Hello. I am new to Tumblr. I signed up today but I found your Poldark fic, Moving Forward a few days ago and it’s exceptional. I am also a big fan of George and Elizabeth. I have really enjoyed reading your other fics and exploring your Tumblr page, which is second to none. Are you still writing Moving Forward? At the risk of appearing greedy, do you think that you will be posting any short excepts from the next chapter in the near future? Thank you.
Hi thanks for the ask! Sorry it's taken me a while to respond - I can be pretty slow when it comes to answering asks but I'm always happy to get them. :D
I'm glad to hear that you've been enjoying my fics! As for Moving Forward, I am still writing it - just at a pace that would make a snail look like an Olympic sprinter ha. I'm happy to post another little extract - @lashbrook11 asked if I could post one as well so this one's for both of you. :) It won't be from the next chapter though, as I've finally managed to get past the writer's block which basically slowed me down to a halt with this fic and have literally just finished writing the chapter. I just need to finish typing it up and give it a quick read through to get rid of any mistakes and then I'll be posting it tomorrow, so keep an eye out and hopefully it should appear very soon (fingers crossed)!
Anyway, this is an extract from later on in the fic, which I don't think I've posted before. Hope you enjoy!
Tagging @ticketybooser , @harry-leroy, and @forcebros if any of you want to read this too. :D
George was just dealing out the cards for their first hand when the door to the parlour was flung roughly open, and into the room stepped the sour presence of Uncle Cary. Valentine’s happy smile slipped slightly at the man’s entrance, regarding his great uncle with none too friendly a look. That, George could not really blame him for. His uncle had done very little to endear himself to Valentine—quite the opposite, in fact, considering everything that had occurred—and besides, he couldn’t think of a person on earth whose temperament would have been improved by the prospect of having to associate with Cary.
“Have you not finished the packet for Falmouth?,” he heard the old man grouse as he gathered up his hand of cards into a neat pile and glanced through them. “You know that they must be ready for tonight so that they may sail tomorrow morn.”
Wordlessly, without looking up from his cards, George pointed over his shoulder to where the documents in question lay, completed and ready, on the small table across the room, beside his empty cup of tea. He heard a humph and a rustling of paper as Cary picked them up, glancing through them.
“Well, at least these appear to be satisfactory,” he conceded reluctantly. “But there are still a great many things which require your attention.”
He could feel his uncle’s eyes boring into the back of his skull, his disapproval upon seeing his nephew playing cards with his son rather than using such valuable times to further the interests of the Bank clearly expressed. George repressed a sigh, pursing his lips. So often in the past, he had simply let his uncle’s opinions on what he should and should not do govern him, but a glance up towards Valentine, who was looking rather crestfallen at the thought of being abandoned in the middle of their game in favour of his work, made his mind up. Not this time. This time, he would stand his ground.
“There is nothing so pressing that it must be dealt with immediately, or even today,” he replied in a tone that was deceptively mild. “I highly doubt that all we have built for ourselves will collapse the moment I take the time to play a game of whist or two with my son. And besides, Dr Enys has insisted that I not overtax myself, and he shall most displeased if he learns that I have ignored his instructions."
“Bah!” At this scornful exclamation, George did look up, a displeased frown drawing his brows together. “What does that quack know, I ask, if he really believes a few papers will bring you to death’s door? And since when have you ever been inclined to listen to such a man when there is work which must be done? Or perhaps you have other...distractions which have made the good doctor’s words suddenly more appealing to you.”
At this, he bestowed Valentine with a pointed glare, one which George himself had been accustomed to seeing directed at him as a child. When his uncle had elected to chastise him for bothering his father, that glare had been enough to send him scampering away to hide, but clearly Valentine was made of sterner stuff than he had been at seven years old, for he met Cary’s eye without blinking and with equal—if not greater—ferocity.
