent experience with G.C. has caused me to trust my own instincts not at all. So, although I believe Henri's intentions to be honorable, I have asked Lorsagne to obtain some confirmation of this. I do so hope that when I hear from her, she has only good news to impart!

And speaking of G.C., I wonder if you have seen him recently. Probably not, seeing as how he is not likely to leave the social track in London long enough to call on a young mother and her family. I will never understand how I could have so misinterpreted his meanings. To tell you the complete truth, Susannah, I still hold out hope there. I hear that he will be making the tour after Christmas and wonder if I might see him here in Italy. Yes, I know how silly a girl I still am, in spite of my advanced years. If you hear that he will be headed to this glorious land while I am still in residence here, please, please write of this news immediately. If ever information requires immediate post, it will be that!

And now I shall do the sensible thing and head to my bed a few hours before the sunrise. I do so miss you, my beloved, Susan. Write to me soon and kiss your little ones for their Aunt Fanny.

Your Most Devoted Sister,

Fanny

1784, 1 September

Rocca Sorrentina, Italy

My Most Beloved Friend, Susan,

Thank you for your letter of 15 July. I had begun to wonder if you had forsaken me. Of course, I understand how very much in demand is your attention. I can only imagine that husbands and children take a great deal of time and effort. You must be positively frazzled by your busy household. Of course, it cannot be yet as feverishly busy as the home in which we were raised. I do hope you will be able to avoid the birthing bed for the next several years. Our own dear mother might have lived years longer and spared us the horror of our second Mama if only there had been a few fewer of us Burney whelps.

Speaking of our second Mama, I hear from Hetty that she is on a rumble again, something about Sarah's new teacher not teaching her how to behave as a lady ought. I do wonder why she believes that is the fault of the poor teacher when our dear half-sister is so indulged. (Truth be told the girl is still young enough that a little wildness is to be expected, even encouraged. There will be time enough for proper behavior later. I think so long as the girl appears clothed before guests and does not take the King's name in vain, she is behaving appropriately as her age allows.)

I am writing this letter in the wee hours of an Italian morning. I have just come back to my rooms after the most wonderful celebration held here at the villa! It was to commemorate the end of summer, though so far as I know there are still a few precious weeks of this season to be enjoyed. The celebration involved much good Italian food and rollicking dances.

I had the pleasure of dancing the chaconne with a visitor from our own homeland, one Mr. Heximer Thane. Perhaps it was the fine Italian wine that gave me the courage to accept his invitation. Of course, it was also the opportunity of speaking English with one who has spoken it from birth. I do sometimes so much miss hearing our mother tongue unmangled by foreign voices (though I suppose here it is I who am the foreigner). The evening was full of good conversation and much frivolity. It even ended with fireworks!

You will be happy to know I am writing daily here and making some good progress with the drama. I am not as convinced as Daddy Crisp that I am up to this commission, but will certainly do my best and promise that when the play is done, you will be among the first to read it! When you do, I hope you will hold nothing back. Not wanting to make a fool of myself, it will be better to hear the truth from a beloved sister than false praise from one hundred others.

Our most lovely friend, Lorsagne DeSade, is now in France. She went on business of various types. I miss her terribly here at Rocca Sorrentina and hope she returns in the near future. She is doing a bit of business for me while she is there as well, looking into the background of one M. Lt. Henri Badeau.

As you know, I met that most beautiful of men when he came to visit your beloved Molesworth, the most wonderful brother-in-law a sister could ask for. He has corresponded with me almost weekly since the day we met and I am always happy to hear from him. I was also very happy to see him in Marseilles last month when I visited father there. As you already know I am sure, Father met him and it was not a complete disaster.

Unfortunately, The liutenant's work often requires him to be out of touch for weeks on end, during which I imagine all sorts of horrible calamities. Of course my recent experience with G.C. has caused me to trust my own instincts not at all. So, although I believe Henri's intentions to be honorable, I have asked Lorsagne to obtain some confirmation of this. I do so hope that when I hear from her, she has only good news to impart!

And speaking of G.C., I wonder if you have seen him recently. Probably not, seeing as how he is not likely to leave the social track in London long enough to call on a young mother and her family. I will never understand how I could have so misinterpreted his meanings. To tell you the complete truth, Susannah, I still hold out hope there. I hear that he will be making the tour after Christmas and wonder if I might see him here in Italy. Yes, I know how silly a girl I still am, in spite of my advanced years. If you hear that he will be headed to this glorious land while I am still in residence here, please, please write of this news immediately. If ever information requires immediate post, it will be that!

And now I shall do the sensible thing and head to my bed a few hours before the sunrise. I do so miss you, my beloved, Susan. Write to me soon and kiss your little ones for their Aunt Fanny.

Your Most Devoted Sister,

Fanny

* * *

Princess Amalia sat down on her chair and slowly rested her head on its back. She showed expression of relief - of course, as it was time that light was shed to the truth behind everything.

Apparently, the rumours about Austrian conspiracy against His Majesty Frederick II were born in the salon of a certain Madam von Rochzen in Berlin. It seems one of the guests, Austrian unsurprisingly, being drunk late in the night, shouted that the King would pay for stealing Silesia from Austria. Investigations showed that he used to govern the region but lost his position after Silesia became part of Prussia. The guests that evening most likely over-exaggerated the whole event but the impact was made - all of Berlin by next morning was talking about possible assassination of King Frederick II.

The poisoning of the Kings youngest sister Anna-Amalia at Baroness von Essens house was no part of any conspiracy either. In fact, it was a simple accident due to carelessness of one commoner. The royal investigation squad after questioning all the Baroness servants and Baroness herself found out that one of the newly recruited maids accidentally switched ingredients in the dreaded drink right before the event thinking she forgot to add sugar. Who adds salt and then accidentally pours vinegar into cranberry juice, Mesdames and Monsieurs? But surely the maid was too afraid to replace the juice, as there was no time to. After the Baroness was freed from house arrest and her name was cleared with Kings pardon, she fired the maid. The newspapers, closely controlled by the government, also ensured the Prussian citizens that there should be no fear for their King and that people involved in the incident, or better said, accident were completely innocent.

The King gave no clear comment on the matter but, in the least, he was seen enraged by all the fuss created from "mere" rumours. It is also known that he considered the rumours from the very beginning just a drunk man's bluff, which, indeed, turned out to be so in the end.

* * *

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

P.S. Thank you everyone for following on this mini-story line "Austrian Conspiracy". I hope you enjoyed it and, perhaps, there will be more stories to tell of the Sanssouci Court to you all. Best wishes, Sanssouci Team.

Credits: Tjay007 as Princess Amalia,

SidonieLaborde and MariaAntonia Barenhaut as Madame von Rochzen's guests,

HHDoctorRaven as Baroness von Essen &

beautiful locations provided by Sanssouci Roleplay and built by tjay007.

Textures provided by HHDoctorRaven (purchased and/or made).

Photos taken by HHDoctorRaven.