A Locket of No Particular Significance (Weskerlee #1) by Florien St. John

SPFBO6

"Are you suggesting Captain that a Faerie might have wings? Like a bird? That's preposterous. Why, think of all that effort flapping one's arms getting from point A to point B when with just a small amount of magic, one could achieve the very same result. Without the flapping. Next, you will have us in nests gathering worms and shiny things. I'd be very embarrassed for any Faerie so tiny it must fly about like an insect, building tiny houses in the exposed roots of trees, dressed in nothing but Butterbell trousers. Have you ever worn Butterbell trousers Ib? Of course you haven't. No one has. I am not sure who is responsible for creating such an idle fantasy. Perhaps one of your literature types? There is nothing worse than a writer, who when they have nothing to write of consequence, find themselves seduced by the temptation to expostulate on what could or might be, instead of what is!" - The Good Faerie Jasper Wintergreen. Can a GOOD Faerie turned BAD ever turn GOOD again? Higher Faerie has banished unworthy Lesser Faerie from The Other-Lands. Like it or not, the human realm of The Middle Counties and The Wild South is besieged.When bookish Alisanne Frochard, a Vigilant apprentice studying Faerie Lore at Weskerlee Folly is tasked to track down a mischievous Dark Faerie alongside her handsome Captain whom she may or may not admire more than she ought, she hopes to prove herself worthy, or at the very least, tolerably capable.Jasper Wintergreen and Faerydae Ib, two elite Nobles from Faerie, both hard-pressed to contain their natural proclivity for expressing excessive and elaborately ebullient expostulations, are unbeknown to the Vigilants, watching over them.There's a Half-Faerie orphan if we are to believe what she says and she is never ever where she is thought to be. There is a riddle, heartrending lost love, a prologue, an enchanted locket and a blue feather in a hat worn for luck. An almost Regency period historical fantasy of manners where the wit appears larger than the plot holes and where becoming lost in a fog in a bog somewhere east of Whirrel is only of concern during Autumn.