Harriet Vane
::as requested by mrs_redboots::

Harriet Vane woke up on the morning of her birthday with the rather lowering feeling that this year it might be rather hellish. Only recently acquitted of killing Philip Boyes, she had retreated from her usual social circle, despite the insistence from her friends that she had to ‘keep up with things, old chap, it’s the only way’. What, Harriet would like to know, did any of them know about being had up for murder? She might get a card or two, she supposed. But she was remarkably lacking on family and… well, it was vile to know that her birthday was not, for anyone, a matter of particular import.

The doorbell rang. It was a telegram boy. Curious as to who would have bothered with a telegram, she tipped him absently, and ripped open the envelope. Because the birthday of my life is come my love is come to me STOP Rosetti had it in one STOP Present to follow STOP May call to discuss benefits of marriage STOP She smiled helplessly even as she crumpled the orange paper into a ball and flung it into the waste paper basket. She was the last person Lord Peter Wimsey should be having anything to do with.

But she couldn’t help feeling it was nice of him to remember.