https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased Sun, 05 Apr 2026 04:45:31 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/657/rest-in-peace https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/657
The last of the servants to leave was Anna, having packed up all of her Lady's belongings in numerous trunks. She had no earthly idea of what would become of the estate but heard tell of a distant relation who would be taking the reins; they had already sent word that the entirety of the house staff should be dismissed. They would be bringing their own.
Her heels echoed in the grand marble foyer and she glanced backward, seeing a flash -- perhaps the ghost of her Ladyship, perhaps just her own imagination. 
It seemed impossible that she was gone, but despite the best efforts of physicians, and Anna's own contributions, the fever had won in the end.
Anna would go to the estate's chapel and say a prayer before leaving, both for Lady Olivia and for herself and all of the remaining tenants. She could not see past this, but was comforted in the knowledge that the Lord would provide.
_____________________
[[OOC: I've had a grand old time in 18c. but it's time to move on. Thanks for the memories. Feel free to delete this account if it's beneficial to you. ~O]]
]]> Fri, 24 Apr 2020 08:25:25 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/655/crossroads-part-i https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/655


The carriage rolled along fairly smoothly. The rains had ceased, finally, and the roads were fine. I sat gazing out the window and smiled at the day's events.
The cafe at Rocca had been quite busy, and good fortune, as Signora Aph received a medal I had produced for her in front of an audience. I dare say I glimpsed a blush on the lady as it was pinned to her dress. But well earned -- her tireless care of all who enter is beyond the scope of what any of we, who impose upon her, could reasonably perform.
The ball had been very well attended, and the couples were lovely, swaying to the lute music filling the greenhouse. I found it a bit warm, but did enjoy myself. Local artists had assembled, as well, as there was a competition, and many of the entrants, despite any means for formal instruction, had done quite well. 
A familiar sharp lean of the box told me that we were nearing the estate, and as it came to a halt, I stepped out, grateful to be home and near my bed after such a diverting, but terribly wearying day. I was set upon a cold meal and an early night but my messages had other plans for me.
I stepped in, handing Anne my gloves and wrap when she reciprocated with a sealed letter and a concerned expression  "It's from Mister Warren. He said it is important, milady. I know the solicitor doesn't come often. I hope that..." I cut her off,  "Thank you, Anne... that will be all for now." Anne was a very good maid, even by my standards, but the rare habit of speaking to me as if I were a school friend left me irritated. I would speak with Mrs. Rawley about it; I did rely on her, but if our roles could not be defined, perhaps she would be best found a more suitable arrangement.
I cracked the seal and opened the paper to scan the letter as I ascended the stairs, and it was as I feared. Mister Warren had been charged with a matter of import, and was writing to avail me of the knowledge he had thus far discovered. 
Some years past, it came to be known to me that my father's title had been handed down, generation after generation -- which wasn't at all odd -- but that it had been created in the time of Queen Elizabeth, which was. It came to light whence I found a letter kept in a book, that his ancestor had informed the Queen of a plot by a Sir Antony Babbington to have her assassinated; a plot which he had discovered quite by chance, and that he had almost certainly almost been bribed to ignore it.
I certainly had my own good fortune to thank for his moral fibre.
I did not, however, hold the title, and should it become extinct with no one to claim it, I should also most certainly not have the property. And that would not do.
The original discovery that my status was based on the generosity of a monarch, rather than what I had - up until then - believed to be a connection to royalty, left me very ill at ease. I had relied upon that supposed status and wondered how it might affect my social connections, should it become known. I knew that Mama had descended from royalty, but that was Spanish blood; a match which, ironically, would likely not have been met with favor by the monarch who had first bestowed the title.
The second matter had become whether there were letters patent somewhere and more importantly, what they stated about inheritance.
If it were a matter of male lineage, which was almost certainly the case, I would be back to the hunt for a husband and to secure an heir; at 25, I was well aware that this was possible, but not having issue from my brief and distasteful encounter with my dead husband, the Baron, I was also well aware that I might not be able to produce one. 
The other aspect to all of this was that created Dukedoms were few and far between and with the rebellion in the colonies, and another brewing in France, it was clearly becoming apparent that the commoners had come to the conclusion "the less nobility the better." I could not risk losing everything should the title and properties be revoked. And without knowledge of the terms of the patent, I couldn't determine down which road I should travel. And with great haste.
Mister Warren's letter was dry, as was the norm. He had arrived in London, and engaged a Lord with whom he was acquainted and whom he trusted, to assist him (with some manner of discretion) on his little expedition. 
I flipped the page over in the hopes that some postscript provided more information, but alas, it was merely a report that the roads were dry, and that an effort to find the copy had resulted in excuses of lost documents due to this fire, that flood or these historical moves.
Frustrated and still without answers, I continued my walk up the stairs to my apartments. The longer I waited for an answer, the more time lost in determining which option was most sensible. A husband seemed the path of least resistance, and as I opened the doors to my bedchamber, I let out a shaky breath and moved to my dressing table.  Not another Baron at least, I mused, at least this time, it would be my choosing. . . but if I must endure it, I must choose quickly.  
]]> Sat, 11 Apr 2020 18:19:01 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/654/still-life https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/654
After an early evening meal, I planned to walk to my old retreat; a small structure just south of the main house on the hillside that, at one time, may have been a small orangery. It was a cool evening but I chose to continue on rather than go back for a shawl. Climbing the old stone steps to the surface of the hill and entering, I saw the chaise no worse for the wear, and settled back onto it, looking about.
There were canvases stacked against the far wall, untouched by paint or brush, and the plaster was peeling in places. The evening sun made the dusty windows almost ethereal, and a small spider spun its web in a ceiling corner. I had asked that some refreshment be brought up. Wine and some fruit were laid out on the old wood table. 
Rising and walking over, I ran my hand over the surface. So old and weathered, so smooth from the daily beating of the sun. My hand rested on a plum and then retreated. I regarded the fruit and thought of all who may have shared this moment who were no longer with me. My dear Papa; the loss of his humor and protection left a gaping hole in my heart. Mama, whose sweetness and undying love for her family were both her shield and her sword. And my Gianni. I sighed aloud "... oh, dearheart"
I stood there, regarding all that had occurred, all that I had endured, and still, what was that compared to the suffering of the world? A small speck of paint on a far larger canvas. But what was I, a lone woman, to do about all of that? I could, in truth, only tend to my own affairs. 
The time drew long like an evening shadow, and I stood there, silent and unmoving, while thoughts, memories and regrets marched through my mind like an invading army. The matter of Edward, and my foolish belief in him, the Baron and his treachery, and the Earl, which I had at one time regarded as a lost opportunity but now found just as well left undone.
The last of the daylight was slipping out the window like a thief and I realized, while I stood in front of these empty canvases, and this bowl of untouched fruit, that I was, in fact, a still life. No movement, no momentum. No mission, no achievement.  I was an adornment. First to be painted, then framed and hung on a wall. I had no need of a husband, but longed for the companionship. I wanted for nothing, yet yearned for a goal.
Again, my fingertips gently brushed the old wood table, "perhaps it's enough to be what we are." 
The sound of my own voice startled me back into reality and I pulled the soft blanket from the chaise, wrapping it around my shoulders and walked to the doorway. After glancing back, I stepped through and descended the stairs, committed to adding some motion to my life.


]]> Wed, 08 Apr 2020 18:59:49 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/653/movement-neath-the-stone https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/653
The ocean's salted kiss alighted on my brow before I ever saw the sea. The dust from the hooves ahead swirled about the curtained window of the carriage like fairies, beckoning me homeward. To be home...
So much had happened in Spain. My mother's family never took much interest in remaining in contact with me after Mama's death, but my dear cousin was the lighthouse off the shore of their sealed continent. His illness and resulting death had left me battle-weary and nearly laid my soul to waste as his body was lain to rest.
After a period of mourning both my cousin and the void that was what was left of my mother's family, I escaped to our northern estate for months. Each time I thought I might make the journey to Hatchford, I felt the cracks deepen and knew I was as yet too fragile.
But now, the carriage jostled as it made that all-too-familiar curve toward Hatchford. I found myself pressed to the glass, until finally it came into view and my breath returned. I knew that I should find it nearly impossible to maintain a serene countenance until I could finally lock myself away in my apartments while, inwardly, my heart danced a reel.
Snorting and whinnying the horses settled down. The carriage stopped rattling my bones and the door swept open. Thomas and William were there, hands out, to help me debark. I stepped inside, handing Anne my gloves and although she offered tea, I ascended the stairs, calling over my shoulder that wine be brought up. 
After shrugging off yards of silk and settling onto the chaise in my muslin, the wine was set on a table along with letters I had left unanswered. I pulled the crystal stop from the decanter and poured, the red twine creating a claret pool in my glass as I shuffled through the communications from this one or that, until I came upon an invitation for an Easter ball. 
I read the date and as my wine glass was set on the table my hand was on the bell. So near, all of my gowns wrinkled and nothing on the steamstresses' tables being worked on! Anne entered, and halfway into her curtsey and pleasantries I rattled off, "Send for Mrs. Hartwell and that other... Margaret? Margory? The one with the blonde curls... " Anne barely made it out the door before I called again "And send word that I'd like Mister Prentice in the library at eight!"
Whether it was the invigorating sea air, the joy of being home, or the prospect of merry company, I found that I was finally crawling out from beneath the weighty stone of grief.
========================================
Hatchford Park is open and I welcome guests. If I am not at home, do avail yourself of the tray on the table in the entry and leave your calling card. Anne will see to your needs if you require a respite after a long journey.
Your carriage awaits
I'm hoping to be able to hold a party where all can attend, but am also considering weeknight activities such as whist and ladies' tea/sewing & gossip hours, both of which will not only allow for all of us to catch up on the goings on, in person, as well as the ability to share information about news and events, (which I am also happy to either pass along or see in chat, in the Hatchford Park group) but also, to add some 'social' to our distancing.
Interested in taking part? I'm happy to partner up. Need a home? Send a note.
Affectionately,
~O.
]]> Tue, 07 Apr 2020 16:14:52 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/626/requiem https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/626
The morning had begun. 
The Duke and Duchess of Whippen boarded The Persephone under clear skies, and set sail for the colonies. It was a special voyage; the Duchess' first of this greath length and one which held many adventures for them both. Olivia bade them farewell and traveled to Hatchford Park, the family seat, to run the estate and await their return.
Much time passed with no letter, and Olivia contacted one of her father's most trusted merchant sailors, to give her a better idea of why that might be. She sat at the desk in the library sipping tea while Captain Alford stood with his weather-beaten hand resting on the back of a chair, the other held his tricorn to his side. "Depending upon the time of year, there may be storms," and noting her alarmed expression, added "but when a gentleman with His Grace's experience takes to the sea, there should be no need for concern, m'lady."
A map was unrolled and he showed her the route that they had most likely taken. He spoke of knots and nautical miles and things she knew nothing of. She had been on a ship several times, but her only concerns were whether her stomach would cooperate and if her gowns might be better off laid out, to prevent wrinkling,  than in a trunk  .
The Captain left, confident that he had provided all the information that she might need and still she sat at the desk, watching the sun slowly descend, and one question ceaselessly pulled at her mind, like a pup nipping at a skirt hem: What could be taking so long to send a letter?
Two more months passed and finally Olivia summoned the courage to send her father's other ships to look for them. It would leave her without passage to Sorrentina, but her pleasure was secondary to her concern. She consoled herself when winter came, imagining her mother's demure pleasure and her father's quick temper at her usurping his ships and crew. 
Time passed slowly. Conversations with various servants about household matters transformed from useful to their being unable to gain her full attention. She slept fitfully, if at all. The maids did their best to look after her, but with all this time passing, worry crept into their minds as well.
Nearly six months since they had set sail, Olivia sat trying to focus on her needlework when the rattling of a carriage approaching brought her to her feet. At last she would get the letter she had been waiting for! Her heels scuffed against the wooden floorboards and her hand almost failed to get the door open before the clattering came to a halt. Before she could utter the words "At last!" an ashen Captain Alford stepped from the carriage onto the dry ground.
The two found their way back to the desk in the library. She, again sitting. He again standing, though his grip on the back of the same chair left his hand white-knuckled, as if he were hoping to inflict more pain on the inanimate object than the lady before him.
He spoke words like "never arrived" and "evidence of a shipwreck" and "no-one could have survived," but Olivia just heard white noise. She remembered standing, and then fainted dead away. For weeks, she was bed-ridden, overcome by grief, but unable to shed a single tear.
A month later, just as Summer began to embrace the northern estate, a memorial was held for the Duke and Duchess, there being no bodies for a proper burial. Orphaned, and alone, Lady Olivia Chapman managed to endure the service, the condolences from the villagers, servants and pastor. She said she would like to remain alone to say additional prayers and was obliged. Once assured that all had gone, she looked at the altar and the light streaming in the windows, and muttered "What sort of God allows His children to suffer so?"
Her slight figure, clad in black, descended the chapel steps. She walked into the small family plot that sat beside the church and walked past the stones of some of her ancestors. Her gloved hand brushed across the top of each of them as she passed them, as if to greet the souls of the departed.
She was exhausted. Her entire being ached. She sat on one of the stone benches and looked at the two stones that had been set forward of the others. No ground was overturned, no evidence of recent burial. A bird began to sing in an overhead branch, and finally the tears came, burning trails down her cheeks.
The mourning had begun.










((Note: Since both of my RP parents decided that FL > SL, I thought it was an opportunity for more writing. Getting back into the swing of 18th Century RP ))

]]> Fri, 15 Jun 2018 09:57:21 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/625/the-earl-and-the-lady https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/625
In the cool, crisp morning, the chamber maid set about lighting the fire as Lady Olivia lay in her bed, staring up at the canopy above her, contemplating yet another marriage to a man who was a stranger to her.  She had modern ideas about marriage; mostly that she should know and love the person to whom she would be tied for the balance of her life. Her father felt otherwise.
Her eyes drifted, falling on the letter that had sent her to her father's estate. She had thought perhaps that it would simply be to visit with her, but he had gotten straight to the point after dinner, as they sat sipping sherry, bespeaking great things of this gentleman who claims he had been introduced at a ball just this past summer and who, to her father's glee, had attested to her beauty and charm, making it clear that he simply would not leave her father's home without coming to some agreement.
The flattering tale did leave her with some hopes, at least. He was young, had her father's approval in terms of wealth, title and station, and yet she could not quell her curiosity. Did he have dark eyes? Was he ill-tempered? Did he love her? Her father went on and on about the match, and then on to a hunt that he had recently attended as she sat quietly, hands in her lap atop her gown and thought through the dance partners she had had this past season. There had been some handsome, some who stepped on her toes, some who had been quite diverting and then her thoughts settled on one in particular.
His manner had been somewhat unrefined, though certainly not unpleasant. He had complimented her throughout the evening, though not to an uncomfortable degree and he had been quite handsome. Could he have been the gentleman in question? She thought as her father prattled on about foxes and dogs and horses. A muddy business, apparently. He got to his roundabout point and finally came to its conclusion "So you see, it turns out that I'd known his father. Good man, Maitland. Pity about his elder son. But quite a good man, James... much like his father, bless his soul."
"Maitland" she uttered and it came to her. 'So it was...' she smiled, sitting up a bit straighter and summoned the footman to pour her father another glass of sherry.  "Papa... tell me more about the Earl..."
♥
]]> Tue, 28 Feb 2017 18:52:44 -0800 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/623/consideration https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/623
I settled back into the heavy leather chair, sighing softly at the warmth the sun had bestowed upon it, and looked across the desk at the young man seated before me.
"Angel," I began "I have read your letter of introduction and I understand that you are highly qualified for the position..."
The young man nodded, confidently, sitting upright.  He was handsome and well built. His frame was slightly larger that what might have been a perfect form, but that was just being picky.  He had all of the attributes and experience that made him quite suitable.
And yet, and as always, the past stood beside me, whispering wise counsel into my ear.  "Do not forget.... Katie...."  I accepted the ethereal advisement of the years gone by and shifted his letter atop my journal, and willed my countenance expressionless, though a shadow of that great betrayal swept across my features in the warm afternoon light.
"One thing I expect, beyond the impeccable attention to your duties, is that you are steadfast in your loyalty to me.  I will not hesitate to end your employment should you fail to do so.  While I do appreciate that you have come at my father's recommendation, you are under my employ, not his. Is that understood...?"
I hoped that he did.  I had plenty of servants, but none beyond my maid who might accompany me in travels; and who might be my constant companion, and hear my private and intimate conversation... and if he were to breathe one word of it to Papa...
I watched as the young man nodded, his brow threatening to knit in concern and then soften "I do understand, m'Lady," he responded "your confidence is well kept with me."
Assured, at least for the moment, I nodded sharply and reached for the small bell on the desk, lifting it to summon the house maid.
Standing and brushing my skirts of imaginary dust, I gestured to Anne as she entered "Please show Angel to his quarters, and see to it that the tailor is fetched. The livery will likely need to be let out a bit."
I turned and walked to the windows as Anne curtsied and departed with my new footman, surveying the park.
It was good to be home again.

]]> Sun, 04 Dec 2016 11:12:50 -0800 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/610/evening-prayers https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/610 Sun, 21 Sep 2014 17:06:54 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/605/the-settlement https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/605 "The short of it is this, my dearest daughter. Rather than risk a fortune which might well be spent by a scoundrel, I am instead taking some of the profits from my endeavors and we are going to find a suitable estate which will encourage the right suitors to come calling." I was elated. I allowed them the luxury of their belief that I was again dreaming of a marriage, when instead the bells of independence rang in my head, happily drowning out further conversation. The entire summer was spent in the process of finding just the right location and upon seeing the estate in Somerset, I knew that was the one. Each day of my father departing in a carriage to speak with a solicitor or a land agent brought me closer to my heart's desire until finally he revealed that the deed was, in fact, and in law, in my name alone and with a legal entailment preventing it from changing hands from any other than either my heir, or, in the event I should die childless, be absorbed back into the family, to be bestowed upon the next of kin. I did my very best to retain my modesty and economy throughout, and finally... FINALLY... the day came that I had longed for. I was back at the helm, where I belonged, the unlikely, but indisputable, captain of my own destiny, with just the winds of fortune to guide me. Months have been spent in the acquisition of a proper household, groundskeeper, stable hands, and the like, and at last only a few small details remain. A list of friends long since met, sits before me on my writing table, and I cannot help but smile knowing that very soon, I might write them to bid them 'Come to Somerset...' ]]> Thu, 18 Sep 2014 18:12:52 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/541/summers-warm-embrace https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/541 Sun, 29 Jun 2014 15:49:50 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/511/an-apology-ooc https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/511 Sun, 27 Apr 2014 09:10:28 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/486/yorkshire-to-london-to-la-rocca https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/486 Sun, 05 Jan 2014 04:20:09 -0800 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/476/the-business-at-hand https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/476 Sat, 19 Oct 2013 15:35:15 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/475/crossing-paths-olivia-chapter-1 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/475 ]]> Sun, 13 Oct 2013 16:50:22 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/471/the-dance-lesson https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/471 Sun, 22 Sep 2013 12:13:40 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/464/ooc https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/464 NYC]]> Tue, 10 Sep 2013 10:48:56 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/461/labor-of-love-98-lines https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/461 The writer, seeing empty page, laments.
This labor must be set in black and white;
Until it's done, my heart won't be content.For in this month, two days of great import:
A lovers' destined meeting two months past,
And an escape those lovers do exhort
And I - for these - begin a wearing task.Each day that passes, leaves me less aloof.
The burning need to follow to the end,
Committed that my love should have the proof
And so, despite this challenge, I ascend.Will I accomplish this which I desire?
Will words be frozen in vexation's mire?. . . Two . . .Will words be frozen in vexations mire?
When all I long for is the words to bind?
Oh, can I write as well as I aspire?
Or will this finish in a muddled mind?Eyes rising from the page, I look around.
No evidence of him in sound or sight.
Yet ev'rywhere his presence does abound,
Just thoughts of him diminishing my might.And yet, though weaker made by reverie
I find a strength like mountains rising high
As stony pinnacles that pierce the sea,
The words begin to flow as time draws nigh.There is no barrier to stop this flow
Upon my love, this message to bestow.. . . Three . . .Upon my love, this message to bestow.
Push aside my ever-pressing doubt;
The dearth of words I wittingly outgrow.
Thoughts of him bring rain upon the drought.The ground, once cracked and dry; devoid of life
Where sustenance was nary seen or found,
Still showing scars and memories of strife,
Now bears a fruit more sweet and more profound.Even at the time we turned away,
Seeking out an unknown requisite,
And blinded to the future's sweet replay,
No choice but our devotion to admit.Though to outward eyes my heart is cold,
Your love does advocate that I be bold.. . . Four . . .Your love does advocate that I be bold
As winds o'er meadows drive away a scourge.
Our love, the kind of classic stories told,
Each prior failure from my heart is purged.Each setting sun, the promise of tomorrow.
The rising sun alighting love renewed.
No more, our hearts entrenched in a past sorrow
And ev'ry day love's interest is accrued.The ending week brings anxious plans to bear
As lovers, come together, hearts alight
We, deeply love, utterly aware
A simple touch or word sets us to right.No devastating storm could hope to spoil;
This enchantment's web cannot uncoil.. . . Five . . .This enchantment's web cannot uncoil.
Meticulously woven with such care
Shrewdest malefactors hope to roil,
Our hearts too tightly bound to rip or tear.A distance seeming half a world away,
Though daunting in its vastness, breadth and scope,
Does not prevent, discourage or dissuade,
But fortifies the harbor of our hopes.Humbled by your constance and belief,
My fears and superstitions held at bay,
Your ever-stoic love provides relief,
And sets my sights upon a brighter day.With each unflagging step, our love evolves.
You energize and strengthen my resolve.. . . Six . . .You energize and strengthen my resolve;
Though thought the one of fortitude, verdure.
Around your heart, my own, a moon, revolves.
I find, with you alone, I can endure.The 'weaker sex' I never thought defined.
Independent, almost to a fault.
Until your adoration, once entwined,
My heart has softened, almost by default.Thus, lead by you to softer, gentler ground,
Thereby coerced into a slower pace,
T'was there, within myself a heart, I found.
So shed of callous nature, dressed in grace.You, couturier, bedeck my heart.
So swathing, generate a work of art.. . . Seven . . .So swathing, generate a work of art.
The inner self emerges, quite enthralled.
Willfully, my guarded self departs.
Free and joyous; never more be walled.And as this lover's task comes to an end,
I hope with all my might that I impart
Upon your love and kindness, I depend.
Perhaps more now, than at our very start.It seems, through all this space I've had to use,
I've not articulated well my view.
If love were words, you'd surely be my muse.
For only one thing spawned this venture: You.Though meager as my amity requite,
In sitting down with quill in hand, I write.]]> Fri, 06 Sep 2013 18:31:55 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/457/the-door-opens https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/457 Sun, 01 Sep 2013 10:53:20 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/454/i-laughed-so-hard https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/454 Mon, 26 Aug 2013 19:32:29 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/453/la-rocca-sorrentina-arrival https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/453 Sun, 25 Aug 2013 19:03:52 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/452/tabula-rasa https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/452 Sat, 24 Aug 2013 21:40:40 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/437/the-deep https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/437 "Is she dead?" -----------------------------------------------------------------
The physician examines a gash in the thicket of brown hair, giving instruction to the nurse who will tend to the lifeless form for as long as she draws breath. The money is no object; it will be a combination of a bit of luck, some skillful nursing, and a will to live on the part of the patient. He has done all that he can for now. He collects the various implements of the trade, looking down one last time as the chest shallowly rises and falls, and slips on his frock coat, opening the door to speak to the housekeeper. " Mrs Rawley, I would suggest that you alert the Baroness's family immediately. Her parents will, I am sure, wish to be by their daughter's bedside should she awaken." "I've already seen to it, Sir," she nods, then casting her eyes down to the floorboards "And.... will she awaken?" He rests a consoling hand on her shoulder "Time will tell." ----------------------------------------------------------------- ((OOC: Forgive me for the abrupt exit -- I don't know if it's temporary or permanent. I only know it's necessary. I feel sure I'll still speak to some of my friends in the past, but I know a great number of you exist there. I hope to come awake again someday, and find you all well, and happy. ~ Olivia)) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nmgBU8r6VQo ]]> Sat, 03 Aug 2013 14:48:33 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/432/reflecting https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/432 Fairest Isle, all isles exce-lling.
Seat of pleasure and of love,
Venus here will choose her dwe-lling,
And forsake her Cyprian grove. It seemed an unlikely song for a young girl, and I sought her out, room after room. Her voice sounded so near, but still I could not find her. Cupid from his fav'rite nation,
Care and envy will remove;
Jealousy that pois'nous passion,
And despair that dies for love. I began to run through the house, now urgently needing to find the source of the song, when my eyes glanced left and I saw her through the window. I glimpsed a vision of her dancing through the flowers beside the house as she sang, and moved quickly towards the doors to pursue her. Again, I saw a flash of her making her way towards the lake behind the house and I felt compelled to find her, to ask her of what or who she sang. Gentle murmurs swe-et complaining,
Sighs that blow the fire of love,
Soft repulses, kind disda-ining,
Shall be all the pains you prove. Finally at the edge of the lake, I stood at the clearing and looked around. Her voice was still clear, constant and beautiful, but she was nowhere to be seen. My eyes traveled the edge of the wood, and then saw something in the water. I clutched my breast and gasped: She had fallen in the lake! But still. . . she sang. How could that be? I carefully walked to the water's edge, climbing gingerly out onto a rock and looked into the lake, reaching out my hand, hoping to be able to save this girl. As I leaned forward, arm outstretched, I saw her. She was there in the water, smiling at me, covered in flowers with small butterflies fluttering about her. I opened my mouth to ask her to take my hand and my voice was not my own, but her's, finishing the song in that clear and perfect pitch. Ev'ry swain shall pay his du-ty,
Grateful ev'ry nymph shall prove;
And as these excel in bea-uty,
Those shall be renowned for love. My lips closed as the song finished and as my outstretched hand touched the water's surface, her reflection disappeared. I felt someone shaking me and I turned to look at who might be preventing me from saving her when Mrs. Rawley's voice broke through the web of my dream and pulled me back to reality. "Heavens, you gave me a fright! I have heard moans and screams from the depths of sleep but a song sung suchly?? I feared you were taken by a spirit!" I looked up at her, and must have reassured her somehow of all being well, though I don't recall uttering a word to her. Finally satisfied, she left the room. I sank back into the pillows and closed my eyes, smiling, allowing my mind to think of a handsome face with smoldering eyes that stared at me, silently. And I softly sang the song to the morning sun. ]]> Sun, 28 Jul 2013 21:43:54 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/430/where-theres-a-will https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/430 Sat, 27 Jul 2013 22:44:04 -0700 https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/427/the-cage-door-opens https://livinghistoryvw.com/lady-olivia-chapman-deceased/blog/427 Fri, 26 Jul 2013 15:50:49 -0700