It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man, in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. It is also widely acknowledged that if a female of good breeding should find her self in possession of a man in possession of a good fortune, she must be the sort who enjoys days of pleasurable times and little hardships. If present, common society is incapable of drawing any assumptions other than these, they are surely more mistaken then one is ever aware of. Life for those who are well bred and well wed is not the act of attending events effortlessly, but rather a daily schedule defined by years of tradition. This of course means that this defined way of life is both regarded highly, while undeservingly so.

Those ‘privileged’ aristocrats are born, like those of lower classes, to days of work, lonesomeness, and spending long amounts of time doing things that are hardly ever appreciated to their fullest. If anyone had ever thanked one, Narcissa Malfoy, for providing a flawlessly matched supper menu she was quite unaware. Had anyone ever mentioned just how lovely the Roses looked in their place next to the fountain? Of course not. Of course, one would feel quite abused if she did not receive complements on her fine tastes in style and art, but were regards given to that which took hours to plan? Foolish are those who claim the higher-born are without cares.

Here sat one of those wed and bred women, carefully bundled inside to avoid that which turned her skin darker than the lovely pale it currently entertained. Narcissa Malfoy sat in her chair stiffly, the paper before her was paid little head in her mind. Invitations to a Gala event Lucius had mentioned she should begin planning for, written half heartedly and decidedly rewritten were strewn across the tiny table. A married woman, she thought, was unquestionably the dreariest vocation one could hold. A newly wed at least had the attention and unequivocal joy deserved of her, but to be married past six months was plain tedious.

The blonde woman had at least had callers to entertain herself with prenuptials, though it was widely known that the Malfoy heir was the only one she’d ever call husband, now welcomed visitors were far and few between. Perhaps they were preoccupied with their own plans for marriage; Merlin knew Narcissa was the youngest among her peers to be wed. Or perhaps they were occupied with that status of newly wed. Whatever the reason, Narcissa Malfoy lacked people to talk to during the day. Nights may be spent tangled in some explicit way with her husband, or among galas and parties with friends, but days were most dreadfully dull and lonesome.

For some reason, Cissa decided, today was far duller than the previous days. Perhaps it was the lack of company to walk among her newly re-planted garden with. Or perhaps it was the tight fit of her bodice, causing her to be breathless and weary at the slightest bit of excretion, but whatever the reason today was a bore in its own right. Even the charmed pianoforte sitting in the corner could not provide entertainment today. She reached out, pushing the parchment off her table in disgust, the blonde ringlets framing her face moving into her vision. She glared at the mess for some time, before reaching to ring a pale porcelain bell used to call the house-elves.

It had hardly rung a second before one of those vile little creatures had appeared in the door way; a record by any standards. Of course, it wasn’t until she saw the it's wide, disgusting eyes shot from her to something in the hallway that she stood up, sneering and rolling her eyes. Someone was calling upon her. It is said those who are beggars shouldn’t be choosers. Narcissa had indeed been wishing for a partner to talk with, to share stories and tea, but not someone who was boring. She’d very surely given instructions to tell callers she was out, unless they seemed very highly entertaining. Caught in a position she didn’t very much enjoy, she hoped to Merlin that this visitor was highly entertaining.

“Send them in.”