intrepelle

[intrepelle]

baby girl<3

[intrepelle]

Nan St. George wearing blue 💙

[intrepelle]

Lady Estelle, ward [and illegitimate daughter] of Phileas Fogg, the 4th Duke of Windlesham.

The pair live at No. 7 Saville Street in Mayfair, essentially year-round. Occasionally they will both return to Ancaster Castle, his country house in Lincolnshire, but it is rare indeed to see them in the country.

Highly opinionated and highly spirited, prone to resorting to cheekiness and impudence when she's not met with the kindness or basic respect that she, as a person, is deserving of.

Seemingly unbothered by any society gossip that circulates with her as the focus.

A notorious pickpocket, though she'll only loot from people she thinks deserving of it––nobles who disrespect their staff, cruel mothers, cruel fathers, bitchy debutantes.

Her mother [Louise Laroche, from a Huguenot family] worked as a maid at the gentleman's club Brooks's, which her father [Phileas Fogg, the Duke of Windlesham, though he was only the Marquess of Bathurst at the time] is a frequent member of. The two had a dalliance in the second half of 1791, and though it did not last for long, Louise soon realised she had fallen pregnant. Knowing that he was too honourable a man to not take action, but not wanting to trap either of them in a situation that neither wanted, Louise keeps shtum and remains working at Brooks's for as long as she is able to, only to wind up returning to her parents' small farm in Crawley when it is not something she can hide any longer. She gives birth to Estelle, and near immediately after, journeys back to London, accepting a cook position in White's upon her return, the rival club of her former employer. Estelle is thus raised to believe that her grandparents are her parents for the first thirteen years of her life.

Louise fell sick in the spring of 1806, to the point of being released from her position at White's, and with no other employment prospects while she is so ill, she is once again forced to return to the Laroche farm. A precocious child, far too intelligent for a girl her age, Estelle quickly catches on to the worried glances and hushed whispers of her 'parents' upon the return of her 'sister', and that it goes beyond her poor health. The truth eventually [finally] comes out one midsummer's eve, shortly before Estelle's fourteenth birthday, when Louise is resigned to communicating in wheezes and laboured breaths, relying on her own parents to fill in the gaps, though even their knowledge does not extend to the whole story. Louise does not live to see the harvest of 1806.

Estelle is, understandably, left reeling. In the span of a few short weeks, she has learnt that much of what she's known about herself is untrue––her life has been a lie, even if not a very exciting one in her eyes. A precocious child nonetheless, and far too quick for a girl of her age, she resolves to discover all she can of her real father, who has since come to inherit his own father's title, all the while totally unaware that he has a daughter. The best way to do this, she resolves, is to follow in her mother's footsteps and find employment as a housemaid at Brooks's. She can observe her father in his natural habitat, she can keep her ear to the ground for gossip, she can feel a little bit closer to the woman she always thought was her sister––and she can finally see London.

It does not go quite the way she had envisioned, for it turns out her father is no rake.

Over the course of a year and a half, Estelle discovers quite a lot about the mysterious Duke of Windlesham. He is a mild-mannered and reclusive man; a little too particular about the temperature of his shaving water or the precise time of how long his tea is to steep, but they appear to be his worst foibles. He is a notorious gambler, but never to the point of ruin, and he never makes a bet that he is not confident he can win. He does not drink to the point of drunkness, nor does he smoke beyond the occasional pipe for special occasions. While considered an eccentric by some of his peers, and regarded poorly by some ladies of high society for his refusal to marry, he is more or less a gentleman of the highest calibre, albeit a lonely one. Estelle cannot understand why her mother refused to tell him the truth, why she allowed for them both to live such restrictive lives, why she kept Estelle a secret; and though she would like to respect her late mother's wishes, it turns out she is just as stubborn and principled as the Duke that she has been shadowing for the past eighteen months.

A few short weeks before her sixteenth birthday (1808!), Estelle finds herself pacing the corner of Saville Street and Burlington Gardens, just a few feet away from the comfortable [not sumptuous, but comfortable] mansion where the Duke took up residence whilst in London. She sticks out like a sore thumb in Mayfair, and it is obvious: she finds herself shrinking into the shadows, which makes it difficult to keep an eye on No. 7. The pocket watch that she had purloined from an unlucky gambling gentleman months back is still warm in her reticule, and when she last checked it had told her that it was twenty eight minutes past eleven, meaning she has either experienced the longest two minutes of her entire life, or today is the day that the Duke finally breaks his precise habits and decides not to repair to Brooks's at half past eleven.

But! Lo and behold, just as she has begun to despair and think that she wasted a rare day off on a foolish endeavour, a face that is oh-so-familiar [not least of all because of its resemblance to her own] begins to weave into view. Realising that it is a matter of now or never, Estelle propels herself into his path; an unwise decision, she realises mid-action, to interrupt one of his famed routines, but she never has prided herself on being wise. Intelligent, yes; quick-witted, certainly. But wise? ...

She expects it to be a travesty. A disaster. For her to be shunned and rebuffed, to become a laughing stock of London as the crazed maid from the country who had the audacity to harangue a Duke of all people, and assault him with all sorts of falsehoods.

Yet that is not what happens. After the initial distaste towards being waylaid leaves his features, the Duke gets a certain look [watery? wistful? pained?] in his eye at the mention of a French maid who used to work at the club. Though a taciturn man by nature, Estelle has not ever seen him so speechless in the short time she's been observing him, and it does little to assuage her nerves, but she continues on her rambling. When, finally, she runs out of steam, and finds herself looking rather dumbly on at him, he responds in a way that shocks her to her core: he nods. He muses that perhaps today is the day he will finally be noted as absent at Brooks's, and asks if she would care to join him for a humble breakfast at No. 7 Saville Street, so that they might become better acquainted. She assents––nervously, mind you––and the rest, as they say, is history.

[intrepelle]

WHAT IS YOUR TRUE ROLE IN THE STORY?

the rising underdog. why hello again dearie, i see you managed to help those frogs those children were kicking, hm? oh how much can i emphasize we are but the ghosts of our childhood passions. and, unsurprising enough, the hero to the trodden little creatures of the earth is now a rising golden savior to the masses. oh love, i said you'd go far, didn't i? for the good always prevail in the end, somehow, they do. you lived a difficult life, i know, but you never let that get you down. you took beatings with a grin, and dished back kindness in return. inequality and injustice made you outraged, and you strove to assist the hurting and abused. oh shining dragon, you are bathed in golden light. please keep being true. you have tasted blood and death, but you refused to force it down the throats of others, and that alone proves there is ichor in your veins, demigod. you will be struggling until the very end, battling for your comrades, your people, and yourself. never lose sight of your goal my dear. sometimes you needn't have one, except see the good and protect it. that is all my advice can tell you. i implore, protect the goodness in yourself with everything you have, but never refuse to share it also. young hero, you are growing. you are destined for wonders even i may not live long enough to encounter. keep up the good work, and keep your head held high. you are bound to do the impossible, all because you see the truth. there is good in the world, and it deserves to be found.

tagged by: @halfyearsqueen tagging: if u see it, u should take it !

[intrepelle]

‛‛ I HOPE YOU FIND WHAT YOU ARE LOOKING FOR. ’’

an independent writing blog for estelle, of the inkle interactive fiction game 80 days. also takes inspiration from the jules verne novel, and the 2022 television adaptation. 18+, highly selective, private. as written by meg (23, she/they).

‛‛ THERE IS NO OTHER POSSIBILITY, FOR I WILL NEVER STOP LOOKING. ’’

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