evangeline-huntington

[evangeline-huntington]

She was a slave to the sensory, and it didn't take much for Evie's heart to sing. Birdsong, cool breezes, delicious foods, and, yes, even the smell of raw herbs - it was all the gifts of the natural world, the things that went overlooked, that brought the greatest joy. There was no need to overcomplicate the human condition when bread existed.

"That I am, that I am," she relinquished with a chortle, taking their knitted hands into an easy swing back and forth as they walked, adding to the whimsy of the moment. "Though I am always just as happy to make you happy, love." There was always a freedom in the unserious, and Sarai was an ideal companion for that sort of thing - mostly because her innate composure encouraged Evie to be even less manicured in her behaviors. She did not have to pretend to be one of those that belonged in the presence of royalty. Together, they were two vagabonds taken hostage by artisocrats.

"It is," she began, when she felt her chin arrested by two delicate fingers. A short, half-laugh, half-hum (caught between two worlds; was there liquor in that lemonade?), shoulders shrinking the distance of her neck in bashfulness. "A little. It's mostly, ehm, thyme now," she giggled. "Perhaps after we've worked up a sweat, I can freshen my palette with a drink?" Without wonder or waiting, Evie glided into the twirl, a fresh smattering of pink on her cheeks, smile ablaze on her expression. "After you, my lady."

"We all have our delights, I suppose." And yet, she couldn't help herself any longer. Laughter began to bubble out as she drew closer to the blonde. While she truly believed that Evie was hilarious, she wasn't laughing at her. She was laughing over the situation and how silly it seemed. Here they were, at a fancy event, and it was herbs that was bringing great joy to her dear friend. Truly what a world they live in. "As long as you are happy, Evie dear, I am truly happy for you. Even if that is salivating over raw herbs."

Their fingers intertwining could only help her smile grow. Their friendship truly wasn't unusual in the slightest. If anything, it made perfect sense. With Evie, she was able to be more loose. More carefree and wild, unafraid to look ridiculous. She enjoyed her company and enjoyed the friendship they were creating together. Many have come and gone in her life. The blonde? She was someone Sarai hoped would remain in it for a long time.

"Oh, it is, is it?" Her eyebrow cocked up as she smirked. Her other hand reaching up to capture Evie's chin between her thumb and forefinger. "I thought I saw you enjoying it earlier. Can you still taste it it, even now?" Dark eyes gazed over her striking features. Her head tilting while she smiled. It only grew as she led her out to the dance floor. "Then we best get started, my dear." Giggling, she let go of her chin so Sarai could spin her. Ready to enjoy the night and dance under the stars with Evangeline Huntington.

[evangeline-huntington]

A great deal of respect for him washes over her - not because of anything he's said, but because of what he hasn't. That there is no snivel of his nose at her family's stature (or lack thereof), there is no mincing or dumbing of words because she is a woman, there is no expectant tone in his voice or sanctimonious carriage in his gait that would suggest she should not even consider taking his arm. A stranger holding a stranger; she always liked allowing a gentleman to feel like a gentleman, for it made her feel quite like a lady.

An easy smile makes its way onto her face, charming in all its angles, the pearls of her teeth baring no fangs. "Lady Whistledown," she echoes, the drudgery of her voice placing her opinion square at the forefront, "I should hardly think she'd say anything different of anyone who has the courage to show their face in public anymore. 'They're all aching for the attention of my pen, surely,' good grief. Of course we ache for attention. We are a desperate species, constantly grappling with our inexplicable evolution beyond survival and into fulfillment and purpose." She grinned wryly in his direction. "Of course we all want to escape, love. That's why actors exist."

The noise of the streets seems to fade behind their conversation, and she finds it all too easy to fall into sync with his stride, his cadence. A definitive gratification rises in her chest when his smile finally crinkles the corners of his eyes. "Mister Claremont," she replies, the deep husk in her voice like velvet over warm skin, "you speak of bribes as if I have not already decided to make us friends." A look that lands somewhere between playful and daring. "But I will accept this wager. An amber ale for the day, and a place held in my datebook, written in ink."

Whatever hint of a grin she ensued has not made its bare to bare teeth, a smile ever so slowly uncoiling into a grin. There is something that has shifted in the air, and he isn't sure if its a new act to distract him or a mystery he falls into in front of someone who knows just as little about him as he does of them beyond a name. Only good things in her favor, of course, except a possible up charge on new flavors of ice cream that couldn't be found anywhere else.

"It may easier than you think. Lady Whistledown reports many members of the ton have found their way to the stage. I believe they should all retire from debutante responsibilities and create their own company of runaways," He points out in a cheeky jest. Some part of it does tell him to mind himself. After all, his best friend's sister is one of the names dragged through it and tied up in a matchmaking as he was for some time. "Though I think the desire to escape and flee, and even more so pretend, is part of the human condition. We're all dreamers even if we do not remember when we wake."

He doesn't mean to have so much candor of his pursuits away from London, but he knows they are taken lightly. So many look to the heart of this society as the steps to the pedestal they so desire, but Thayer has fallen from it and how he grows tired of climbing once more.

"Coin tricks? Beer aside, I'm hoping he is only there for the show," He grins, and this time it does reach his eyes. They've found some place between the veil and how quickly they become one without a single care. Her hand wrapped around his arm, friends far too quickly in another battlefield but the one way to win the war in Mayfair. "Perhaps I can bribe you with a friendship by treating you to whatever ale it is you prefer, and if we miss him, you will simply owe me another chase of this coin man around the neighborhood."

[evangeline-huntington]

She simply didn't have the heart to tell her otherwise, even as ardently as she wanted to instill the sentiment within herself. Change of heart was one thing, that was easy - but change of habit was a long, arduous battle uphill. Family loyalty had been ingrained in Evie for as long as she could remember, buried so far down that not even she could discern the different between what she'd been led to know and her own naturally held beliefs. Her belief that things could be different held absolutely no account to her knowing that they shouldn't, and she couldn't explain it outside of that.

Luckily, it was Millicent's silence that caught her attention next, so she didn't have to ponder giving an answer or not for long. The realization that even Millicent had to give it thought was something of a comfort to Evie. It was a pleasant thing to know that even those who seemed to have no guessing left to do in life were still met with questions as to their next step on the path.

She smiled at the answer. "That makes me even happier," she replied with a softness meant to cradle the response, let her know it was perfectly at home between them. Evie took a breath, expanding her ribcage all the way out to the sides, so much that the muscles between each one were happy to wax and wane, and she felt she could finally breathe again. "What do you think of this?" She gestured to the painting as she she dabbed new blots of color onto the grass, an attempt to correct the direction of the sunlight from behind the scene. If this was what made Millicent feel fulfilled, she would milk every moment she could to add to the bowl. "I do think I prefer landscapes. Being able to create an entire world out of thin air, like a fantasy place. Something that only could come from my head."

Millicent nodded her head as Evangeline confirmed that she was happy. "If you are happy, then I'm not sure that anyone needs to force you to change things." She truly hoped that Evangeline was going to be able to forge her own path. She thought that it was important for young women to be able to do their own thing. "Your family will understand, whatever way you go."

Fate went against logic. But she thought that books were maybe what gave way to that for her. Imagination had very little logic. She had always felt a pull towards the cosmic something and Benedict had only confirmed that. She wasn't sure how she felt about it now.

Now that question stumped her. For a little while, she had thought that her new dream had been Adrian and everything that they had together. That was no gone too. "Perhaps ..." She shrugged, "Maybe it's this." She glanced from Evie to the painting supplies and back again, "Teaching you - and perhaps others - is something which I enjoy. Maybe it can be that."

[evangeline-huntington]

"You'll live." There was nothing serious between them, ever. He was another little brother running amok in the house, reminding her of the days of shoes tracking mud all over the den, frogs in boxes under the bed, broken glasses from running too fast across the parlor floor. All to her guilt, of course - Evan was often found somewhere far away from her mess, vocal about his fear of clumsy mishaps. Which he got into anyway. Which she mended on the regular. The yin and yang of the Huntington name.

Evie flung a plain working dress from her cabinet - chances are she'd find herself down there (on her one day off) to fetch ice cream for him, anyway. "Because you've never called my face pretty unless you want for something," she laughed, wagging a hand at him. "Turn 'round if you don't want to be scarred. This is still my room."

Without a beat, she swung her arms over her head and yanked her nightdress from over her head, tossing it over the bed. "Ah, there it is, is it?" She teased him, of course, but it was the highest compliment: a request for comfort, for food, for company. "You do know how to pull just the right levers on me, don't you?" Just as easily as she'd stripped, she was in her dress and turned her back to him again, pulling her bundle of blonde tresses over her one shoulder. "Could you tie me up, please?"

"Ow" Elijah cried as the slipper hit his back. He turned around to face Evie, a smile on his face and a laugh falling from his lips. "I'm the ratbag? You threw a slipper at me!" He threw it back but purposefully missed her, letting it fall short a little.

Before London, Elijah had never really met anyone like the Huntingtons. There were people in his hometown who he had - his mother had a couple friends around who helped her out as much as they could but it was like nothing compared to the level of the Huntingtons. They had taken him in when he needed someone to help him. And as such, he'd gained siblings, a family. People that he had never thought that he would have around him. He didn't know if he would ever be more grateful for that. And he showed his gratefulness in coming in to eat all of their food.

"And why couldn't it just be that I wanted to see your pretty face, huh?" Elijah countered with a laugh. "And, besides, who can resist food from you guys?" He smiled as he crossed his arms over his chest. "And maybe i'm hope there'll be some ice cream in it for me as well."

[evangeline-huntington]

This time, a much more boisterous, bubbly laugh escapes her without warning, though her eyes cast downward in playful embarrassment at his compliment of her sensory prowess and rather clever insult of the others', well, lack. "Like a bloody hound, it is, better set off to the woods to bring back dinner than sniff out the obvious spread at an enormous party," she replied, words still wrapped in a giggle like tinsel around a tree. "Aye, it's beyond me, My Lord. I fear the more you ask me to unravel the secrets of the wealthy and powerful, the more you'll think me criminally uneducated. In their ways, anyway."

It was true - Evie was deft but not schooled. She prided herself on the practical, and the cerebral, well, that was from experience. A part of her did wonder, though, despite the casual talk, if people like Lord Olivier did sit on undertones of prejudice, stuffing them down so not to surface in polite conversation. Why ruin a party with insults? But then, she thought, he wouldn't have teased her in the first place. If it was a prejudiced person's intention to appear unprejudiced, the joke would never have eked from his lips. And so she was satisfied with the idea that she could have been making a new friend, however unexpectedly.

"Ah," a noise that asserted both a truth learned and a thanks given, "well it's a good thing you've warned me of it, then, so I can get out of the path of the stampede I've no interest in joining." A scuffle of her shoe in thought across the floor, eyes cast up toward him with a soft question in her brow. "I take it you're in no hurry, either, then, by the way you speak of it."

She is peculiar— but not in a way that Arden would so easily dismiss or wrinkle his brow at. The room is so plain against her and somehow she is almost other worldly. Then again, some would consider she is as she walks around the outskirts of the ton and their noses pointed so high in the air. How he wishes the rest of them could hold the wonder she has in a single finger!

"I would believe it far more trust worthy than the rest," Arden whispered with that infamous grin. "Whatever instinct the lot of them use, is quite beyond me. What might you think guides these fools to ruin or suspected victory?" Arden spent much time at the parlor on his own courtships, but also playing in plain sight with characters of Mayfair many lost favor for. He was divorced, a scandal within itself, but he was still expected to undo it. In his eyes, he had already served his time and any endeavor with a bouquet was simply to entertain the masses.

"This time of year? Like flies to honey," He scoffs. "Certainly too many, even more so this season with widows looking to be named a gem by the queen or our anonymous gossip. A race to the altar is being used to gain just a glance from Her Majesty, but they commit themselves to a decision they must follow for life unless they have enough evidence to get themselves out of it."

[evangeline-huntington]

Florence Pugh British Vogue (2024)

[evangeline-huntington]

Words catch her off-guard, and she hurriedly places the thyme back in her reticule, snapping it shut, sealing the aroma in its secret for later. The voice was the one meant to fill up every theater to the rafters, entice a rapt audience to every seat. Evie's ear knew that commanding voice almost as well as they knew her mother's. A smile much like one of a child who was caught sneaking sweets from the jar inched up one side of her face. "Over nothing less salacious than raw herbs," she laughed, "a bloody good time, indeed."

All but skipping up to the outstretched hand, Evie latched on like a child being promised a trip to the shops. Her fingers fell easily between the brunette's. An unlikely pair, surely, the two of them, but somehow entirely logical. Two creatives in their prime, each with measures of whimsy and wiles.

Evie could still taste the bisque on her tongue when Sarai mentioned lobster. "Ooh, it's to die for!" she exclaimed, partially to rub it in a bit that she was being shanghaied, but mostly in jest. It had been only a matter of time before she rejoined the party, anyway, and what better way to do so than arm in arm with a friend, sweeping across the dance floor? The dashing eyelashes and the way she could ice skate down the slope of her jaw was impossible to deny. "My darling, you may have two dances, and thrice as many treats besides."

"You certainly looked like you were enjoying yourself."

Amusement rang out in her words, her tone, and on her features as she looked down at her dear friend. While Sarai had noticed her ages ago at the party, the blonde had been completely lost in her enjoyment over sampling each treat and food the chef was preparing. She had let her friend have her fun, deciding that she would reconnect with her after she was done and free.

The actress giggled happily and shook her head. Holding her hand out to Evie's before wiggling her fingers. "Come—I deserve to share a dance with you at least once tonight. You can return to the delicious food afterwards." Pausing, she decided to play nice. "Or you can tell me all about it while we dance together. I've certainly been eyeing the lobster myself and those treats myself."

Their friendship might not have appeared as the most conventional. One of the King's Theater's top actresses and courtesans with a girl who worked at her family's ice cream parlour. She wouldn't be surprised if people were worried about her corrupting Evie. Not that she could blame them, of course. She'd be happy to do so.

But, she was her dear friend, above all. And as nefarious as she could be, she wasn't one to ruin a good friendship.

She widened her brown eyes and batted them at the blonde. Her lips formed in a pout. "Please dance with me, Evie? I would be most honoured."

[evangeline-huntington]

The way the assertion felt on her tongue, tingled like the remnants of lemon on her lips, was enough to give her permission to believe it. There was no fear where there was desire - or, perhaps, it was all the more alive because of it. Perhaps desire lingered upon fear, preyed upon it, instead of the other way around. Boldness appeared not because fear died, but because it drank off the thrill of its intensity. A chuckle, deep and dark and straight from the pit of her belly, just riding the cusp of foreboding, but never mocking, "Discovery of truth does not make fear germinate," a palm meeting the arch of her thigh, not pressing to leave prints, but steady to relay claim, "only avoidance of it."

Lashes upon lashes and breath upon breath, weapons drawn but never dropped. Every movement as though Evie were giving up a secret, hidden between the folds of a piece of parchment, and simply handed over without a second thought. Destruction, she knew, could come from too many moments unguarded, but so could masterpieces. What difference would it make, then, if she burned the paper and wrote a sonnet? "Dangerous," she replied, getting the flavor for it in the back of her throat, "but wouldn't you like to be heard?"

And then Lady Kara was standing before her, her presence even more imposing than her stature, wings stretching out in all directions and filling Evie's attention with smoke and rose. Dessert. The sweet finish to a savory meal, a privilege after the labor, the indulgence for the good and wicked. "A confectioner's prowess." Less than a step, less than a flutter, less than the final breath that lived between them, and Evie found herself tasting, wanting for the sweets on Her Lady's tongue. Eyes unwavering, but she was not looked at - no, Evie felt seen. It was only when she could feel the warmth of skin and the the skip of her heart that she knew she'd given in, broken the thread, surrendered to the game. A pair of lips, equal parts lethal and lithe; a kiss Evie would have sworn was saved for Acelya alone from another life.

a flicker — not surprise, not satisfaction, but something far older — passed behind acelya kara’s eyes at evangeline’s reply. i’m not afraid of anything. the words were bold, certainly. but it wasn’t the declaration that made acelya’s mouth curl at the edges. it was the certainty. and certainty was always such a delicate thing to test. “no?” she asked — not a challenge, not quite — just a question dressed in silk and shadow, carried between them like smoke. her fingertip lingered, a gesture not of possession, but of notation. as if she were reading something written on her skin in invisible ink. “not even of finding out how much you could want something… you shouldn’t?” a pause. “or worse — how much you already do.” and that was the cruelty of it, wasn’t it? not hunger. not even temptation. but recognition. acelya leaned in just enough to let their lashes brush, let the hush of their breath braid together like secrets traded in candlelight. this close, every inhale felt like a confession. every stillness, a sentence yet to be spoken. “you say i choose my words too carefully,” she whispered now, voice barely there, “but i think you simply hear them too well.” a beat. “and that makes you dangerous too.” there was no smile on her lips now. just the suggestion of one. something reverent. something that knew the cost of this kind of game. her hand fell away at last, slowly, deliberately — leaving behind the memory of touch like a ghost that might haunt long after the night was over. “so then,” acelya murmured, standing but not stepping back, “the question isn’t whether you’re afraid.” her gaze held evie’s now, a dark and gleaming thing. “it’s whether you’re brave enough to stay for dessert.”

[evangeline-huntington]

Back against the wall, toying with the hems of her gloves to slip them back on (she couldn't do the food experience justice without feeling it herself, especially when it came to herbs), Evie decided she liked the question. It assumed something about everyone else - that they could only ever be one or the other, but she might have developed a secret third path into life. "Food most certainly is a language," she agreed, "but I believe I am most fluent in the tongue of service, rather than cuisine."

A feline smirk turned the end of her lips into a swirl. "Seek is less humiliating a term for what happened. I sort of just followed the old conk." She tapped the ball of her nose, exposing the true criminal responsible for leading her below deck.

Another weightless chuckle, delighted and at ease that he seemed to be genuinely curious about her life behind the counter. It was uncommon to be quizzed about her intentions rather than her knowledge or offerings. Refreshing. "A ruse against love? That'd be terribly uncharacteristic of me, I think. Unless it's an act of self-sabotage that I am unaware of, in which case I must beg you to save me from myself." She tilted her head and lobbed a curiosity back, a sort of thanks. "Do you think it's too many? I see courtships come and go all the time, yes. Something about sweets puts a rosy tint in people's eyes, I think, for a while. Everybody likes to be spoiled."

An insult? Perhaps, but the way she takes it makes it a worthy taunt sets the tone for the jests he can hurl her way. He watches her like a specimen he has yet to make sense of, but certainly wishes to make a home for. Not something or someone to easily dismiss, but he holds a wonder if she is as easily determined as the rest of Mayfair.

"Do you live to work, or work to live, Miss Huntington?" He asks her. "Or are your sweets the language in which you feel most understood? Here we are at the most grand of celebrations, an elopement to rival a wedding that sits on the very edge of London, and you seek out endeavors for when you return."

It is more of an observation, a plea coated in mischief if only to understand her further. "Or is this a ruse against what is in the air tonight? I do believe you have too many courtships in that shop of yours. They melt faster than the ice cream, do they not?"

[evangeline-huntington]

Evie's heart lost its hard outer shell the second the woman shook her head and tightened her posture, as if the words had come from some other's lips, the insult merely a side effect of whatever ailed the rest of her judgment. She could just as easily forgive a simple mistake as she would a true apology, and this seemed to come with both. She would not deny the abatement it provided her otherwise guarded air. Now, all she felt was sorry for her.

"Apology accepted," she scoffed, though more out of discomfort at the way Miss Blythe appeared to stumble over every word than at the genuine humor of it all. Outside of any better judgment not to insult her in return by providing unnecessary care, Evie kept a strong hold on her arms, moving with the boat's rocking as ably as she could. She knew no time at sea in her entire life, and could scarcely say she was comfortable or practiced, but that was nothing compared to what she witnessed in front of her. "I think a little more than your tongue is misguided at the present, Miss Blythe."

The realization sunk in and locked like a latch and hook - there was very likely about to be a mess in the hall. Instinct jumped to attention, and Evie gently pressed a cool hand to the back of her neck, both holding her head steady (equilibrium, something about the ear and the horizon) and providing a primal comfort. It was something her mother had done when she'd been ill as a child - forehead and neck, always felt better if she needed to wretch. "All right, all right, easy," she cooed, watching her eyes and noting the barely-there breath. "Stroke of luck, I think I've made an alliance with the cooks. Let's fetch you something with mint. Come on, lean on me."

it  is  not  until  miss  huntington’s  words  echo  back  that  amira  feels  their  weight.  clinging  to  the  corners  of  her  mind,  as  stubbornly  as  she  herself  clings  to  the  paneling  of  the  wall.  of  course  she  meant  to  keep  upright.  of  course  she  meant  no  harm.  but  words  thrown  without  care,  have  landed  far  from  their  mark.  her  expression  tightens,  features  gathering  into  something  far  from  the  composure  she  wore  upon  first  stepping  aboard.

“no,  i’m  sorry—  i  did  not  mean…”  but  the  ship  sways.  cresting  over  a  wave,  she  imagines.  and  her  stomach  follows.  the  contents  floating,  unmoored  from  what  had  once  anchored  them.  “if  you  are  a  bottom  feeder,  i  dare  not  ask  where  you  might  place  me.”  and  again,  her  tongue  betrays  her.  the  words  fall  without  thought.  without  understanding  the  truth  they  reveal.“i  truly  am  sorry.  for  both  my  misstep…  and  my  misguided  tongue.”

she  does  what  she  can  to  follow  the  shape  of  conversation,  to  fold  herself  into  some  silhouette  of  normalcy.  but  the  gods  are  not  paying  enough  attention  to  keep  her  steady.

green.  she  repeats  the  word.  the  sound  of  it  a  whisper  fragment,  half-twisted  by  a  helpless  sort  of  laughter.  “i’m  fine.  something  about  sea  legs  and  i’m  afraid  i’ve  yet  to  earn  mine.”  small  boats  were  one  thing.  a  quiet  drift  across  a  still  lake.  summer  sun  freckling  the  ripples  with  color.  she  could  manage  that.  but  this  was  a  different  beast  entirely.  “as  you’ve  said  —  at  a  party  such  as  this,  where  does  a  working-class  lady  belong?”  a  breath.  barely  a  smile.  “i  had  hoped  the  kitchen  might  not  be  too  empty.  perhaps  someone  there  might  spare  a  bit  of  mercy.  or  at  the  very  least…  a  cup  of  tea.”

[evangeline-huntington]

A laugh burbled up and out as easily as water flowing from and overfilled glass. She knew how incredibly silly it must have looked to steal away from an extravagant celebration like this one to the kitchens, only to emerge with a token of raw herbs to show for it. Evie also knew how to put her expert ears to good use - nobody was particularly quiet in the ice cream parlor. For some reason, people assumed their conversations were entirely private because they were generally left alone, despite being very much out in the open. She took a strange shining to Arden's attitude (probably saw herself in it), and so she used his former title as a feather tickling his sides, rather than a sword to tear him apart.

"I know, I know! Of all the occasions to use as the perfect excuse not to occupy the kitchen," she replied with a guilty roll of her eyes. When he held her hand to his nose, she leveraged the vantage point and gave it a playful, nay, affectionate snip between her fingers. "I daresay that sounds like an insult, My Lord," she hummed in response, her smile growing end to end, "if only I weren't so easy to please with a joke." A wink - was it a wink? - and she turned to lean against the wall. "Here? Nothing. But I'm insatiable when it comes to invention - Evan's got more of it in him than I, but I've been known to concoct a recipe or two for the parlor myself. People don't often realize how well the savory complements the sweet."

Oh, yes. There was a reason he was particularly in favor of the Huntington girl. The very way she calls upon him in expired formalities, even in taunt, rings like the most endearing chime to his ears. She challenges not his charm, but his game. Most of the workers at the parlor became an extension of the establishment and that was all they were. But Miss Evangeline Huntington? Well, he knew her name, didn't he? That was impressive enough, even if he did not dwell on the reason. She'd taken his curiosity, and that was as good as his favor.

"All of this for a picking of thyme?" He hums, taking her hand gently to take in the fragrance. It's usually buried under more indulgent delights on a dinner table, but he can see how it peaks his interest— stirs some semblance of an appetite. "You give me the impression you may be too easy to please, Miss Huntington. Whatever will a string of thyme provide for you here?"

Something, however, tells him that she will not satisfy it or him and the same can be said for himself to her.

[evangeline-huntington]

She never wanted to admit the miserable, stubborn sting in her gut that always arose whenever she felt people saying something that might, in a theoretical sense, wrench her away from her family. An inexplicable hold on her heart, the little unit of Huntingtons was attached to the brink of delusion, and she knew it. And yet she couldn't find any shred of her inside that was willing to separate from it, not an iota that desired deviation. Growth, of course, and additions, and interweaving of families and cultures and life's desires.

Nor did Evie want to argue the point. She'd asked for insight, and she received it. So she chose not to rebuke the sentiment, not even for the sake of fleshing out a thought to its completion. The unresolved fear in her heart hung in pieces around her. "I know you're right," she surrendered, voice dropping - but was it from shame, or humility? "And I am happy. I'm... I'm quite happy, actually. I believe I lead a very full, satisfying life."

With a sigh that seemed to release the last of the pressure around her joints, she began mixing the colors on her palette, eyes shifting from the canvas to the paints, trying to match the grass - with a new tint of yellow to fix the lighting problem.

She slowed to a pause when Millicent answered the question. It wasn't a choice - such startling words, in any other context. There was a force, but not by external parties. By fate. The universe. The result of a cosmic equation. The thought both soothed Evie and unnerved her, that her fate was lost to something untouchable, and yet she would never have to worry another day in her life.

A smile, gradual and pure. "So what are you hoping will befall you now? Surely it doesn't go against the universe's great plan to have dreams, desires."

Often, Millicent had wondered what might happen to her if her parents had given more of an interest in what she was doing, in her life in London. She wondered if they would even care who she was courting - she assumed that they wouldn't.

But it was different for Evangeline and Millicent wished that she could give the other a little bit of insight. She wished that she could do something to ease the other womans worries.

"I'm not saying their demise." Millicent would never think of it in such final terms. She couldn't. Otherwise she thought that there was only one way to do things. "But I just mean that they would have to find another way to have what they want, to keep going. But, Evie," She sighed, "It is not the childs job to sustain the parent. And I'm sure if you asked them, they would tell you the same thing - your happiness in your life is important too."

As the question was turned to her, Millicent sighed. Not because she didn't want to answer but because it forced her to face up to the way that her life had turned out.

"It wasn't a choice for me." Millicent replied. "I met my husband and - Everything changed." It was cheesy but true. She had never been one to believe in love at first sight until Benedict. "I think that might be the key, though. You have to be open to whatever plan the universe has in store for you. What is right for you will make itself known."

[evangeline-huntington]

"I've been telling people that for years," she chuckled. "I should be around you more often." Really, Evie should have been struck on the wrist for taunting the poor girl. But she enjoyed an easy game, dared it, even, to up the stakes. Where was the fun without the fanfare? Even the night of the party, the longer she insisted on holding the stare, milked the fake apologies in the ballroom floor, the more sure she became of what she wanted. Perhaps that was cruel. Perhaps it wasn't.

Evie narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips in dramatic thought, though the softness never left her gaze. "Mmm," she hummed, as if pondering a great wonder, "I see, so I shall become perfectly naked, and you shall stand there and gawk, fully clothed and tugging the strings on this poor puppet?" Tsked, still not letting the ends of a smile slip up. "That will never do. You promised me a dress, Edith. You can't cheat your way to the second course. Finish what you started."

"Then they should tell you more." She nodded, a small smile on her face. She didn't feel any type of way from the comment. In fact, she quite liked the acknowledgement that whatever it was between the two of the wasn't just because of the buzz in the air at the party. Edith wasn't crazy. She didn't think that much would come from it. They were young women who wanted to have a little bit of fun. If they could find that fun together then Edith was more than happy to indulge.

Edith only removed her hands from Evangeline when it was absolutely necessary, to let the dress fall the rest of the way to the floor. Her eyes, unashamedly, raked over the other woman for a moment before looked back up at her.

She raised an eyebrow, "I thought -" She started as her hand moved to gently trace along Evangelines shoulder, "That we agreed if we preferred the dress on the floor then it would stay there?" She questioned.

[evangeline-huntington]

From the unseen table beside the door, Evie picked up a slipper and lobbed it at his back with a strength known to a woman who'd spent a lifetime throwing bags of flour over her shoulder and drums of milk into creamers.

"Ratbag!" she laughed, setting the door open wide and turning back into the room to change. "Get back here, idiot."

Evie liked to think of her home as a crucible - where every form and flavor of life could come in, be warm, and meld with one another. The boundaries of class and status weren't just invisible within the Huntington walls - they were outside the realm of possibility. An alternate universe, a time and space separate from reality. No facades of separation or prejudice. Just people, helping people, feeding people, welcoming people. Their front door was a turnstile, their dinner table an altar. No one was turned away from the Huntingtons, and everyone adopted the family name upon arrival. It was a good home, and Evie was most proud to be part of its royalty.

Folding through her few options for dresses that day, Evie called to him without so much as looking over her shoulder. "So what's got you here today? If it's just breakfast, you wouldn't have chosen to risk getting your head violently ripped off from waking me."

Maybe Elijah should've taken the hint but instead, the longer that she took to answer the door, the more annoying he got about it. He could hardly help himself. With no siblings of his own, the Huntingtons had become the closest thing and he was more than happy to see them - however often they would allow him over. Their house was considerably more full now. "I'll give you breakfast but you've gotta come out here first."

This house, these people were the first thing that Elijah had found which was even close to the kind of home that he and his mother had - though considerably louder. He had never felt more at home that he did in that house. And Evie was one of the reasons why he had settled so quickly. "Will you just come out here already?"

"You would never do such a thing to me!" He laughed along with her. At her question, Elijah shrugged his shoulders. "I thought you'd wanna come see me since i'm here for breakfast. But I see, I understand. I love you more than you love me." He nodded. "Evan is my favourite Huntington." There was a cheeky smile on his face as he started to turn from her.

[evangeline-huntington]

There was simply no hiding the Huntington family. The ghost of a gossiper who seemed to glean the most hidden of knowledge in an undetermined way did not exactly frighten her (perhaps it should have) because there were no real mysteries about the city's confectioners. They were a penny for a pound: what society knew of them was, at any given moment, the complete picture. A gregarious, hardworking people, who put smiles in bowls and ice cream in bellies.

It occurred to her quite suddenly that she knew very little of Mister Claremont's family.

A gentle swing of her arms round in thought, Evie chuckled at his remark. "Nah, that's too obvious," she replied with an impish grin. "I don't really have to talk about them at all since that's the case. I think it's because I am more of a talent act than just with a ladle and tea kettle, and I should be gracing the biggest and brightest stages in London for thrice my daily wages." A flamboyant toss of her skirts, a bat of her eyelashes, and she basically sold herself.

He made the impression that he was ready to leave right then and there, and she was not a slow study. Replacing the book on the shelf - who knew if he really meant it as a suggestion? - she told herself she could always circle back round for it after, and her father would survive in boredom, as long as her mother didn't put him out to pasture first. Even the warmth of the spring reached a hand through the open door to have her seize the opportunity.

"Oh, above sounds intriguing," she sighed, striding to his side and giving him a meek, knowing smile. "Best if we keep our feet on the ground, though. I fear between the two of us, we'd happily decide never to come back down." With a confidence that barely crossed her mind, she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. "Let's try left. If the man doing coin tricks is in his usual spot on the corner, I'll buy you a beer. If he's not, you buy me a beer. Accord?"

Thayer cannot help the laugh that slips past his teeth. There is an understanding of her family that is from another lifetime, hopeful thinking flourished to the moment in front of him. The war has been over for the rest of them much longer than it has been for Thayer, and it will be that way until his body is committed to the earth. Evie's recounting of her family is a way he finds himself wishing he could do, but their names die on his tongue with the memory. There is no life with them before the war or after, their legacies even for Thayer belonging only to how they killed and how they were killed.

"The way you speak of your family is quite... unrehearsed," He admits. "It's rather refreshing. Is it because the Huntington's are the very backbone of our society and everyone knows your parlor?" A smirk, but there is still sincerity in his words.

Most members of the ton were tight lipped, even more so under the eye of a gossip whose eyes they could never point out in a crowd, if only to keep their secrets from spilling over in ink. Other times, it was the perfect script some were convinced were pieced together by the playwrights in the Royal Theatre. The impression of a bachelor or a debutante was one thing, but their family? It could be what ruined a romance.

He puts the book back on the shelf, shut with the softest spell of dust in the air as the pages close.

"I think I can agree with that," Thayer nods, smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. As he crosses to the front door, he holds it open for her and afternoon settles over them with the warmth of the sun and a breeze that challenges them out of the shadows of the bookshop. "Right, left, up above?"

[evangeline-huntington]

A voice startled her so much she nearly had her feet come out from under her and land flat out on the desk of the ship. But once she saw the notable face, half-crossed by shadow, and the look of wonder that was caught in his expression, Evie let out a sigh that eased the grip on her lungs. "Whatever could you mean by that?" she laughed, feigning a hint of offense, but not without a bit of confusion tucked in at the corners. "I'm not pining," she added, "least of all for the cook, when so many other nobles are ripe for the picking, Lord Olivier."

Rascally was the kindest of words she could have used to describe Arden, from what she'd seen at the parlor. With the charm of rum candies wrapped in gold, he never seemed to shy away from an opportunity to put someone on the back foot with either a wink or a word - a trait she admired purely for the art of it, the way it required mental chess and the art of torture.

Evie wagged the herb stem between her thumb and forefinger at his question. "Just heart-stopping, tastebud-thrilling, party-enhancing fresh thyme," she chuckled. "I hope you're prepared for a night on the moon."

"Miss Huntington, you're going to convince the lot of us that this wedding is a sham brought on by some elixir slipped into the food," He says, mouth caught in gawking awe and a chuckle. "We can't let the secrets of the Ton out so easily. Everyone should believe it is love that leads to extravagances like these, not pining after one household's cook!"

He'd been watching from afar— it's all he'd found himself capable of doing all night. The rum was tempting, but he did not trust the sway of the ship and sea legs trying steady themselves on waves of liquor as well. The celebration? He'd had his own wedding, in the heart of France, and had to recite his vows four times in a week with how long it all was. Sienna in three dresses, his own cravat knotted five times in different colors for each night, at least a hundred dances learned for the spectacle of it all— he'd had enough of any weddings, even more so after his divorce, for a lifetime.

"What is it you've convinced them to give you now?" He asks her. "I do hope it'll enhance this night."

He'd been looking for something to distract himself all night, if only to keep him from becoming entangled with the wonder of Isadora at his side. It was infectious, and how he'd wish to die of the disease it could become. He was simply convinced he'd be the one to find the cure and ruin it all for her.

[evangeline-huntington]

She should have known better than to wander off, but, really, finding the kitchen had been an accident. Sort of. She'd practically turned bloodhound, the aromas leaving a breadcrumb trail for her to follow, as if laid just for her. All she'd done was trace the dotted line. But she knew she had to reemerge among people eventually, though the underbelly of culinary and arts in general were far more intriguing and satisfying. The practicality of the night also excited her - parties were nothing Evie said no to. If only dancing weren't so difficult on the seas!

Evie nearly jumped out of her skin, dress, and petticoats at the sudden sound of a voice at the other end of the corridor. She rolled her eyes, tugging back a grin when Maude all but skipped over to her, kidnapping her arm. Her nose crinkled, and she leaned in to get a whiff near Mo's lips. "How pissed are you?" she laughed. Evie leaned into the relaxed sway of their walk, the fright leaving her body like prickles falling from her skin. "Hmm, adventure," she purred, eyes cast first to the ceiling in dramatic thought, then back to the devious look on her companion's face, "I won't say no to that."

where was she? where was maude’s blonde other half? beneath a golden painted sky, the curly-haired young woman moved like a thread that was being tugged by another — an invisible string she and evie shared, maude believed. as she weaved her way through the crowd, she artfully dodge any would-be suitors, as laughter drifted like perfume around her and excited whispers about the newlyweds echoed into the salt air. as happy as she was for the couple — and as much as maude adored being surrounded by love — she couldn’t help but feel an ache in her chest. she’d learned recently to be terrified of love. she’d discovered the woman she thought was her mother ( who was really her aunt ) and her father had a loveless marriage because her father was in love with maude’s real mother. her real mother who couldn’t love her and left her behind. if her birth mother looked upon maude as an infant and decided she was unworthy of love, how could maude ever be loved? but, she couldn’t dwell on that today — no. today was for smiles, celebrations, and finding her best friend.

she was thrilled that evie was attending an event — maude couldn’t wait to tug evie along on an adventure. but first, she had to find her. a thought popped into her mind — the kitchens! surely that’s where evie was, so her feet carried her below deck, steps light with anticipation, as if each one carried her closer to her friend. slipping into the bustling warmth of the kitchen, maude casually plucked a few strawberries from a serving tray, popping one into her mouth before turning to the chef to ask if he’d seen an adorable blonde recently — but maude was quickly shooed out of the kitchens, a pout on her lips. where could she be? rounding a corner, nearly defeated, maude’s eyes lit up when they landed on her best friend. “i’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she hummed, looping her arm with evie’s, “what do you say about a little adventure?” a brow raised, a coy grin on her lips, and a pleading look in her eyes.