Amorous adventurers of the Reach, I bring to you (heart-) breaking news, so before you proceed, have your smelling salts at hand, for this one is a doozy! - and by doozy, I mean capital D-O-O-Z-Y!
As we all know, regardless of what state of engagement a lady may have entered into with a lord (or vice-versa), no party may be considered entirely off-limits until the knot is tied. Decry the practice as you will (and yours truly, forever steadfast in her affections - and may I note, strangely single! - certainly does), but no shortage of peers have been poached from the pockets of those who, having entered into a certain very sacred agreement, ceased to proffer reason for that contract to continue. All’s fair in love and war, sadly, and though we wish otherwise, so say fair play we must.
Now, if you’ve been following this column religiously (and if not, one really must wonder why), you are certainly aware that, in the spirit of fair play, competition over a certain somebody’s bejeweled hand (and of course, the body appended to it!) has been very hot as of late on account of her engagement to a somebody else very much in business of bodies - fashionable ones, to be precise. But what you may not be aware of (and if you are, I must ask you write and disclose your sources) is that this certain somebody boasting the bejeweled hand has, in fact, already vacated the playing field.
You read that correctly, gentle readers: Marjorie Saville-Delaunay has affixed yet another house’s name to her own, and now legally answers to Marjorie Merula del Bosque. Six only knows what she intends to do with the rest of it, but let us hope she does not require us to address her with respect to her entire marital history at all next season’s events.
But that isn’t even the half of it! Still have those smelling salts at hand? Go ahead and administer yourself a whiff.
It seems that the Lady Marjorie went and wed herself to the Lord Dominic without as much as a word, neglecting even to inform her family of the occasion. The Savilles were, of course, aware and had approved of the arrangement - but by all accounts, the engagement (the interminability of which yours truly had previously noted, and even speculated upon the ramifications thereof) was an outstanding one, devoid of a date. Even more perplexing is the fact (dutifully reported by moi) that this dynamic duo (for they have taken the fashionable world by storm, have they not?) have not been publicly observed exchanging kisses for some time now, which, though I may run the risk of being sued into oblivion for saying such, really does call into question the Lord Dominic’s fitness of mind; for with lips like those, what business does any man have being elsewhere? I mean for Lyss’ sake, if there were ever a pair that merited kissing! Regardless, one really does wonder how the Lady Delphine is taking this all, to say nothing of the Lord Elliot. The poor man must be apoplectic! (N.B. - Should any among my beloved readership so happen to be in the employ of the said Lord Elliot and it appear the case that he remains unaware of what has transpired, please do not disturb his blissful ignorance.)
And yet it gets better still!
That bit about no one being invited to the wedding? - well, I suppose it isn’t entirely accurate. While it is true that no one, in an individual capacity, was present for the ceremony, it seems as if the Lady Marjorie (and assuredly this was her decision) opted to turn her big day into a photographic feature. Those among my readership who follow the glossies (which should constitute approaching the entirety of you) are in for a real treat come next month! According to my sources at Au Courant, the Lady Marjorie orchestrated a shoot in commemoration of her wedding, the extravagance of which beggared the bankroll of a small kingdom; word is, her wedding dress alone boasted enough square feet of silk chiffon to cover Claypool Village in gauze twice over - which is of course all the more staggerblasting considering no one was present to partake in all the opulence! At the very least, those of us who live vicariously have cause for celebration.
Like I said - quite the D-O-O-Z-Y, no? Well, let me be the first to congratulate the Lord Dominic & Lady Marjorie, their conjoined houses, and of course, the lucky SoB’s who landed careers in fashion photography (of whom I am more envious than Maguuma is green). Upon the newly wed I bestow blessings of health, happiness, and of course, bundles upon bundles of joy. As for the rest of you (i.e., my beloved readership), keep your eyes peeled and your ears to the ground. If you’ve got a scoop, you know where to send it!
Add. - Dear me, how could I have forgotten? Perhaps the interference of the legal department had something to do with my memory. Regardless, I somehow neglected to disclose what assuredly constitutes the coup de grace to everyone having to this point overpowered their need for salts. Mind you, this is only a rumor (read: R-U-M-O-R, as in, almost certainly T-R-U-E), but R-U-M-O-R has it that Lady Marjorie’s dress (personally designed by Lord Dominic, mind you) was cut entirely for the sake of publicity - that is to say, for the shoot. R-U-M-O-R has it she divested herself of it immediately thereafter, and R-U-M-O-R has it bride and groom became one au naturel.
Assuming this R-U-M-O-R to be T-R-U-E, assuredly someone must have snipped the proof. That would be quite the scoop, don’t you think? So the circus of celebrity spins ‘round…
