sunshinetemptress93

[sunshinetemptress93]

[sunshinetemptress93]

drake?

[sunshinetemptress93]

[sunshinetemptress93]

😮‍💨😮‍💨

[sunshinetemptress93]

majesty - part one.

| masterlist | wattpad word count: 16881 summary: in 1803 England, Josephine Dowding escapes a troubled past by accepting a position as governess to the daughters of the Duke and Duchess of Northumberland. thrilled at the opportunity for stability, she devotes herself to her work, hoping her secrets remain buried in the ground and unspoken. however, her resolve is tested when she meets the Duke’s rakish eldest son, Lord Styles, upon his return from war. known for his charm and scandalous reputation, his piercing stares unsettle Josephine during family suppers, leaving her questioning her composure and safety in his presence. as she navigates life in the castle, Josephine struggles to discern whether the creaking noises outside her door are mere whispers of the old manor or the harbinger of something far more personal.

now let's head back to 1803. enjoy.

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The sound of the carriage wheels rattled over the frozen gravel, each jolt jarring Josephine’s fragile composure as she held her cloak closely against herself. A gasp escaped her occasionally, as she found the ride a bit unnerving, her alertness at her forefront when she would go to grab at the seat.

She felt that her old life had been forgotten with every inch that she moved towards a new one.

As the towering spires of Northumberland Manor came into view from the small window, silhouetted against the pale gray of a winter sky, she tightened her grip on the fraying edges of her cloak. This place was meant to be her sanctuary, far removed from the bruises of her past and the whispers of a life she longed to forget back in Surrey.

It had not been long since she had left her previous life, so the memories had been fresh in the back of her mind. The struggle that had come upon her had forever changed her outlook on how life should be lived. She had fled to Ashbourne from Surrey; looking for any sign of a newly advanced life to forget where she had come from. Now, she had found a resilience to move forward—leading her to Northumberland, for a new role.

It was a fear she hadn’t wished upon her worst enemy; the fear of instability, worthlessness—leaving was in her best interest, she knew that now. But it had been a feat to bring herself to this conclusion.

Every sharp sound reminded her of the night that she left. She had been told to stay; she had been instructed to. But something inside of her rushed her cloak over her body, and in an instant, she had fled. She had stayed in the shadows in Ashbourne, hoping for an opportunity such as this to arise. She wondered if he had been looking for her as her mind had continued to encourage.

Ages went by without a lead to a new life.

And then, almost as if all hope had been given up, she found herself on her way to Northumberland Castle with instruction from the Duke and Duchess.

The year was marked as 1803; Northumberland Castle loomed before Josephine Dowding like a somber, snow-dusted fortress in the winter season. This was to be her chance—a position as governess to the Duke and Duchess of Northumberland's daughters, a role that promised purpose, stability, and, most importantly, respectability by those above her in society. When she had gotten the letter of acceptance of the position, she had felt like the wind was knocked out of her.

It was an opportunity for redemption—it was her opportunity to leave when she felt that she had no voice.

Josephine’s hands trembled as they sat in her lap, merely a distraction from all the thoughts that lingered between her ears. It was not the cold that made her shiver but the memory of whispered threats and the bruises that had yet to fade completely.

Northumberland Castle was not just a new beginning—it was to now be her refuge. She would bring her lessons, her capability and poise to the manor now.

Once the carriage had come to a halt, her breathing had started to quicken.

"Miss Dowding, we’ve arrived," the coachman called, snapping her from her reverie.

When the door of the carriage opened, she felt the direct cold air sharp on her skin. Her hand had found its way to the coachman as he simply helped her down to the ground. The gravel beneath her feet crunched before she was able to look upwards at the statute of the manor itself.

Without a word of her own, her eyes traveled to the voice of the woman standing and waiting for an arrival—hers, perhaps. Josephine hadn’t thought of herself to be as important as needing a greeting from the Duchess of Northumberland, Margaretta Styles, herself, so her confidence drifted to a higher place instantly.

The outside of the palace was as grey as the sky, matching the tone of the sad, empty winter scenery. The front had columns that held the structure into place, curvature of arches and green shrubbery that Josephine could only imagine was bustling with fresh flowers in the warmer months.

She took in the sight, wondering how on earth someone was fortunate enough to come from such privilege. But she felt grateful to be able to be a part of it, somehow. As her attention drew away from the palace back to the woman in front of her, she gave her best and most professional smile.

“Miss Dowding, I presume,” The duchess began, her tone measured but not unkind, “welcome to Northumberland—I hope your journey was well traveled. We are pleased to have you join us as governess to our daughters.”

The word of the woman was held with pride and curiosity; Josephine held her shoulders back to offer her best, but she found it hard to tell her own smile this, as the nerves seemed to uphold her.

“Y-Yes—I,” She fumbled over her words, letting her feet move to curtsey, “I am. It’s a privilege to be in your presence and to serve your family, your grace.”

The duchess stepped closer, her gown whispering against the fine gravel. She was an elegant woman, with dark hair coiled neatly at her nape and eyes that missed no detail; Josephine had watched them travel along her corset and cloak that were certainly her best, but by no means the best. For a moment, she studied Josephine in silence, as though assessing her worth with a single glance. A blush had crept onto Josephine’s cheeks as she watched the woman smile, almost fondly.

“You come highly recommended, you know,” the duchess continued, a faint smile gracing her lips. “I trust you are aware of the discipline and refinement required for a position such as this.”

“Yes, your grace,” Josephine replied, lifting her head just enough to meet the duchess’ gaze. “I assure you, and your family, that I am both capable and committed to this opportunity.”

The duchess nodded, her expression softening. “Good. My children can be... very spirited at times, particularly Beatrice. I expect you will handle them with patience and resolve.”

“I shall, your grace,” Josephine said, a flicker of confidence finding its way into her voice. If there was one thing that she was confident on, it had been her ability to speak with children.

“Excellent.” The duchess gestured back towards the house; another woman, older than them both, had made her way out to the courtyard to greet them.

“Come, you’ve had a long journey, and I wish to hear more about you. After all, if you are to guide my children, it is only fitting that I know the woman entrusted with such a task. Miss Ellory here will assist with your bags, and we will allow you to freshen before we sit for a tea.”

The duchess recognized that another person had been standing there, her eyes flickering towards the carriage for Ellory to retrieve Josephine’s bags.

Josephine hesitated, startled by the invitation, but quickly curtsied again. “Of course, your grace. Thank you.”

As the grand oak doors swung open to reveal flickering candlelight and shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly, a knot formed in her stomach that hadn’t been there previously. For all its promise of safety, something about the manor—which she now realized was quite the castle—had given her a reminder of the task that she had assigned to herself.

The grand foyer was a marvel. Walls adorned with ancestral portraits loomed over her, their subjects’ eyes seeming to follow her as she walked through the hallways towards the sitting room that was anything but subtle. A massive chandelier hung above, its crystals glittering in the flickering firelight. Josephine’s lips parted in awe, though she quickly suppressed the expression, wary of seeming too impressed.

"This way, Miss Dowding," said the stern-faced housekeeper, Ellory, who led her through a labyrinth of hallways. Her small room, tucked in the east wing, was modest—plain furniture, a narrow bed, and a single frosted window—but it was hers.

"It will do just fine," Josephine murmured softly, setting her trunk down. She had given Ellory a smile of encouragement, hoping to not signify anything differently than her complete and utter approval.

“Tea will be in the main hall momentarily. Take a moment to freshen up for the duchess,” Ellory’s words were curt, but they were met with a small up-turn of her lips when Josephine stared at her with a doe-eyed look of fear. “Just as a small favor, make sure to tell her how much you adore the new timepiece on the mantel. It is a gift from her son—she will think very highly of your compliment, I am sure.”

The tidbit of information made Josephine’s head tilt just a bit, almost as if the hint was a dutiful favor from one act of service to another.

Josephine took in a breath, taking the information in before she nodded a few times. “Very well, I appreciate the gesture,” She smiled at the woman, “Thank you.”

Once she had been left alone, the wooden door shut with a clank. The room wasn’t very well lit, hardly able to see her hands in front of her once she had been closed into the tight space.

This was not just an adjustment, but a change far greater than Josephine could have ever dreamed of. She was far more grateful to this opportunity than she could ever say with any verbal discussion, but she hoped that her work would translate her gratitude to the duke and duchess.

As Josephine moved to sit, she felt a glimmer of hope that she hadn’t felt previously; almost as if everything that she had dealt with prior had led to this moment. She took a heavy breath, pushing all the air out of her lungs in relief. The duchess’s tone carried authority, but there was warmth beneath it, she could tell—a sign that perhaps this new chapter in her life would not be as daunting as she had feared. Or so she hoped.

---

Josephine smoothed her skirts yet again, feeling the weight of the moment as she descended the grand staircase of Northumberland Hall, down towards the main affair where she knew that the duchess would be waiting. Her nerves had gotten the best of her, wondering if she had left the Lady waiting for too long.

Each step echoed faintly against the stone walls, a reminder of the vastness of her new world. She hadn’t seen a residence such as this before, which led her mind to take a wander on what could possibly be behind each door. The late afternoon sunlight, which had now been gracefully pushing through the dark clouds, filtered through the towering stained-glass windows, casting dappled hues of crimson and gold onto the polished wooden banister.

She reached the foot of the staircase, pausing to take in the opulence of the main hall. Marble columns stretched to a high, vaulted ceiling adorned with intricate plasterwork. Above the massive stone hearth, a portrait of the late duke loomed, his stern gaze following her as if appraising the new governess. The fire beneath crackled warmly, casting flickering shadows across the room.

At the center of this stately scene sat the Duchess of Northumberland, poised with regal elegance in an intricately carved high-backed chair. She wore a gown of deep emerald green, the fabric shimmering faintly in the firelight, and a delicate string of pearls adorned her neck. Her sharp eyes fixed on Josephine with an assessing gaze that made her feel simultaneously welcome and on trial, both giving her lungs a moment of cease.

"Miss Josephine," the duchess greeted, her voice a harmonious blend of authority and civility. "Do join me, won’t you? We have much to discuss, and I am sure you are famished.”

Josephine curtsied deeply, her palms damp against her skirts. "Your grace, thank you for your hospitality."

“Please,” The duchess shook her wrist at the curtsey, “No need for pleasantries any longer. You are welcome here and are to be a part of our family. For I am not of royal blood, but just matrimony.” She laughed softly, her fingertips tracing the pearls around her neck.

Josephine let out a sigh of relief, “As you wish, thank you.”

The duchess gestured with a graceful hand to the tea service laid out on a low table of polished mahogany. Fine China cups, rimmed with gold, gleamed under the light of the chandelier overhead. A silver teapot steamed gently, its scent a comforting mix of bergamot and lavender. Josephine took a few small crackers that had been laid on the plates in front of them. She took it upon herself to take a few bites, shutting her eyes as she was thankful for the snack.

"Please," the duchess said, pouring tea with measured precision in each of their cups. "Sit. Make yourself feel at home here.”

Josephine had taken time to make her way to the opposite seat across from the Duchess. “Your home is one of dreams, your grace, truly.”

The duchess stared up at her with what Josephine could only identify as a sheepish grin, her hand moving to take ahold of the teacup that she held in front of her lips now. “It is a privilege to live within these walls,” She shook her head with wonder, “The history and folklore that these walls preside is nothing that I take for granted. I remember the day that the duke and I found our residence here—the day after we wed,” Josephine saw the awe on her face at the remembrance of that day, “It had to be the most gracious day of my life.”

Josephine took a sip of her own tea, letting her hands fall into her lap with the small cup. “I imagine it has always been quite beautiful, especially raising a family here. I love the countryside.”

The duchess tilted her head slightly, studying Josephine as if weighing her response. "Tell me, Miss Josephine, where is it you come from? Your accent has a softness that suggests you are not of the North."

Josephine straightened in her chair, her hands lightly gripping her teacup. "No, your grace, you are correct. I am from Surrey, originally—however, I am coming this morning from a small village in Ashbourne. It is by the sea.”

She hoped that the duchess didn’t inquire anything further regarding Ashbourne, as it had been her refuge, not her homestead.

The duchess raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering across her otherwise impassive features. "And your family?"

A sigh of relief seemed to coat Josephine’s lungs for a moment before she found her voice again.

"My parents are tenants on an estate," Josephine explained, her voice steady but reserved. "My father is the steward of the land and stables, and my mother oversees the household for the squire."

"An industrious upbringing," the duchess observed. "And your siblings? I presume you have them?"

Josephine hesitated for a moment before answering. "I have an elder brother, William. He manages the estate with my father. And I had a younger sister,” She paused, her voice softening as she thought of Florence fondly. "She passed away when she was very young. They believe that it had been fever."

The duchess’ expression shifted slightly, her sharp gaze softening at the edges. "My deepest condolences regarding your sister. It isn’t lost on me how difficult that is," She licked her lips softly, “My eldest sister had died of plague when I was only seven—it devastated my mother to bits, I don’t believe she was ever the same.”

"Thank you, your grace. I am sorry to hear of your sister, as well.” Josephine replied, bowing her head slightly.

After a sad beat, the duchess took another sip of her tea and found herself questioning Josephine yet again.

“How did you come to this profession?" The duchess inquired, leaning back in her chair, her hands folded neatly over her lap, the tea having a coat of steam beaming upwards on the table across from her.

"My mother encouraged me to pursue an education beyond what was typical for our privilege," Josephine said. "She believed it was the surest path to independence. I was fortunate to study under a governess as a girl, and I later took positions with other families in the region to help solidify my understandings of literature and arithmetic. I am quite fond of literature, if I am to be biased."

The duchess nodded; her expression unreadable, but Josephine felt that it had an air of relief along with it. "A sensible decision. You seem well-suited for the role, especially with your presence here today, with me,” She took in a breath as she shook her head with a taught smile, “You will have to take a glance at our library if you are so interested in literature. It is quite an impressive spread, if I do say so myself. From the travels of my son, it is imperative that you take advantage of his collection.”

A soft rustle caught her attention, then. Two young girls, peeking from behind the heavy brocade curtains at the far end of the hall, giggled before stepping hesitantly into view.

"My goodness, girls," The duchess announced with a laugh, her tone softening as her gaze fell upon them. "Miss Josephine, I am quite sorry for their abrupt appearance—they can be so mischievous,” She turned to the young girls again, “Eleanor and Beatrice, please come introduce yourselves at once.”

Lady Eleanor, the elder at about twelve, stood with a poised stillness that seemed to mirror her mother. Her auburn hair was swept into an elegant braid, and her blue-gray eyes regarded Josephine with quiet curiosity. Lady Beatrice, no more than eight, radiated a perpetrating energy. Her dark curls framed a round, impish face, and she shifted from foot to foot, her hands clasped behind her back as if hiding some mischief. Both carried the same facial freckles that left Josephine in awe of their natural beauty.

The duchess waved a hand towards the young girls as they made their entrance, standing in front with their eyes on Josephine.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Josephine offered, taking a stand. “I am Josephine, and I am quite ecstatic to fulfill my role in helping you learn.”

"It will be your charge to oversee their education and development. Eleanor is excelling in literature but requires additional focus in mathematics and French. Beatrice..." The duchess paused, casting a knowing look at her youngest. "Beatrice will need someone to channel her... enthusiasm into more productive endeavors."

Beatrice giggled openly, her laugh as bright as her mother’s pearls, while Eleanor cast her a sidelong glance of gentle reproach.

"I shall do my utmost, your grace," Josephine replied, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "It is an honor to be entrusted with their care."

"You may establish your own routine as you wish," The duchess said, her tone firm but not unkind. "However, discipline and decorum are paramount. They must be prepared for their roles in society, and this household will tolerate nothing less."

"Of course, your grace.” Josephine said with a nod.

Eleanor spoke at last, her voice soft but clear. "Will you be teaching us history, too? I’d like to learn more about the Wars of the Roses."

Josephine’s smile widened at her gesture towards learning. "I’d be delighted, Lady Eleanor. Perhaps we can even study historical figures through their letters and journals. I hear that there is quite an impressive library here; I would love to explore that with you."

Beatrice leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she took ahold of Josephine’s wrist for a moment "Do you know riddles? Miss Carden didn’t, and she always made me write lines instead."

Josephine chuckled at the childish question, watching the duchess’ knowing eyebrow quirk at the measure. "I do know a few. Maybe we can trade riddles once your lessons are complete. Or perhaps, after supper this evening."

Beatrice clapped her hands in delight, while Eleanor’s lips curved in a faint, approving smile.

The duchess observed the exchange in silence, her expression unreadable. Finally, she nodded. "You may begin tomorrow. Take this afternoon to familiarize yourself with the girls and the household,” The duchess stared at the girls for a moment, “Eleanor and Beatrice, please go finish freshening up. We will be seating for dinner soon, and I know that it can take you quite some time, hm?”

The teasing look of the mother made the girls giggle with knowingness as they adhered to their mother’s direction, making their way towards the stairwell to take them to their rooms.

The duchess poured another cup of tea, the faint chime of the porcelain echoing in the vastness of the hall. The fire crackled warmly, and Josephine watched the flames dance for a moment, the weight of her new role settling on her shoulders.

Josephine let her eyes drift to the mantel that sat the timepiece that Ellory had made a mention of when she had been freshening up in her quarters. “They seem delightful, your grace. I look forward to working with them.” A pause for a moment before she licked over her lip softly, “I cannot help but notice the beauty of that timepiece there. It is quite magnificent.”

The duchess took in a breath before she seemed taken by Josephine’s compliment, nodding as she finished the rest of the tea in her cup. “Thank you,” She seemed to remember a fondness, “My eldest brought that back from France as a gift. Isn’t it lovely?”

It had taken a moment for Josephine to think about the implications of the comment; taking some time to make sure that she had been thorough enough with her questioning of her role and duties. “Will I be overseeing their education as well?”

The duchess laughed lightly; a sound as soft as silk as she shook her head. “No, Miss Josephine. Lord Styles is well beyond needing a governess. He’s recently returned from London—he is the one I stated had the collection of literature in our library. He spends most of his time... elsewhere.” Her eyes sparkled as she took another sip of tea. “Though I imagine he will find his way here for dinner this evening, and I would be delighted to introduce you.”

Josephine hesitated, sensing something unspoken in the duchess’ tone, but she didn’t question it; instead, succumbing and nodding. “I see. I look forward to meeting him, your grace.”

The duchess set her teacup down with deliberate care, her smirk settling into a satisfied smile. “Oh, I have no doubt you will, Miss Josephine. No doubt at all.” A knowing look made Josephine smile, “He is quite something.”

Josephine felt a strange warmth rise to her cheeks, though she couldn’t quite place why. The duchess returned her attention to the fire, her thoughts her own, as if she already knew what the evening might bring.

---

The soft glow of the evening lamps illuminated the grand corridors of Northumberland Hall as Josephine made her way down the stairs, once again, and towards the dining hall as instructed. She was able to get a few moments of rest after tea with the duchess, letting her eyes shut briefly. Before she knew it, the sky had fallen into a darkness quickly as she knew it quickly did in the winter months.

Once on the main level of the palace, she had noticed that quite a few more individuals were filling the space of the large manor. Much more than before, she thought.

The faint hum of activity filled the air—servants bustling about, arranging flowers, polishing silver, and ensuring every detail was immaculate for supper. Though new to the household, Josephine couldn’t ignore the lively energy that seemed to ripple through the palace tonight. While she knew to expect the duchess, Eleanor, and Beatrice to attend dinner, she still hadn’t made contact with the duke yet—or new information to her, the Marquess who had been discussed earlier.

The eldest child, son of the duke and duchess, she had learned.

Approaching the dining wing, she slowed her pace once she was able to hear some faint voices ahead of her. While she had been raised not to pry, it had been a saving grace for her in the past—knowing what was to come. Her ears caught snippets of a conversation between two footmen stationed near the service door, as if awaiting the arrival. They spoke in hushed tones, their voices low but tinged with excitement. It intrigued her greater, so her pace slowed.

“Lord Styles arrived this morning,” one whispered. “Straight from London. Brought his valet and half his wardrobe, I’d wager. Who knows how long his reign will be here.”

“London? He barely stayed a month, then. I wasn’t aware he had been back to mainland at all.” The other replied. “Always restless, that one. The war changed him, they say, but his charm hasn’t dulled a bit.”

Josephine held herself against the wall as she tried to lean her neck forward just a few more lengths.

“Charming or not,” the first murmured, “he’s still a hero. The stories you hear—the things he’s seen—makes you wonder how anyone comes back the same. He’s haunted, they say, though he hides it well enough. Still… his reputation precedes him, doesn’t it? Even the ladies in London can’t seem to resist him. Maybe he will be staying for social season. Maybe he will be settling.”

Josephine paused in the shadow of the corridor, her brow furrowing.

A hero. Restless. Haunted. Their words painted an image of someone far more complex than the heir to a dukedom she’d imagined. Her thoughts on the matter hadn’t been that pressed, but she certainly wasn’t aware that she was about to dine with a hero, at that.

She resumed her steps, her curiosity growing with each passing moment. Protocol for a governess was rarely complicated, as she understood it, but Lord Styles seemed to command a certain gravity of a situation that she was merely unfamiliar. If she was to dine in his presence, she needed to be prepared.

As she wandered down the hall, she spotted Miss Ellory in the side hall directing maids to their posts, Josephine approached her with quiet purpose, then. The older woman, always sharp-eyed, noticed her immediately.

“Miss Josephine,” Miss Ellory greeted with a brisk nod. “What can I do for you? I do not expect that we will be sitting down for supper for just a while yet.”

Josephine hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I appreciate your timeliness, Ellory,” She nodded, “But I have more of a question regarding placement here, that you could possibly answer for me. I-I, well,” She paused for a moment before Ellory egged her on.

“Go on, dear.” She suggested softly.

“I understand Lord Styles will be joining supper this evening. I thought it prudent to inquire about any expectations regarding his presence—I have heard stories about him that seem far serious, and I wish to ensure I observe the proper decorum and not be naïve.”

Miss Ellory paused at Josephine’s question, watching with a flicker of understanding crossing her face then. “Ah, yes. Lord Styles.” She motioned for a maid to step aside, then turned her full attention to Josephine. “His arrival always stirs the household. You needn’t worry about decorum—he’s no tyrant—but it’s wise to understand the man, certainly. I know him quite well, as I watched him become a man in these halls.”

Josephine nodded, waiting as the housekeeper seemed to consider her words carefully.

“Lord Styles is the eldest son, the Duke and Duchess’s pride and heir,” Miss Ellory explained. “He returned from the wars a hero in the eyes of the world—truly, Northumberland salute him as far above his lordship, it seems. His bravery on the battlefield earned him renown, though he rarely speaks of it himself.” She paused, her voice softening to try and make it quiet, just between the two of them as they stood off and away from the others. “The war left its scars. Haunted, perhaps would be a better term for it. He conceals it with charm, but those who’ve known him longer can see the shadows beneath. I believe that he is merely covering up what he’s seen.”

Josephine’s fingers tightened slightly around the edge of her shawl as she drew it around herself, “And what of his reputation?”

Miss Ellory’s lips curved faintly, though her tone remained measured. “I see you may have heard some notorious gossip around the premise.” The teasing nature of the words left Josephine with a hare of blush on her cheek—Ellory scrunched her nose at the viewing.

“Before the war, Lord Styles was known as a rake, a man of society who could charm his way through any salon in London—believe me, I had a fair share of ensuring that princesses were sent to their carriages quickly and fervently in the night, without a sight here at the manor. So, God only knows what he has been up to in London. It’s completely improper, I know, but I know that the Lord’s heart is full and wonderous. He’s still the same in some ways—his wit is sharp, and women are drawn to him—but his time on the battlefield changed him. There’s a depth to him now, though I suspect even he struggles to reconcile who he was with who he is.”

Josephine felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite name—sympathy, curiosity, or perhaps a touch of apprehension. “I see. Thank you, Miss Ellory.”

The housekeeper nodded, her expression softening. “You’ll do well enough, Miss Josephine. Just be yourself. He’s had enough of insincerity in London, I imagine,” She reached to hold onto Josephine’s upper arm, giving her a squeeze, “I suspect that he’ll find you quite charming; possibly the sincerity he’ll need to return back here.”

With a soft nod, a hearty glance, Josephine felt a warmth in the touch. She gave a nod to Ellory with a thanks. “I appreciate you warning me. I don’t want to miss a thing.”

Ellory shook her head, letting the smile on her face show. “I don’t think you will miss a thing, Miss Josephine. You’ve got an inkling for observation, and I think that will do you a great service here. It’s best to stay informed.”

Josephine murmured her another short thanks before continuing down the corridor.

As she passed through the arched doorway into the drawing room, the low hum of activity faded with the space put between it. When she stepped into the room, she had noticed that Eleanor sat curled on the sofa, her auburn hair falling in neat waves over her shoulders as she pored over a leather-bound book. Beatrice was sprawled on the carpet nearby, absently playing with a wooden horse as the fire roared on the other side of her.

Josephine took a seat beside Eleanor, her curiosity now redirected. “What are you reading, Lady Eleanor?”

Eleanor glanced up, her expression momentarily brightening when she recognized Josephine taking a seat beside her “A book about ancient Rome. Did you know they had aqueducts that carried water to entire cities?”

Josephine smiled at the child’s curiosity, seeing a glimmer of herself in the hunger for knowledge and learning. “Indeed, I did. The ingenuity of their engineering is remarkable, isn’t it? Have you reached the part about Julius Caesar yet?”

Eleanor nodded enthusiastically, launching into an animated description of the chapter she’d just finished— the part of the story when civil war in Italy had been impeding with Caesar’s leadership. Josephine listened intently, occasionally glancing at Beatrice, who was now attempting to balance her toy horse on one of her slippers. When the horse fell, she rolled her eyes with impatience; leading Josephine to smile momentarily.

“I see that you have excellent memory and observation, Lady Eleanor,” Josephine praised, watching as the young girl flipped through the pages in significant intrigue and excitement, “I shall hope to find things that will continue to interest you—I’m sure there are many things that we can study around Caesar. His letters are brilliant, his writing is exquisite.”

The young girl’s head whipped around in delight, “I would love that!”

While the sounds from the manor had ceased by her entrance of the room, it had begun to grow louder again. Josephine had turned her head to the sound of approaching footsteps; it had interrupted the quiet rhythm of their conversation regarding the read that Eleanor held in her hands. The voices carried through the hall, warm and welcoming, followed by a deeper tone—unmistakably masculine and faintly amused.

Josephine looked up just as Eleanor and Beatrice bolted from their spots, their skirts swishing as they raced toward the doorway when some individuals had entered the arched doorway.

“Harry!” Beatrice squealed, her voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room, in a childish manner that felt so pure and wholesome.

Lord Styles, his tall frame silhouetted against the lamplight of the hall. His dark hair was slightly unruly, his features sharp and striking as the dancing silhouette of the oil lamp. He was dressed impeccably; sharp golds glistened against the dark black of the coat tailored to his shoulders and waist. Though his posture carried a casual ease, it was suggested that he hadn’t been comfortable with formality.

He crouched slightly as Beatrice threw herself into his arms, laughing as he spun her in a brief circle. Eleanor followed more decorously from her space next to Josephine, though her smile was no less eager.

“My sweet girls, hello,” he said warmly, his voice rich and smooth as he held Beatrice on his hip, with a spectacular ease, and Eleanor held her arms around his waist.

The duchess followed close behind, her expression softening as she watched her children reunite. She caught Josephine’s eye for the briefest moment, her gaze flickering with that same knowing glint Josephine had seen earlier in the day.

Josephine sat frozen on the sofa, her hands resting lightly on her lap. She could feel the faint hum of energy that seemed to follow Lord Styles into the room, his presence commanding without effort. While she was glad that she had talked with Ellory prior to this, she wasn’t sure the proper protocol to introduce herself. High society worried her—she knew how to curtsey, how to say hello, how to introduce herself, but that felt almost insecure at that moment.

She suddenly understood why the staff had spoken of him with such reverence—and why the duchess had smirked when she mentioned him earlier. It was not lost on her that his presence would have made the enemy cower; he was tall, broody, a sense of confidence that lingered from the undeniable cut of his jawline to the way he stood so effortlessly.

As Lord Styles straightened, his gaze briefly swept the room, pausing when it landed on Josephine. His eyes held hers for a moment—curious, assessing, and faintly amused that she hadn’t made her way to introduce herself—before he turned his attention back to his family.

Josephine let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She remained seated on the sofa, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she watched the reunion unfold. Beatrice clung to Lord Styles, Eleanor stood beside him, quieter but no less eager, her hands clasped behind his back. “It is so good to have you home, Harry,” she said softly, her words carrying a depth of sincerity that made her older brother’s expression soften. “We’ve missed you greatly.”

“And it’s good to see you again, Ellie. I am glad to be back home.” He replied, brushing a strand of auburn hair from her face.

The duchess watched her children with an almost imperceptible smile, but her gaze flicked briefly to Josephine, who remained still and composed, unsure if she should join the conversation or wait to be addressed. Another man, who had just then entered the room, stood near the fireplace, his stern features softened by the glow of the flames as he observed the scene with quiet pride.

At last, the duchess broke the moment. “Benedict, Harry—I would like to introduce you to our guest this evening. Well, she’s going to be our guest most evenings, as Miss Josephine has arrived. She is to be our new houseguest—she has arrived this morning, as well.” The duchess turns towards her husband, “Miss Dowding, it is my highest honor to introduce you to my husband, the Duke of Northumberland, Benedict Styles,” She turned towards the marquess, “And to my eldest, Marquess of Havenbrook, Lord Harry Styles.”

Josephine’s heart skipped a beat as all eyes turned toward her. She rose gracefully—she had hoped—from the sofa, smoothing her skirts as she stepped forward and towards the family reunion of sorts.

Josephine curtsied, keeping her voice steady despite the weight of his attention from both the Duke and Lord themselves. “Miss Josephine Dowding, your graces. I’ve recently joined the household as governess to Lady Eleanor and Lady Beatrice. I hope to exceed all expectations.”

The duke bowed his head at the woman to acknowledge her grace, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Dowding. You shall make a great impact on our children, I hope.”

Lord Styles’ lips curved into a faint, amused smile as he interrupted his father, “A governess? I will see that my sisters are in excellent hands.”

Eleanor tugged at his arm, beaming. “Oh, she’s wonderful, Harry! She says she knows riddles and stories and even said we could study Julius Caesar’s letters!”

“Julius Caesar, you say? That is far more than just literature and arithmetic,” Lord Styles arched an eyebrow, his smile widening. “I can see you’re already raising their expectations, Miss Dowding. I’ll have to keep up with the lessons myself.”

Josephine felt a blush rise to her cheeks but managed a polite smile. “I am sure that you would be able to keep up just fine, my lord.”

His eyes lingered on hers for a moment longer than necessary, she is positive, his expression unreadable in that precise moment. Then, with a faint tilt of his head, he turned back to his sisters.

“Well then,” the duchess said, clapping her hands lightly to draw everyone’s attention. “Now that introductions have been made, shall we proceed to supper in the dining hall?”

The family began moving toward the dining room, the duke offering his arm to the duchess as the girls followed in a flurry of chatter, not allowing any space between themselves and the marquess. Josephine trailed behind, her thoughts spinning as she tried to process the interaction.

Lord Styles had an undeniable presence—charming, yes, but also enigmatic. She had seen the way his eyes had darkened, just for a moment, when Eleanor spoke of his absence, and she couldn’t shake the sense that there was far more to him than the confident man who had stridden into the room with ease.

As they entered the dining room, Josephine was struck again by the grandeur of Northumberland Hall. The table was set with gleaming silver and crystal, the centerpiece a lavish arrangement of winter blooms that were covered in reds and greens to bring in the holiday season, approaching quickly. She took her assigned seat at the far end of the table, aware that her role at the table would require a balance of invisibility and attentiveness.

Lord Styles was seated to the right of her, at the head of the table, his mother on the opposite side of him. Eleanor sat on the opposite side of Josephine, Beatrice across from her—the duke at the other end of the table. Though he spoke animatedly with Eleanor and Beatrice, Josephine noticed moments where his gaze would drift, his expression distant, as though his thoughts were miles away. She hadn’t meant to stare, but she felt almost drawn to the way his facial construction had met expectations that were heavenly sent.

At one point, his eyes flicked to Josephine again, and she quickly dropped her gaze, pretending to adjust her napkin on her lap meaningfully. A faint smile played at the corner of his lips, as though he had caught her observation and found it quite amusing.

“I believe that a toast will be in order,” The duchess stated, holding her glass before looking over at the duke, “My dear, if you would please make a toast to honor Miss Dowding and Harry’s arrival.”

“Certainly,” The duke stood in his spot at the end of the table, raising his glass. “I would like to invite us to toast—Miss Dowding, your arrival has been awaiting us, especially since the sad departure of Miss Carden. We welcome you to our residence, and hope you find it to be comforting, warm, and a beautiful place to stay.”

Josephine smiled at the gesture, nodding in her appreciation as she watched the man turn to his own.

“Son, it’s marvelous to have you back at this manor, in the safety of our home. We relish everything that you have fought for and cannot wait to hear every detail of your travels during your stay back here. Your bravery for our country has exceed all our expectations, and we cannot welcome you back enough,” The duke holds his glass, “To this lovely supper, and to all of our prosperities.”

The warmth of the meal—the roast lamb with stewed vegetables had unfolded with ease, filled with laughter and light conversation between the six of them at the relatively small table. Yet, beneath the surface, Josephine felt the undercurrents of something unspoken—a tension or perhaps a weight that hung over Lord Styles like a shadow. His eyes remained fixed in some respects, watching as he held the knife with a bit of a shake to his fingers.

It was enough to make her stare, which led to her being a bit spooked by his directness towards her, his voice penetrating her studying.

"Miss Dowding," he said, his tone unreadable as Josephine watched his trained green eyes inhabit the way that she used her own knife, eyes blazing at her before she felt the redness cross her cheeks. "I trust you’re finding your position… satisfying so far?"

Josephine stiffened as Harry turned his gaze back to her.

"Very much so, my lord," she replied, her voice steady despite the way her heart raced just at the directness of his questioning.

He didn’t look away. "And are my sisters proving to be apt pupils?"

"As I’ve just arrived, I cannot give my truest thoughts, but from the time I have spent with them thus far, they are bright and eager to learn," Josephine said carefully, feeling the weight of every word under his scrutiny. "It will be a privilege to guide them to be their best, I can assure you."

The corner of his mouth quirked; a ghost of a smile that felt more mocking than kind, if she was being honest. "A governess who finds privilege in duty. How… rare." A dry laugh left him; his eyes moving to his mother as she quirked an eyebrow at his humor.

The duchess shook her head at his observation. “I think you would find that Miss Dowding is quite determined.”

“I shall see for myself, then.” Harry solidified, “I would like to sit in on a lesson—make sure that this is to be up to our standards. I would hate for Eleanor and Beatrice to get the wrong impressions on literary complex, hm?”

Josephine let her chewing of the cooked carrot take her mind off his own determination to possibly undermine her teachings.

“I would absolutely encourage that,” Josephine nodded in agreement with the lord’s comment. “You will be welcome to sit in on a lesson at any time.”

The conversation moved on, but Josephine felt his eyes on her throughout the meal. She dared not meet his gaze, but the heat of it lingered, making her pulse quicken and her appetite vanish just by the way she felt overwhelmed with judgement.

The fire crackled gently in the hearth that sat behind the duke, adding warmth to the air, but Josephine couldn’t shake the chill settling in her chest at the way she felt singled; intimidated by the wonder and curiosity of the man beside her. She sat near the end of the long table, her position a reminder of her role in the household—present, but on the periphery.

The duke and duchess were engaged in polite conversation about estate matters, while Eleanor and Beatrice giggled at some private joke shared between them, across from one another. Lord Styles had been quiet for most of the meal, save for the occasional charming quip or comment directed at his sisters.

Finally, during a lull in conversation, Lord Styles leaned back in his chair and directed his attention toward Josephine. “Miss Dowding,” he began, his tone more pleasant than previously, but edged with curiosity. “I apologize for not inquiring sooner—but where are you from?”

Josephine swallowed, knowing where this conversation was leading, but settling for a moment.

“Ashbourne, my lord.”

Harry looks up from his plate for a moment, eyes squinting at the answer, “It’s not often one hears of a governess arriving from a place like Ashbourne. How did you find your way to Northumberland?”

Josephine froze for a fraction of a second, her hand tightening imperceptibly on her fork. She had expected questions eventually, but not so soon—and not so directly with the tone that he had used. She forced a calm smile, willing her voice to remain steady.

“I was fortunate to hear of the position through a family acquaintance,” she replied. “They spoke highly of the household and its reputation. I was quite interested in the premise of teaching young minds.”

“Indeed?” Harry’s eyebrows rose, his expression unreadable. “It’s a rather quiet place for one so capable and evidently well-educated. Ah—and certainly you know the Wilton’s, then?”

The question hung in the air, and Josephine felt the weight of all eyes on her. She could see Eleanor and Beatrice glance between her and their brother, their innocent curiosity mirroring his sharper inquiry. The duchess’s expression remained composed, but there was a flicker of interest in her gaze. Even the duke paused his cutting of his lamb to listen.

“I wanted a change of scenery,” Josephine said carefully. “Ashbourne seemed like the perfect place for respite and reflection after… personal difficulties.” She swallowed, feeling the way that her blood sped through her veins beat after beat, “A-And I’m quite afraid I am not familiar with the Wilton’s, no.”

“Difficulties?” Harry pressed, his voice light but with an undercurrent of something keener. “How intriguing. One rarely hears of governesses with mysterious pasts.”

Josephine’s breath caught; the feeling of her corset was almost more unbearable than usual. She knew this game; it was the type played by men who were too clever for their own good. She straightened slightly, meeting his gaze with as much calm as she could muster.

“Everyone has their struggles, my lord” she said evenly. “Ashbourne offered a quiet place to begin anew.”

Harry studied her, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “Anew?”

She realized her mistake as soon as the word left her lips. Harry caught it too.

“Surrey,” she answered swiftly, too swiftly. “Surrey is where I originate. My—my family, they reign from Surrey. I apologize for the confusion.”

“Surrey?” he repeated, tilting his head. “Not Ashbourne, then? How curious that someone who speaks of a quiet life would have left Surrey, only to begin again in Ashbourne. They are quite far apart, you know,” He laughed dryly, “Of course you would know that.”

Josephine’s pulse quickened. She could feel the attention of the entire table sharpening, though the children remained blissfully unaware of the tension building. She hesitated, knowing that anything she said now could deepen his suspicion. As if he had a reason to be digging at all—she knew her truth on why she had fled Surrey for Ashbourne, but her past wouldn’t have been brought to discussion. Not here, anyways.

“There are times when circumstances necessitate leaving one place for another,” she said, forcing herself to maintain a serene expression. “I hope that satisfies your curiosity, my lord.”

Harry smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “For now, Miss Dowding.”

The duchess cleared her throat delicately, her gaze flicking between the two of them. “Harry, perhaps you might allow Miss Dowding to enjoy her meal in peace. It isn’t polite to interrogate our guests.”

“Of course, mother,” Harry replied smoothly, raising his glass in a gesture of apology. “My apologies, Miss Dowding. My curiosity often gets the better of me, I’m sure you’ll learn.”

Josephine inclined her head, though her heart still raced. “No apology will be necessary, my lord.” Her nods were kept short, “You have every reason to question guests in your home.”

The rest of the meal passed in strained silence, at least for Josephine. Eleanor and Beatrice continued to chatter happily, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension. The duke and duchess returned to their conversation regarding the social season that had been fast approaching which would involve multiple strenuous affairs to and from London, though Josephine noticed the occasional glance the duchess sent her way.

It was quite meaningful to her—to see that the duchess seemed to send her glances.

As dessert was served, Beatrice leaned across the table, her voice conspiratorial. “And Harry, are you staying for Christmas this year?”

Harry hesitated, his fork pausing midair. He glanced at the duchess, whose expression remained composed but watchful as she seemed to let the marquess take the lead on the question.

“We shall see, little one.” he said at last, his tone gentle but noncommittal—it was to be expected. Beatrice frowned but didn’t press the matter. “A bit far off, but I do intend to try.”

Josephine, observing the exchange, felt a pang of sympathy. She wondered what kept him so unfocused and able to stay in a place long enough to feel committed, unable to remain. Perhaps Miss Ellory’s words about the scars of war were truer than she had realized; she was glad to have the insight amongst them, but she knew that letting in this bias may have been leading her to have unkind thoughts of the marquess.

As supper had ended, dessert had been moved away. The candles that sat in the middle of the table had started to flicker when the duke stood from his seat, “I suggest we move our conversation into the sitting room, what do we think?”

“I believe that’s a fine idea,” Harry nodded, taking the napkin that had been held in his lap and placing it next to his plate. The men stood first, allowing the women to follow in their lead.

“Josephine, dear, you must be exhausted with your travels.” The duchess asked, taking the girl’s arm to wrap around her own as they made their way towards the sitting area.

A swift nod and a deep breath seemed to settle Josephine as she agreed with the duchess, “Very,” She shook her head, “But I am having a lovely time learning and speaking with yourself and your family. I am very eager to start working with the girls. And the duke and you could not be more welcoming to me.”

 The duchess held onto her hand as they found themselves in the darkened room, lit for the evening affair of after supper. “It’s our pleasure. We want the best for our girls, and you continue to prove why you have been chosen for this. We are highly impressed with your professionalism.”

“Impressed indeed.” The duke added in; he had poured himself and the lord a scotch, both holding the small glasses. “Would either of you like an after-dinner tea? We can put some in the kettle at once.”  

Josephine shook her head, “I would hate to reject your offer; however, I do believe that I am alright now. I would love to enjoy the fire a bit—it is such a beautiful addition this time of year.”

Harry had been standing next to the fire, leaning against the mantel before he turned to see Josephine make her way towards him—making his heart beat in a way that sent him taking a few steps backwards.

The room was warm and inviting, with a fire crackling in the hearth and walls lined with shelves of well-worn books. Plush chairs and sofas were arranged in conversational clusters, and a tea tray had already been placed on the low table in the center of the room. The duke and duchess settled into the armchairs nearest the fire, engaging in quiet conversation, while Eleanor and Beatrice gravitated toward Josephine, who had taken a seat on the ground next to the fire.

"Miss Josephine," Beatrice called brightly, tugging on her hand as she took a seat next to her. "You promised me a riddle, remember?" Eleanor chimed in, holding her book of Roman history which she hadn’t yet to set down except when at the table. "And perhaps we can discuss Caesar again? I was reading about his triumphs, and I had some questions."

Josephine chuckled, allowing herself to relax slightly under their enthusiasm. She glanced over at the duke and duchess, who both gave her approving smiles. Lord Styles, however, stood near the hearth, his hand resting casually in his pocket, observing the scene with quiet curiosity as he took a sip of the poured scotch.

"All right," Josephine said, smiling at Beatrice. "Here’s a riddle for you both: What has to be broken before you can use it?"

Beatrice furrowed her brow at the inquiry, biting her lip in concentration. Eleanor crossed her arms, her expression thoughtful.

"Oh, I know! An egg!" Beatrice exclaimed after a moment, her face lighting up with triumph.

"Very good, you’re quite a thoughtful one, aren’t you?" Josephine said, clapping lightly. "Now, Eleanor, what was your question about Caesar?"

Eleanor settled in front of her, opening her book to a marked page. "I read about the triumphal processions he held when he returned to Rome, but weren’t they seen as boastful? Didn’t some of the senators dislike him for it?"

"Indeed, they did," Josephine replied, her voice taking on the calm, measured tone she used during lessons. "The senators had feared Caesar’s growing influence around, especially among the common people. He was quite charming in a way—he really had a way with getting what he wanted. The triumphs were a way for him to display his power, but they also heightened the tension between him and the Senate."

Eleanor nodded in understanding; her expression serious. "So, it wasn’t just about celebration. It was politics, too."

"Exactly, Lady Eleanor," Josephine said. "This is a lesson worth remembering: what seems like celebration on the surface often has deeper motives underneath."

Lord Styles, who had been leaning casually against the mantel, straightened slightly. "Wise words, Miss Dowding," he said, his tone light but with an undertone of something deeper. "It seems you’ve made quite the impression on my sisters."

Miss Dowding turned toward him, startled by his sudden interjection. She maintained her composure, offering a polite smile. "Lady Eleanor and Lady Beatrice are both eager learners, my lord. It’s a pleasure to guide them."

Beatrice grinned up at her. "Miss Dowding knows everything, Harry. Even riddles! Do you want to hear another?"

Harry chuckled, moving to sit in the chair opposite them. "Why not? Impress me, Beatrice."

Beatrice glanced at Miss Dowding, who leaned over towards Beatrice before making sure to whisper the riddle in her ear to repeat to her brother. "Okay, Harry. What has hands but can’t clap?"

Harry tilted his head, his lips curling into a smirk as he knew the answer immediately. "A clock."

Beatrice pouted at his quick judgement, a whine leaving her lips, "That was too easy."

"You’ll have to try harder if you want to stump me," he teased, leaning back in his chair. Josephine watched as his hand—particularly his thumb print moved the condensation of the glass. His gaze shifted briefly to Miss Dowding as he recognized her stare; his expression unreadable, but she would have sworn that she saw a twinkle in his eye.

Josephine looked away quite quickly.

Eleanor, oblivious to the tension in the room, tapped Miss Dowding’s arm. "Miss Dowding, can we read more about Caesar tomorrow? I want to understand why people followed him, even when it seemed dangerous."

"Of course, Lady Eleanor," Miss Dowding said gently to the young girl, "We’ll explore his leadership and how he inspired loyalty. Anything that you’d like."

The duke cleared his throat from his chair near the fire, drawing the room’s attention. "It is clear Miss Dowding has a firm hand with her charges," he said approvingly. "We’re fortunate to have her."

The duchess nodded in agreement, though her eyes flicked to her son. "Indeed. It takes great skill to balance discipline with encouragement."

Lord Styles didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he studied Miss Dowding for a long moment before speaking. "It would seem, Miss Dowding, that you’ve brought a sense of calm and purpose to this household. It’s not a simple task; I can assure you."

Josephine felt the weight of his words, though she kept her expression neutral. "Thank you, my Lord. I do my best to fulfill my duties as instructed and not stray away from what I’m told."

For a moment, their gazes held, and Josephine felt an uneasy prickle along her spine. His praise felt genuine, but there was something in his tone—something that hinted at suspicion, as though he were still trying to piece together who she truly was.

Beatrice, oblivious to the undercurrents, climbed onto Miss Dowding’s lap and declared, "Miss Dowding, you should tell Harry a riddle he can’t solve!"

"Perhaps tomorrow," the duchess interjected with a smile, rising gracefully from her chair. "It’s been a long day for all of us. Girls, why don’t you show Miss Dowding how you get ready for sleep, hm? Perhaps she would be interested in our routine.”

Josephine took a breath as she stood from her seated position on the wooden floor, using her hands to wipe down at her skirt before holding the waist of her dress, adjusting accordingly before letting the girl’s take her hand to lead towards their room.

“I shall also retire to my room,” Josephine nodded a few times at the nobles, “It’s been a pleasure already. Thank you for dinner, your graces,” She turned towards Harry then, his eyes fixated on her as she bowed her head at him, “My lord.”

As Josephine guided the girls back to the nursery, she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder. Lord Styles still sat by the fireplace, his gaze fixed on her, his expression thoughtful as he tried his best to place his mind on how to get more from her.

Josephine quickened her pace as she felt the tug of the girls’ hands, leading her up the stairs and towards another challenge all together.

---

Once the girls had been tucked away into their bed, Josephine had wished them a great sleep. She had taken it upon herself to put the girls to bed, before making it out into the hall where she would have to make her way down to her own quarters.

The corridors of Northumberland Hall were quiet, save for the occasional creak of ancient wood or the distant whisper of the wind against the stone walls which had started to pick up outside. She noticed the way that the walls start to feel eerie with frigidness. Josephine carried the lamp as she walked back toward her quarters after ensuring the girls were settled for the night. The soft glow illuminated her path, but the stillness of the late hour made every sound seem amplified.

It hadn’t occurred to her that there was still a conversation happening below her. As she neared the grand staircase of which they had walked up only an hour prior, faint voices carried upward from the hall below. She paused, recognizing the deep timbre of the duke’s voice, measured but firm, and another voice—Lord Styles’—sharp with irritation. Both tones of their voices she had yet to hear.

“I’ve just returned from fighting for this country,” Harry’s voice echoed, rising above his father’s steadier tone. “And you would have me march straight into another battle at the altar?”

Josephine froze at the corner of the corridor, her pulse quickening at his words. She shouldn’t linger, but her feet refused to move. The raw emotion in his words held her captive; she knew that this was spying, being completely too observant of their personal ventures, which she knew she shouldn’t hear. It wasn’t meant for her.

“This is not a battle, Harry,” The duke replied, his tone calmer now but insistent. “It is your duty. The family requires stability. An alliance with the Barrenton’s would secure that.”

Harry’s laugh was bitter, reverberating off the cold stone walls. “Stability? As if we do not have stability in this castle that we call our homestead. I believe that you mean more wealth. More influence. Am I correct in saying that? Tell me, Father, what would I be to Lady Barrenton? A husband or just another pawn in your ambitions to gain further notoriety?”

The duchess’s voice is heard then in interjection, softer but no less resolute. “This is not about ambition, Harry. It’s responsibility. You know what is expected of you—the eldest son, the only son.”

“Expected of me?” Harry’s voice cracked slightly using those words, his frustration cutting through the air. “Expected of me was to die on the battlefield, wasn’t it? And now that I’ve defied those odds. I am back here, I am standing on two feet, and you wish to bind me to a life I will no longer recognize! What if I do not want that?”

Josephine’s grip on the candleholder tightened. For all his arrogance, there was pain in his voice—a weariness she recognized too well. She had heard that same tone in her own voice once, in moments when the weight of expectation had crushed her spirit.

What if she didn’t want that? It was a thought she had all too often.

The duke’s voice turned colder, sharper. “You will not speak to your mother that way. This conversation is not a request, Harry. It is a duty.”

There was a long silence, and Josephine could almost feel the tension vibrating up the walls, even though they were out of sight.

“It is not lost on me why I have removed myself from this—this place. I do not wish to marry, and that will be final. I do not wish to tie myself to wed so that I can be sent to war and bleed out in a large field and my wife will have to tend to my death bearing my children—I will not see to it, and you shall not force me to make such a decision as brutal and heavy-hearted.” Harry said finally, his voice low but edged with defiance.

Heavy footsteps followed, and Josephine’s breath hitched as she realized they were moving toward the staircase. She extinguished her lamp and pressed herself into the shadows along the walls of the corridor at once. Her heart began racing as Harry’s figure came into view; his expression was a storm of emotion—anger, frustration, and something deeper, more vulnerable, that lingered in the downturn of his mouth and the flicker of his eyes.

For a moment, she thought he might look up and see her, but he didn’t. He strode past the staircase, disappearing into the darker corridors of the west wing. Only when his footsteps faded entirely did she release the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Josephine stood rooted to the spot, the echoes of his words replaying in her mind. She knew she shouldn’t have stayed to listen—their private conversation had given her bias to a situation she clearly knew nothing about. It wasn’t her place to eavesdrop on the affairs of the family, and yet... she couldn’t ignore the pull she felt in it.

Beneath his defiance, there was a wounded soul struggling to reconcile the man he was expected to be with the one he had become. She understood that conflict all too well. He had been trying to flee from a person he once was, back to someone that he had been before. The only issue was who you were before would never be again.

Shaking herself free of the moment, she turned back toward her quarters, her thoughts restless then. As she climbed the stairs to her room, she couldn’t help but wonder why Harry’s pain had struck a chord within her. She had left behind her own life of battles, but in his words, she heard the echoes of a war she had not fully escaped.

When she finally reached her room and closed the door behind her, the quiet had enveloped her like a heavy cloak. Setting her extinguished lamp on the bedside table, she sat on the edge of the bed, her mind still tangled with what she had heard. She went to reignite the light, letting it be the only glimpse of reality within the darkness of the small room.

Lord Styles was a man of contradictions—arrogant yet vulnerable, defiant yet bound by duty. She had glimpsed the cracks in his armor tonight, and though she didn’t understand why, it unsettled her deeply.

As the night had become quiet with ease, Josephine sat on her bed, against the pillow she had been given as she let the flicker of the lamp trickle over the pages in the novel between her fingers. The memory of his piercing green eyes still vivid in her mind as he questioned her at the table.

The castle seemed unnaturally quiet, the faint creaks and groans of its old timbers amplified by the stillness, the gusty winds outside had troubled her thoughts. She told herself it was her imagination when she heard the softest sound—footsteps, perhaps? —in the hallway outside her door. Her breath held as she watched the door.

She froze, her hand hovering over the lamp on her bedside table. Was it just the castle settling, or was someone there? For a moment, she imagined opening the door to find Lord Styles standing on the other side, his gaze as intense and unrelenting as it had been at supper.

She wondered if he would stand there and question her as he had tonight.

Shaking her head, she scolded herself for such thoughts. He would have no reason to come here, she told herself. Still, the sound of the footsteps lingered in her mind as she lay back on the narrow bed, her heart racing precociously.

As the wind howled outside, Josephine stared at the dark ceiling, wondering if the storm within the castle walls would prove far more dangerous than the one raging beyond them. It was thoughts such as that that had led her into a dream.

---

The morning sun was just beginning to filter through the heavy drapes of Josephine’s small chamber as she fastened the final button of her gown. Her bedroom faced the east, knowing that she was getting the early trickling of the beginning of the daylight. The fabric was simple but neat, a reflection of her practical nature and modesty. The dress she had chosen had long sleeves; blue and white flowers moved across the print in a delicate fashion.

She tied her apron snugly around her waist, smoothing the creases as she took a steadying breath. The mirror in front of her helped to highlight her tousled hair, which she easily pinned back to tuck it behind her ears. The quiet hum of the household awakening reached her—footsteps echoing faintly in the corridors, the clink of crockery and stationery from the kitchens below.

Another day had begun. It had felt as if she had been there for ages. Her journal details would conclude that this was her twentieth day at Northumberland—it had been a journey thus far, and she had woken up every day with a new perspective on the ever-changing ways that children learned, and what they had taught her. It had given her a way to think about dynamics, let her see the world for what it was.

Eleanor and Beatrice were just children—two young girls in a world that would always love them and care for them; money would never be an issue, but their hopes and dreams may come to a halt once they recognized their role in society. It was to please, to gather a new life for their own families as they would be put to society for all of judgement.

It made Josephine quite sick to imagine a mind such as Eleanor’s to become nothing more than what had been expected of her. Beatrice, still young, was approaching these conversations too—she kept up with their banter, their confrontations over literary tales and blunders. It took everything in Josephine not to think about what society was for these young girls and why she felt the need to give them a world that she never had the opportunity for.

The world that she had to run from. She didn’t want them to feel the need to run. And, if they did, she wanted to teach them to run faster—stealthier, quicker.

As she had been getting her items ready for the day, she had heard a small knock on the wooden door. Josephine opened her door to find Miss Ellory waiting in the corridor with a small tray. The housekeeper’s sharp eyes softened as she handed it over, the scent of freshly brewed tea and warm toast rising in the air as Josephine too the small tray from her grasps.

“Good morning, Miss Dowding,” Miss Ellory said, her voice brisk but not unkind. “I trust you slept well?”

“I did, thank you,” Josephine replied, taking the tray and setting it on the small table over by her window. “It seems the household is particularly lively this morning—I see that there’s quite a bit of movement.” Josephine referenced the movement that was happening outside of her window, even though she could feel the cold drift from the glass.

Miss Ellory gave a knowing smile. “Lord Styles has a habit of unsettling the usual order of things. He’s taken to rising early this week, which, as you might imagine, keeps the staff on their toes with his demands and necessities.”

Josephine’s lips twitched into a faint smile as she poured herself a cup of tea from the small teapot that Ellory had brought. “I will keep that in mind should our paths cross today.”

Miss Ellory hesitated, her gaze turning slightly more serious. “You’ve done well with the girls these past weeks. Lady Eleanor’s progress in her studies has not gone unnoticed, and even Lady Beatrice seems to have taken a liking to your methods.”

Josephine inclined her head modestly. “The girls are eager learners. It makes my work all the more rewarding,” She finds herself smiling at the thought of the youngest, a quick laugh following, “However, Miss Beatrice is quite a handful, isn’t she?”

Ellory shakes her head with the same enlightened smile, “She is quite mischievous, yes. However, I think the duchess is quite taken with you—the whole family is. You have done an excellent job. But do be cautious, Miss Josephine. You’ve a steady hand and a sensible mind, but there are always... distractions in a household such as this. Keep your focus where it belongs.”

Josephine met the housekeeper’s gaze, a bit of misunderstanding in the unspoken warning. “Of course, Miss Ellory. My sole priority is the education and well-being of Lady Eleanor and Lady Beatrice.”

 The sense of concern started to cross onto her facial features as she turned to face Ellory for a moment, wondering why she had brought up such a concern before she spoke again.

“Was something mentioned about my focus? A distraction, perhaps? I can assure—”

“Miss Josephine, there truly is no concern,” Ellory says quickly, trying to pull her back to focus on her praise rather than the mere, undeniable concern that had started to bubble at the surface of the manor gossip. Ellory had wanted to mention it to Josephine as soon as she had the inclination, knowing that the young girl was impressionable, and new to the environment.

They stood for a moment before Ellory wiped her hands on her apron before she cleared her throat. “I—it is not a concern per se—”

Josephine breathed in, “Please tell me at once.”

“It is just that—” Ellory huffed; her lips feeling dry in the cool, late November air. “It is just that many of the service believe that many may be noticing the way that you are the distraction itself.”

Josephine blinked a few moments before shaking her head at the continuation of confusion that she felt at the words Ellory spoke. Her eyes darted between the older woman’s; they were kind, showing her an affection that she trusted. “I don’t believe that I understand.”

Ellory pursed her lips as she walked closer, trying to make Josephine settle before she spoke too loudly and would be overheard by anyone else that may be in the halls of the manor.

Ellory’s gaze softened slightly, but her tone remained firm. “This is not just about you; I can assure you. But it is about Lord Styles. Since his arrival, he’s been... quite distracted. And more than one member of the service has noticed his attentions seem to be fixed in your direction.”

Josephine���s breath caught, and she shook her head at the complete and utter foolery that had left Ellory’s mouth. “I can—will assure you, Miss Ellory, I have done nothing to encourage him.”

“I believe you,” Miss Ellory said, letting her hands reach to hold onto Josephine’s arms in a comforting manner, letting her know that she was believed, “But intentions matter little when gossip takes root. The maids have whispered about how often he lingers near the schoolroom. The footmen joke about his frequent detours through the gardens when you’re walking with the girls. Even the butler remarked on how he seems to find excuses to pass the corridors by wherever you happen to be.”

Josephine’s cheeks burned, a mix of anger and mortification coursing through her at the idea that she had caused such a disruption without knowing the mere intention, “I cannot control where Lord Styles chooses to be—I-I cannot understand how this has happened, or how these preposterous rumors have begun.”

“No, you cannot,” Miss Ellory agreed, her voice gentler now. “But you can control how you conduct yourself. I’m telling you this not as a reprimand but as a warning. You are a governess, and while the family respects your work a tremendous amount, you must tread carefully. Appearances matter in a household such as this. A governess would never end up with a marquess.”

Josephine’s hands tightened around the edges of her apron at the woman’s words, feeling the weight of them when she starts to nod in a deep certainty. “I understand, Miss Ellory. But what am I to do? Avoid him entirely? How am I to do so when I was not even aware of his presence?”

Miss Ellory’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That may be difficult given the current circumstances, but you must remain vigilant. Keep your interactions with him formal and brief. Do not allow yourself to be drawn into any personal conversations, no matter how innocuous they may seem. As I mentioned, the services will be watching, and they will talk.”

Josephine nodded, though her mind churned with unease as she tried to understand it all herself. She didn’t want to throw away everything that she had built, the relationships that she had started to concrete. “Have... Have the duke and duchess heard these rumors?”

She could see that Ellory hesitated before answering, shaking her head, but allowing Josephine to not have any hope that they would not, “Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time if things continue as they are. And that is why I am speaking to you now. You have worked hard to build your position here, Miss Dowding. Do not let something beyond your control jeopardize that, do you understand?”

Josephine’s chest tightened just at the thought of her fleeing the manor for a new life once again. She had escaped one life of peril only to find herself walking a tightrope in this new one. The idea that her every move could be scrutinized, misinterpreted, or twisted into scandal made her feel ill instantly.

“Thank you for telling me,” Josephine stated quietly, trying to encourage the continued hush of their conversation, “I will do my utmost to ensure there is no cause for further gossip.”

The housekeeper gave a curt nod. “Good. You’re a sensible woman, Miss Dowding. I trust you’ll take the appropriate steps—we would hate to lose you.”

Ellory squeezed on Josephine’s arms for a quick show of her affection, giving her a tight smile. It had been warm, something that Josephine had looked for, for quite some time.

As Ellory turned to leave, Josephine lingered in her bedroom for a solid few moments, her thoughts spinning at the recent news development. She had been so careful, so determined to keep her head down and do her work. And yet, the attention of one man threatened to unravel everything she had worked for—everything she had run from was starting to catch up with her.

 She thought of Lord Styles—his intensity, his lingering stares, the way he seemed to look at her as though she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. She needed to stay tight-lipped, brief.

She would have to be more cautious, more distant. Whatever curiosity Lord Styles held toward her; she could not afford to indulge it. Not when her very livelihood was at stake. With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and made her way back toward the schoolroom, determined to keep her focus where it belonged.

Josephine finished her tea and toast quickly, the exchange with Miss Ellory lingering in her thoughts as she made her way to the schoolroom. The housekeeper’s caution was not unfounded, as it turned out. Lord Styles had an undeniable presence, one that seemed to ripple through the household even when he wasn’t present. Everyone whispered, everyone wanted to know every detail of him. Josephine resolved, once again, to keep her distance and focus on her duties.

By the time she arrived into the room, Eleanor and Beatrice were already seated at their desks, chatting animatedly about their dreams—how Eleanor was swinging high above the trees, looking down on the ocean below her. She couldn’t understand how the tree ended up in the middle of the ocean but had been fascinated by the view; she had wished to see the sea again. Eleanor’s Latin book lay open before her, while Beatrice doodled in the margins of her notebook with pictures of small animals. The sight of them brought a small, genuine smile to Josephine’s face as she had started to truly love beginning her days with their curiosity.

“Good morning, ladies,” she greeted, her tone warm, filled with a passion. “Are we ready to begin?”

The schoolroom was quiet besides their small voices when Josephine entered, the faint morning sun spilling through the tall windows and warming the wooden desks that were cherry oak with hints of red pining through them.

“Good morning, Miss Dowding,” Eleanor replied brightly. “I had just told Beatrice about the poem we’re going to study today.”

Beatrice groaned dramatically; a roll of her eyes followed. “Poetry is so dull. Can’t we do riddles instead?”

Josephine chuckled softly as she set down her materials that she had been carrying through the halls. “I think you’ll find today’s poem quite engaging, Lady Beatrice. We’ll be reading William Cowper—his works are full of vivid imagery and profound ideas that must interest you. Now, let’s begin, shall we?’

Eleanor eagerly opened her book to the marked page, while Beatrice sighed but followed suit with her sister’s guidance. Josephine began to explain the context of the poem, her calm and steady voice filling the room. The girls were attentive to the material and Josephine’s effervescence, even Beatrice showing a grudging interest as they discussed the themes of faith and resilience that Cowper inevitably showed.

At the sound of the door creaking open, breaking the flow of the lesson. Josephine’s eyes had looked up, startled to see Lord Styles leaning casually against the doorframe. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his emerald-green eyes sparkled with amusement as he surveyed the small room that had been converted for the learning environment—it was as if Josephine had merely designed for the three of them, but it worked with the lesson materials and capabilities.

After the discussion that Josephine had with Ellory this morning, her heart started to beat at a faster rate as she made herself more prominent, standing straight up in acknowledgement of the marquess.

“Good morning, my Lord,” Josephine said evenly, her fingers grasping the book in her hands tighter. “Is there something I can assist you with?”

“Not at all,” Harry replied, his voice a buttery smooth cadence. “I was merely passing by and thought I might observe for a moment, as I believe I have mentioned wanting to prior. I’ve heard much about your lessons from my sisters, and I thought I should take a listen for myself.”

Josephine nodded, though her shoulders stiffened at the thought of him joining their morning ritual. “Yes, very well. You are welcome to stay, of course.” She blinked a few times, running her tongue over her lips softly before trying her best to come back to the conversation regarding faith.

He stepped further into the room, his gaze drifting to the chalkboard where Cowper’s words were written in neat script. His hands were held behind his back as he made his way into the room; the soft leather of his boots had traced across the wooden floors in a shuffle. “Ah, Cowper, I see. A quite lofty choice for young minds, don’t you think?”

Eleanor, bristling slightly at his words, spoke up. “We can understand it perfectly well, Harry. Miss Dowding explains things wonderfully, and I think you will see that if you would let her speak.”

Harry grinned at her, ruffling her hair as he passed by. “I don’t doubt it, Ellie.” His attention shifted back to Josephine, his tone light yet teasing. “Miss Dowding,” he said, “you are far too quiet for someone entrusted with shaping the minds of my sisters. Surely there’s more fire in you than you let on?”

Josephine’s eyes met his, her expression carefully neutral. “Fire, my Lord, is not always the best tool for instruction, you see. Patience and discipline tend to yield better results, I find.”

He found himself watching her more often than he cared to admit. She carried herself with a quiet dignity, her head held high despite her modesty in their manor. There was a resilience about her that intrigued him, a strength he couldn’t quite place. He’d met plenty of women who were bold and spirited—quite spirited, yes, but Miss Dowding’s strength was odd to him. It wasn’t loud or attention-seeking; it was steady, unyielding, like the roots of an ancient oak tree that had prospered for hundreds of years.

It annoyed him, if he were honest. She was a puzzle he couldn’t solve, and he had always hated being bested. But it also fascinated him. He wanted to know what lay beneath her composed exterior, what thoughts and fears she kept hidden behind those guarded eyes.

Those ridiculously shielded, enticing, rather beguiled, gray and guarded eyes she had. And the hair—it was such a natural curl of waves that flowed down her back, tucked gently behind her ears. The sight of her collarbones reveled his desire, pulsing a tight-lipped stare for less than a second, catching a glimpse. Surely, he hadn’t expected her to shine in the light of the early morning sun as she had, but he wouldn’t lie if asked if he enjoyed it.

Certainly, yes.

His lips curved into a slow smile as he found himself biting the inside of his cheek at her carefully articulate answer. “And do you apply that same philosophy to all aspects of your life?”

Before Josephine could respond, Eleanor interjected. “Harry, stop teasing her. She’s an excellent teacher.”

Josephine’s heart skipped a beat at the way she responded. Eleanor was quite outspoken, which gave Josephine the hope she had been pursuing with taking this role. It gave her confidence to know that the young minds were not being undermined.

Harry raised his hands in mock surrender at the young girl’s attempt to continue their lesson. “My apologies, Ellie. No offense intended, of course.” Yet his gaze lingered on Josephine, a challenge sparking in his eyes.

It gave Josephine permission to then return to the lesson, Josephine directed Eleanor to read aloud the next stanza of the poem, as they had been going line by line to interrupt each word in its placement. She refused to let Harry’s presence distract her, though she was acutely aware of his movements as he strolled around the room, glancing at Beatrice’s notebook and inspecting the titles on the bookshelf.

“Quite the artist, aren’t you, Bea?” he said, noting the squirrel she had sketched in the margins on the paper.

Beatrice grinned at the small drawing, almost blushing as she went to cover it up. “Miss Dowding says I have a vivid imagination.”

“That, she does,” Josephine replied, agreeing with the young girl. Her tone softening as she glanced at the younger girl with a knowing look. “But we’re working on channeling that imagination into more structured pursuits, aren’t we?”

“It is a task I do not envy,” Harry quipped, though his expression softened as he looked at his sisters. “I trust that you will make sure that structure is in place, but,” He shrugs almost, “There is always room for imagination and creativity, as well, yes?”

Josephine took in a deep breath, nodding a few times, “Of course. I believe that imagination and imagery are always at the forefront of our minds. Reality is dull without the thought of something greater.”

The twinkle in his eyes made her eyes divert; she knew that she should have been consistent with staying forward, not diving further into conversation with the Lord, as she had promised Ellory.

As the lesson concluded, Eleanor and Beatrice bounded out of the room, eager to explore the gardens before tea would be served. Harry lingered, his gaze following Josephine as she tidied the desks around them.

“You handle them well,” he remarked, his tone more thoughtful now.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she replied without looking up. “They are delightful girls, and I am proud that they are utilizing their knowledge outside of this classroom to ensure logical and articulate discussions.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly. “You are quite an enigma, Miss Dowding. Most women in your position would be eager to curry favor. But you…” He trailed his voice, picking up a book that had been laying on the desk that she used as her own, looking at the title before moving closer to her presence, “You seem determined to keep your distance. Why is that?”

Josephine straightened her spine, meeting his gaze with quiet resolve. “I am here to teach, my lord. Nothing more.”

“Ah, but teaching is such an intimate act, isn’t it? Shaping young minds, influencing their futures. Surely that requires more than mere detachment. Possibly involving personal atonement, anecdotes of your own life that can be based in teachings.”

Her lips tightened. “My role in this manor requires focus, discipline, and professionalism. Which is precisely what I provide. My own successes and failures should not be involved in their learning, and that is by my own doing. We are all individual, after all. My influence would not be deemed professional.”

Harry found himself taken aback by her response; mostly since he enjoyed the way that she spoke so fluently and without stutter, almost like she knew exactly what he would say next. The wit outsmarted him numerous times. She had been so educated and delightfully conversational that he found himself troubled with the idea that she was challenging; in a way that intrigued him to a fault.

He flipped through the book that he held in his palms as he watched her start to tidy up the small schoolroom. “Do you never tire of maintaining such perfect decorum? Surely there’s a rebellious streak in you somewhere that you will not allow to be seen.”

She looked up at him, breathing outwards at his continuous questioning that almost bored her. “My lord, I find that rebellion often leads to unnecessary complications. I prefer to avoid such things.”

“How dreadfully dull,” he replied, though his tone was more amused than mocking; it was then that she noticed the dimple that cratered in his cheek that her eyes had drawn to. Seeing the warmth of his bright smile had transfixed her to a new level of curiosity and allure. “Perhaps I’ll have to be the one to coax it out of you.”

“I would advise against that, my Lord,” she said evenly, almost like she had been instructed to do so. “It would be a waste of your time.”

Harry’s smile widened, but he said nothing more, then staring at the book in his palm. As he walked away, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Miss Dowding was far more than she seemed. And for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he found himself wanting to uncover every one of her secrets. It was a game.

There was a moment of silence, then. Harry studied her for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. He had taken a deep breath, letting his hands fall behind his back as he nodded at her with certainty.

Then he smiled, softer this time. “Very well, Miss Dowding. I will not press you further today,” He licked his lips, “I have enjoyed this, however, and I thank you for allowing me to attend in the lesson.”

Josephine took the books that had been sitting on her desk, noticing that he had one in his hands; it had been her copy of Moll Flanders. She was not sure that he had recognized that he had walked away with it, but when she noticed the way that his fingers gripped around the leather binding, she knew that he knew. He turned to leave, glancing back over his shoulder before he walked through the doorframe.

“I must admit, I’m curious to see how long you can maintain this stoic façade,” The look that he wore almost took Josephine’s breath away, “The relentlessness will be tiring, I assure you.”

Josephine waited until his footsteps faded before exhaling a breath, she hadn’t realized she was holding. She returned to her work then, her hands trembling slightly as she arranged the books on the shelf to put away from the lesson that day.

In many ways, Lord Styles was a dangerous man—not because of his title or charm, but because he seemed determined to see through the walls, she had built around herself.

And that, she realized with a sinking feeling, was a battle she wasn’t sure she could win on her own.

---

The bustle of the manor had been quite lacking through the day as Lord Styles strode down the corridor leading from the schoolroom, his thoughts lingering on the peculiar Miss Dowding. As they had the past few days, indeed. She had handled his teasing with a remarkable composure that he found completely and utterly unsettling. Most of the women he encountered would have become too flustered under his scrutiny, eager to please or to curry favor as he had questioned with her.

Not Miss Dowding.

Her responses had been measured, deliberate, and tinged with a quiet defiance that intrigued him more than he cared to admit. It almost felt directly to the chest how intrigued he had become with her composure and assurance to making her duty fulfilled.

The shuffle of his boots had clunked against the hard flooring, taking him by the drawing room, his mother, the duchess, was seated by the fire, her embroidery hoop in hand as she had a dark purple string lacing into the fabric. She glanced up as he entered, her expression softening with maternal affection by his furrowed brow.

“Harry,” she greeted. “You look as though you have something quite preposterous on the mind. Would you care to explain further?”

He smirked at her acknowledgement, pouring himself a glass of wine from the sideboard table. “Something like that, I assume. I’ve just come from the schoolroom, actually.”

Her eyebrows lifted delicately at his admission to his whereabouts. She wouldn’t comment further but would inquire his reasoning for walking into the lesson. “The schoolroom? And what took you there?”

“Intrigue, I suppose,” he admitted, taking a seat across from her. “I wanted to see how Miss Dowding was faring with Eleanor and Beatrice. They seem very fond of her, which, in return, sends me to be more curious, as well.”

The duchess’ hands paused over her stitching, eyes trained on her hands as she tried to keep her smile down, “And what are your thoughts on her?”

Harry swirled his wine in the rounded glass, considering his words as he stared at the maroon-colored liquid, taking a sharp breath. “She’s… capable. Steady-handed. The girls are lucky to have her.”

The duchess’ lips curved into a small, knowing smile as if she could have told the entire story with just the smirk alone. “That is quite high praise from you, Harry. You don’t often comment on the household staff, you know. Unless it is quite horrific.”

“She is hardly ordinary staff, mother,” he replied quickly, his tone lingering with a bit of edge to it, as if accusatory. “She’s educating my sisters and doing so effectively, as is her duty to us as to their education. It’s worth noting for the sake of Eleanor and Bea.”

His mother’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, her smile deepening at his reasoning, but seeing that there had been a much larger reason for his curiosity. A mother had always known. “Indeed. It seems Miss Dowding has made quite an impression on us all, and I am quite thankful that we had received her letter.”

Harry raised an eyebrow but said nothing, unwilling to engage further in the conversation regarding Miss Dowding. However, he would have if he had been taunted to; something about the woman made him want to engage in conversation. He leaned back in his chair, facing in his mother as she sat with her embroidery, the faint sound of approaching footsteps drawing his attention. The duke entered the room, his presence commanding as always. The duchess set her embroidery aside at his entrance, and Harry’s posture stiffened slightly, sensing the shift in mood.

“Harry,” the duke said, his voice calm but firm. “We need to speak at once.”

“Is this about the accounts again?” Harry asked, feigning nonchalance, eyes lifting to look at his father before shrugging. “I assure you that everything is in order, and we have certainty to believe that—”

His father cut him off, holding out letters in his hands.

“No, this is about you,” the duke replied, taking a seat beside his wife. “We’ve heard troubling reports from London, and I am quite horrified by the accounts that I am reading.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he kept his expression neutral, eyebrows furrowing at his remarks. “Troubling?” He felt a laugh come from him that was completely humorless and mockery. “Do elaborate.”

“There have been rumors, Harry. About your behavior. Adultery, gambling, neglecting your duties at the manor in London, which you have—in good faith—promised your mother and I that you have been tending to. It’s unbecoming of someone in your position, and there will be no stance for this.”

The duke threw the letters on the table in front of them; a stack of white mail had shuffled across the wood table. Harry’s eyes darting to them at once before he found himself with a smile, sharp and humorless. “Rumors are a pastime in London, father. Surely, you’re not giving them undue weight?”

“When they reflect poorly on this family, we must take them seriously,” the duke said, his tone clipped in anger as he looked at his son, “You are the sole heir to Northumberland. Your actions matter. Your behavior matters, and we will not stand for this.”

“My actions are my own,” Harry replied to him, his voice hardening as he sat up in the chair at the accusations that were being thrown at him. “I’ve fought for this damned country, sacrificed for it. You believe that I would tarnish our name in the name of sin?”

“Do you honestly believe that you live a lifestyle without consequence?” The duke said bluntly. “You are a leader, Harry. It’s time you started acting like one, and those reputable sources are coming straight from the mouths of the highest regards in London. Surely you paint me a fool for not believing them.”

The duchess placed a calming hand on her husband’s arm; her eyes fluttered as she tried to remain the calm sense, looking at her son who had his jaw tight with fury.

“What your father means, is that we believe you’re capable of so much more. You’ve shown bravery and resilience, but now it’s time to channel those qualities into something… meaningful.”

Harry’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying to untighten his jaw, but seething instead. “And what would you have me do to prove that of myself?” The tightness and anger that filled within him made his fist feel tight. “We’ve had this discussion, and I will not be brought to my knees with fulfilling the requests to marry.”

The duke’s eyes narrowed in thought at his son’s proposition. “For a start, you might take a lesson from someone like Miss Dowding. She’s shown discipline, propriety, and dedication to her role—she is new, making her name in our world and has done so with absolute grace. Perhaps you could benefit from observing her example.”

Harry’s head snapped toward his father, irritation flashing in his eyes. “You’re comparing me to a governess?”

“If the comparison stings, then perhaps it’s worth considering why.” The duke replied evenly, his voice stern at his son’s complete overreaction to the terms.

The comment struck a nerve, though Harry masked his reaction to try and forfeit the anger. The wine glass was lifted to his mouth, draining the rest before he was setting the glass down with deliberate precision on the wooden table. “Your concern of my well-being and duty is duly noted. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.”

Standing from the velvet chair, his feet could not have taken him quicker out of the room. The warmth of it starting to get to his head as he felt the complete wrath of anger. He left the room, trudging his way towards the west wing; without waiting for a response from either of his parentals, his steps measured as he retreated to the one place that felt that there was an issued silence.

The door to the room was closed; his hand reaching to double doors that were arched with beauty before pushing through them, practically flying through the quiet space. The only sound was the sound of his breath filling the air around him. His walk slowed them, eyes trained on the larger shelves that were masterfully placed around the majestically large ballroom. It had been a dream of his to fill the room with essentially the best literature and adventurous readings that he could find. Once he did, he would send them home, leaving this room to be filled with all his thoughts, all his journeys were contained to this space. Harry took multiple steps, leaning against the shelves, his fingers brushing the spines of the books without focus.

Miss Dowding. Josephine.

The name lingered in his mind, irritating him in ways he couldn’t fully articulate. Just the sound of her name as it crossed his lips made his stomach churn with uncertainty. She was a governess; a fixture of the household whose purpose was to educate his sisters and remain in the background of his dutiful work.

And yet, she had somehow become a point of comparison, a reminder of his supposed failings. She had not seen the gruesome reality of the war; she had not been the heir to the nobility that he had been given. It did not rest of her shoulders, yet, he believed that she could fulfill every duty asked of her without a single glance.

He thought of her earlier, standing before the chalkboard with that maddening air of composure that only bewildered him more. She had challenged him with her poise, deflected his remarks without a hint of fluster. There was strength in her, quiet and unyielding, and it gnawed at him. He was used to women seeking his approval, his attention. Miss Dowding sought neither.

But intrigue was dangerous, he came to find. It led to questions, distractions, and vulnerabilities he couldn’t afford. Not now, anyways. He had spent years crafting a reputation that served as both armor and weapon, a way to deflect expectations and avoid entanglements. Yet, here he had been, the subject of the latest talk.

Miss Dowding, with her steady gaze and measured words, threatened to unravel him further. Further, further down.

Harry exhaled sharply, pushing away from the shelves with a bubbling anger that he couldn’t place. He wouldn’t let his curiosity about her consume him. No—he wouldn’t let that happen.

Whatever interest he felt was fleeting, a passing fancy that would fade in time, he was certain of it. How certain he had been, thinking of those grey eyes that would tell a story so detailed that this mind would only dream of with the highest intentions of all his desires, would be easy to forget.

And, oh how completely, undeniably certain his affection had been all along. So, to learn from her, would be his greatest privilege, he thought.

[sunshinetemptress93]

Harry Styles Fic Recs December

------------ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍓🍒🍄 ꒱ ˎˊ˗ ------------

Hello everyone! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! I thought I would put out a masterlist of some fics I've read recently, and I will update more throughout the month, also! Please reblog and comment xx

(if any links don't work, please let me know also!)

One Shots:

Campout in the Woods - best friend!harry x y/n - @harryhitties

“Enigma” - @heartateasee

dress to impress - @jezebelblues

Like You Mean It - @gucciforasushirestaurant

harry x youtuber/influencer!reader - @erodasfishtacos

Baby, We're Fireproof - @0oolookitsme

i love you, i'm sorry - @sweetcherryharry

SECRET OFFICE RENDEZVOUZ - @watchmegetobsessed

Rain Rain - @lemoncrushh

everything with you - @finelinefae

pleasing - @moonchildstyles

best i’ve ever had - @hsunrry

take it as a compliment - @coucouatoi

so not cool - @jezebelblues

ROOM 221 - @finelinenina

just friends - @finelinenina

fairy lights - @hsunrry

my misses - @harrysmimi

Drunk Me Is Like Regular Me - @lemoncrushh

Series:

Made to be by @1d1195

Angel by @grapejuicenharry

[sunshinetemptress93]

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[sunshinetemptress93]

HARRY FOR DAZED, NOVEMBER 2021.

[sunshinetemptress93]

can he do the tucked in black shirt look more often please and thank you.

[sunshinetemptress93]

Different 6 | College HS

Harry's quiet, routine-driven life changes one weekend when he meets Y/N through a mutual friend at her party. She comes from a superficial, materialistic world with absent parents who believe money solves everything. Despite their differences, something clicks that night, and Y/N can't stop thinking about him.

Author's note: hello everyone! I hope you are all doing well. Here is a new chapter I hope you enjoy!

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to all 25 chapters, various one shots and much more :)

warnings: smut

masterlist

She walked upstairs with a stripped towel tightly wrapped around her body. Harry could still sense that she was still cold. They stopped outside her bedroom One in front of the other, but neither of them said anything to the other. They just looked into each other’s eyes as they tried to decipher what the other wanted without having to utter a single word.

“Are you going to sleep? She pushed a strand of her wet hair behind her ear.

He shook his head, too nervous and scared to say anything that could mess up what they had. She proceeded to open the door and gestured for him to follow her in, and so he silently did.

“Have you ever been with a girl, Harry? Y/N bluntly asked as she dropped her towel, allowing it to pool around her feet. He simply shook his head after sitting by the edge of the bed. “Have you ever touched one?” She slightly pushed him further into the bed with one hand on his chest.

“N-no” he shut his eyes wanting to smack himself for stuttering at such an inappropriate time. Although, Y/N found it very adorable and charming. She placed one of her legs on either side of him. Essentially, straddling him. Harry leaned back on his arms for leverage, even though they felt like noodles.

“Why not?

“J-just never had the chance” He shrugged, “I-I guess”. She wasted no time in connecting their lips.

He could never get used to the sensation of her lips against his. It was all too satisfying. It was urgent, hungry, and desperate. He could feel his heart rate increase by the second. It was as if they only had a few seconds to show each other how much they meant to one another. It was everything and more than Harry had imagined. Harry felt like she washed over him like a heatwave. His entire body tingled from just having her that close. She pushed his chest back until his back was pressed against the mattress.

Y/N pulled away from him momentarily. She left open-mouthed kisses on his jaw and neck. The tender brush of her plump lips against his skin left a burning path.

Harry built up the courage to touch her, and so he gripped her hips as she continued her abuse of his neck.

“Are you okay?” She asked him when she reached his collarbone. She kissed the tip of his nose in reassurance.

“Yeh” he breathlessly said, staring at her. Harry wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, enjoying her touch and kisses. Her hair was still wet, and it kept dripping water over their chest. His hands softly caressed her body. They came upon the strings of her bikini top. He fiddled with them not wanting to go any further without her consent.

“Take it off,” Y/N said between kisses

“Sure?” She bit her lip, nodding vigorously. Harry exhaled as his trembling hands reached out behind her and tried his best to unknot it. He sighed loudly and pulled his hands away, completely defeated and frustrated with himself. Y/N threw her head back and released a whole hearty laugh, provoking Harry one too. The entire scene was comical, but it was enough to relax Harry and made him feel more comfortable.

“I’ll help you” She reached back and easily untangled the mess that he had created. He inhaled one last time, preparing himself to get a glimpse of her naked breasts. Y/N pushed her hair back and finally tore her top off.

There she was, exposed to his eyes only. It was a privilege for him. Her body was a temple, and she was allowing him to glimpse it. They were perfect. Her breasts were incredibly smooth, slightly paler than the rest of her skin and a tiny mole sat on the upper outer half of her right breast. It was peculiar but he found it irresistible. Her skin screamed to be touched and loved on.

“Touch me, H” she whimpered, looking straight into his eyes with hooded eyes. Her smaller hands gripped his wrists and brought them up to her breast, encouraging him to have his way with her.

“Is this alright?” He ached for her, but he only wanted to make her feel good before anything else. Her cheeks had gotten slightly rosy, her hair was half-dried, and she had her lip tucked between her teeth.

“Just like that” Y/N breathed as her hands continued gripping his wrist. He filled himself with courage and leaned in. A small whimper left her lips as he kissed the newly exposed skin. Her soft moans only encouraged him to continue worshiping her body. That was until a different sensation ran through him when she moved her hips against his.

“Oh fuck” his whole composure was out of the window. She confidently smiled, satisfied with his reaction. She wasn’t going to miss the opportunity. Therefore, she began moving her hips in circles and back and forth. They moaned enjoying the friction against one another.

Harry gripped her hips tighter. His body felt hot like it was on fire. She pushed her hair back and pressed her hands against his chest for support. Her eyes were slightly shut, and her mouth slightly opened as she enjoyed the way she was making them feel. The thought of only the thin material of their bathing suits separating them from having sex was driving Harry crazy. He had never felt his pants tighter. It was even starting to hurt, but it was so worth it.

He ran a hand through his hair, slightly frustrated. He wanted more. He wanted to ravage her. The rhythm that she had kept was incredibly slow, but it was delicious. He could tell that she was coming undone, by how flushed she was and the grip she had on his chest.

“So fuckin’ beautiful” he grunted as he caressed her thighs. She leaned down and kissed his neck, slightly changing the position and causing Harry to come undone. She followed shortly after, giving him the opportunity to gawk at her.

Y/N rolled off him and lay beside him as she tried to catch her breath. Harry couldn’t believe it. He had just had dry sex with her, and he still craved her badly. He wanted more of her. He was excessively addicted to her.

None of them said anything for a few minutes, but they shared a comfortable silence. That was until she turned her body to her side and faced him. He turned his head towards her and caught her smiling.

She softly pecked his lips and pushed some of his hair back.

“Do you think this might work?” She rolled her body over his again, in search of some warmth. She laid her head in the crook of his neck and places a soft kiss on his jaw.

“I do” she responded, “You don’t?”

“I think…’ he paused for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “I think it’s up to us. We just got to work for it” She agreed, slightly nodding. “I am willing to. If I get to be with you at the end of the day”.

“You are one of a kind, Harry Styles” she whispered after kissing him.

“Where are you going?” He asked, watching her get up from bed still very topless.

“Shower” she smiled, opening the bathroom door. “I would ask you to join me, but I know you won’t” She pouted, crossing her arms across her chest only making her breast more prominent. “Eyes up here, Styles”.

“Y-yeah” Y/N didn’t feel rejected, but it was still weird for her to get a no. Either way, she disappeared into the bathroom and took a ridiculously hot shower.

Meanwhile, he wrapped a towel around his hips and sat by the end of the bed, but not after checking the comforter for any wet spots. He could hear her signing which warmed his heart. It was cute. She came out, dripping water on the hardwood floors. She was never good at drying herself. Her cheeks were red, giving him flashbacks from earlier.

“Are you taking a shower? She asked, making her way into her closet. “Go ahead. I’ll just look for some clothes” Harry then walked into the already steamy bathroom. The shower was huge, enough to fit twenty people if she wanted. He took off his bathing suit and stepped in. He decided to take a cold shower instead. His mind kept drifting to the memory of her moving her hips.

“Babe?” She startled him, walking into the bathroom. He kept his back turned towards her. The pet name made him smile and feel giddy as if he were back in middle school, holding hands for the very first time.

“I found a plain t-shirt and some shorts. I hope they work. I’ll leave them on the counter” Her sweet voice echoed, over the running water.

“Alright”

“Cute ass” He heard her giggle and then heard the door shut. Harry chuckled and tried his best not to feel ashamed or embarrassed by his nakedness. He spent a few more minutes overanalyzing everything that had come out of his mouth before closing the faucet and heading out. He dressed in what she had left for him and went out to meet her, yet she was nowhere to be seen.

“Hi” she smiled as she shuffled into the bedroom in her slippers and holding a glass of icy water. She wore a shirt too big for her body and height. It was black with the logo of a famous back stamped on it. “Would you like some?” Y/N offered him some of the water that she had just gone to fetch. He drank the entire glass without hesitation. She pouted, “We were meant to share it”.

“I’ll go get you some more” He smiled at her, but not before gripping her chin and pulling her into a soft kiss.

“It’s okay. Let’s just go to bed” Harry waited until she got under the covers on her preferred side of the bed before getting in. She shut the lights as he tried to get comfortable. The sky was lighter, and the sun was starting to rise. The sheets were cold, making him quietly groan with satisfaction. There was no better feeling. He heard her moving around, followed by a click.

“What?” He whispered, watching the lightness of the sky disappear behind the automated curtains that quietly descended. He heard her move and instantly felt her soft, warm legs against his. He could smell the scent of her coconut and vanilla shampoo.

“Goodnight” she whispered after tangling herself with him.

“Goodnight” he whispered back, but not before giving her forehead a kiss.

For the first time, he felt genuinely content with the direction that his life was heading, and it was all thanks to her.

[sunshinetemptress93]

Thankful to have experienced #niallhoran at the forum for the first time.

[sunshinetemptress93]

Thankful to have experienced #niallhoran at the forum for the first time.

[sunshinetemptress93]

Harry in London recently.

[sunshinetemptress93]

A new story for your reading pleasure is now up on wattpad 🖤💋💔🎸

[sunshinetemptress93]

DRUNK WITH YOU

After a wild night of karaoke and drinking, you’re ready for bed. But Harry has other ideas…

Mature Content: explicit language, alcohol consumption (both intoxicated, consenting adults in a loving relationship), oral sex (f receiving), spit kink, light choking, hair pulling, size kink, mommy kink & unprotected sex. For an 18+ audience only.

Word Count: 6.3k

“Get your arse up to bed, Harry!”

“Make me.”

From where he stands across from you in the kitchen, he sends you a Cheshire Cat smile. Arms behind his back. Swaying side to side in a taunting way. There’s a cheeky glint in his eye like always, but it’s cheekier than ever. 

You’re as swept up in it as you normally are, but his sass and stubbornness prevents you from falling too deep. You instead tut and make moves towards him, more than ready to do what he wants if it means putting his wasted ass to sleep at what must be way past four a.m.

But upon you stumbling a tad and catching yourself on the kitchen island, because you’re just as plastered as your man, Harry starts cackling. You stand tall, scowling as he throws his head back to let the laugh out, his belly shaking and feet taking him back a step or two. You’re actually surprised he hasn’t fallen over yet. He’s a clumsy sod whenever he’s a few shots deep. Bambi on ice comes to mind. 

“God, you’re so drunk!”

“Am not!” You lie pointlessly, your slurred words a dead give away.  

The pair of you were only meant to be out for a couple of hours. A nice, quiet and romantic meal together was the original plan, the night ending with you two heading home and falling asleep all cuddled up in bed well before midnight. 

However, at the sight of a neon karaoke sign, other arrangements were quickly made. Neither of you can just idly walk by a karaoke bar. You both love them too much, hence now being mortal messes at almost sunrise.

You reach for his arm, but end up grabbing the fridge handle instead — funny how that happens — and start to think about food. You pull it open, your back facing Harry, the view inside glorious.  

“Fuck, I’m so hungry.” You moan, eyes scanning over the items trying to decide on what to choose, “I’m making something to eat.”

The feeling of large, soft hands smoothing across your belly catches you by welcome surprise, your body melting against Harry’s now pressed against you from behind. His arms wrap around your waist. Chin on your shoulder. Facial hair tickling your cheek. 

 “I know what I want to eat.” He hums, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck, “Gimme a bit of you, darling. Just a little taste.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, even though his velvet voice and teasing touch has the existence of butterflies going bananas in both your stomach and between your legs, “Nice try. That slick tongue isn’t working its magic on me tonight.”

“It could if you asked nicely.” He says, burying his face against the crook of your shoulder, inhaling you, his dopey drunken grin felt against your skin, “I’ll treat you real good. I always treat you real go-”

“Cake!” You yell out, the two-tiered chocolatey goodness stealing your attention despite Harry’s best efforts to keep it, “Fuckin’ score!”

“‘M glad someone’s scorin’ tonight.” He laughs against you as you reach for the plate, a kiss pressed to your temple as he slips his hands away.

You turn around, finding him playfully pouting. The puppy dog eyes are out as he retreats to lean against the kitchen island, one foot crossing over the other once there. 

Harry nudges his chin toward the cake, then nods his head for you to come closer, “If I’m not getting a slice of you, you can gimme a slice of that.”

“Make me.”

Parroting his previous words while mirroring the grin he wore when he said them makes him raise a brow, and his lips pucker at your insolence. It sends a shiver through your drunk self, the kind that suddenly makes you want to rip his clothes off and jump his bones. You’re a woman of many talents, as your love likes to say, and the best one is your ability to change mood in an instant. You can go from hungry to horny in the blink of an eye.

Harry doesn’t say a thing, but he does amble over to a kitchen cabinet for a bottle of whiskey. He grabs a shot glass, pours himself a measure, and necks it with ease before he’s back to grinning at you while walking to lean against the island again.

You simply gawk at him for how hot all of that was. You’ve seen him do a hundred shots over the years, but you'll never not turn into mush watching it happen. The way his large, veiny hand makes the tiny glass look even tinier. How his head tosses back. Jaw tenses. Throat bobs. No wince. Just a gasp of pure delight.

“You’ve got until I get to the count of three to bring your cute, bratty ass here.”

His threat brings a stop to your dizzy daydreaming moment, launching you back into the now where you were acting up. Your parted mouth bends into a smirk. Heart beating hard beats harder some more.

“Or what?” You ask, head tilted. Tongue tauntingly running over your bottom lip, “You gonna smack it?”

Harry lets his other brow rise too, a smirk on his lips now, “One…”

“Ooo, he’s counting.”

You watch him try not to laugh, determined to keep his cool, “Two…”

“I think we’re safe, Cakey. He doesn’t know what comes after two.” You whisper to the plated pudding in your hands.

Another laugh stifled, his bunny teeth on display as he tucks his bottom lip behind it to stop the sound from coming out, “Three.” 

And you haven’t moved an inch, except for your smirk. That’s wider now. You grin so hard that if you weren’t wasted, and your face wasn’t numb from all the alcohol, it would ache. Wind-up mode that you know Harry loves so much fully activated.

He shakes his head slowly, kissing his teeth, “You’re in for it now.”

“You’ll have to catch me first.”

And then you’re off. You feign moving to the left, going to the right instead, but Harry knew that was coming. He knows you like the back of his hand.

He uses both of his to swoop you up from the ground as you try to dart past him. Your back is now pressed to his front, belly aching and shaking with laughter held by his strong arms, and legs kicking out in playful protest.

The next thing you know, you’re both on the floor. Harry on his backside, and you between his legs. Two thuds and two ouches, but you aren’t the only ones.

A third thud. No ouch. The cake that hits the ground too can’t talk, obviously.

“NO!” You both yell simultaneously soap opera style, looking at the cake face down and splattered across the tiled floor. Thankfully it’s on a paper plate, so that isn’t smashed. Unlike like the two of you.

Silence follows, the pair of you grieving the loss. You loved that cake. You and that cake could have had a good life together.

“I actually think I might cry.” You mumble, head shaking in disbelief, “A dead dessert, ‘n I think I’ve just broken my arse too. I should’ve just let you smack it. At least that’s a fun pain.”

Your focus on the pudding becomes obscured, because Harry has crawled to sit before you. His hands cup your face, and he’s frowning adorably. You’re almost certain you can see tears brimming in his pretty green doe eyes.

“I’m so sorry, flower. ‘S all my fault.” He presses a kiss to your lips in haste, then another. Then another. Then one more for good measure, “‘M gonna make it right, ‘kay?”

You’re not given a second to tell Harry that he doesn’t need to apologise, that it’s not his fault and there’s nothing to make right (it’s just cake at the end of the day, even though you’re now craving it more than ever), because the next thing you know, he’s on his feet. Then he’s stumbling towards the cupboards. And finally, he’s opening them all up, pulling out random things as he goes.

“Baby, what are you doing?” You ask with a light, confused-sounding laugh, pulling yourself up to stand, but wincing as you do. The ache in your backside is strong. Clearly the booze is starting to wear off. If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have a second heartbeat there.

Setting everything down on the counter, he casts you a smile over his shoulder that shrugs nonchalantly, “Baking you a cake.”

“You are not!” You laugh again, louder and no longer confused, while walking toward him, “Harry, I love you soooo much, and I appreciate you so much too, but you’re not baking at four in the bloody morning!”

“Why not?” He huffs, turning around and draping his arms over your shoulders with a toothy smile, “‘S the best time to bake. The shop opens soon.”

“You worked at a bakery for one summer and you can’t let it go.” You giggle again, shaking your head as you wrap your arms around his waist. This man… “Where’d I find you, huh? You’re an absolute riot, and I’d like to return.”

“No returns, no exchanges. That was the policy you unknowingly agreed to, and the boyfriend store is closed for good now.” Harry tells you matter-of-factly, more laughter pouring from you at his cheeky, charming ways, “Sorry, darling, but you’re stuck with me.”

“Pity. I was wanting an upgrade.”

His jaw drops, a shocked laugh scoffed out, “And to think I was gonna bake a cake for you! It’s you that needs to apologise to me now!”

“Mm, and how can I do that?” You tease, fingers now mindlessly playing with the waistband of his bottle green slacks at the base of his spine, the fabric of his sage green silk shirt tucked into them so soothing, “A kiss?”

He shakes his head, mischief in his eyes as he looks at your own that are filled with the same emotion. You know what he’s about to say, and you’re now more than ready and happy to give him what he wants, because it’s what you want, too. If you can’t have cake, you’ll have him, although you’ll always want him more than chocolate. That’s how you knew it was real love.

“A dance.” 

Your eyes widen in surprise at his request, which makes Harry chuckle. You weren’t expecting that, but you’re not mad about it. Not one bit.

Nudging his chin your way once more, he gives you a smirk, “C’mon, flower. Dance with me?”

You’ll never miss an opportunity to dance with Harry. It’s one of your favourite things to do. To be in his arms either sober, tipsy or drunk, and spin and sway around a room while he murmur sings in your ear a song that isn’t playing is the closest thing to heaven on earth. 

You don’t need the music at all. His voice is that and more. He knows you love it when he takes breaks between lyrics to tell you how much he loves you, sentiments you reciprocate just as fast and fondly, or to press sweet kisses to your forehead, nose, cheeks and lips. You kiss him back just as many times.

So you accept his request – after sinking a shot of whiskey to stay on his level of drunkenness. That earned you a whistle and a cheer from him, which made you blush, roll your eyes and grin giddily before you fell back into his arms again. 

You’re both still buzzed from the buckets of booze necked tonight, but it’s easing off a little despite the whiskey refreshers. You can tell that Harry is turning just tipsy now from the way his cheeks have shifted from rosy red to perfect peach, and the fact he’s standing on your toes less and less with every step he takes as throughout the kitchen dance. You can tell you’re turning just tipsy now from picking up on the colour difference in his skin, and the fact you’re standing on his toes less and less with every step you take throughout the kitchen dance as well.

The sunrise is already starting to happen given its summer, its dreamy light gold glow casting through the large windows. It shows off the slight reddish tint that runs through Harry’s cropped curls, rays of it around his head like a halo, which makes sense. He is an angel, after all. Yours.

Against your palms, you can feel the ridges of his back muscles through the bottle green blazer that matches his slacks. Your torso pressed against his graced by the contours of his pecs and abs through his shirt. He’s somehow both hard and soft, a juxtaposition that will never not make you dizzy. That you’ll never not love. You always feel so safe in his arms, because they’re home. Harry is home.

And while the moment between you is loving and sweet, you can still feel a different vibe emanating, one that started off before cakegate and continued a little just after. You know he can feel it, too. You can tell by the way he’s looking at you. Like you’re the dessert.

It’s why you give him a bright smile while eyeing him up, head cocked to the left, “You still wanna treat me real good, baby? Still fancying a little taste of me?”

And just like that, one dance ends and another begins, an answer given by Harry in the form of lifting you up for a second time tonight. You squeal in delighted surprise, your feet gone from the ground, and backside meeting the marbled kitchen island countertop. 

He grins, slotting himself between your thighs, hands leaving your hips to cup your face. You’re breathless from the moves. From the man. From the moment.

His mouth meeting yours steals what little breath you had left, and it’s a startling shift from the delicate dancing you were just doing, because there is no delicacy now. The way he kisses you is hot and heavy, an energy you match effortlessly.

The embrace is all fast lips, clashing teeth, entwining tongues and loud moans. Your hands in his hair. His cradling your jaw, tipping your head back to dominate your mouth.

You tug at his roots and give him bottom lip a quick nip, the most salacious sound rattling in his throat following. It makes you grin, the expression aching your face that’s burning up in bliss.

He pulls back, your eyes opening to find his blown out. Harry rakes them all over your expression as yours do the same to his. He looks as hot and bothered as you feel, with a glossy, swollen mouth stretched into a smirk.

“How’s your ass?”

You chuckle at his question, “Could use a little lovin’. How’s yours? It didn’t half take a hit as well.”

“It’s been hit harder, or don’t you remember?” He grins, his nose now running along the length of your own while you clench around nothing at the memory he’s just evoked in your mind, “‘M fine, though. Want me to kiss yours better?”

Shaking your head, you use your hold in his hair to tug him, hinting, “Kiss somewhere else first.”

His eyes widen a little, hands dropping from your face to splay against the marble by your hips as he tuts, “Where’s your manners, huh? You’re usually so polite.”

“Please, Harry.” You coo as sweet as sugar, leaning forward with fluttering lashes while nudging the tip of his nose with the tip of your own, “Be a good boy and eat my pussy.”

Another groan from him, his eyes rolling into the back of his head for a hot second before he’s recalibrated, sights set on you and grin wide, “Now was that so hard?”

“No. But you are.” You tease, his erection straining against his slacks felt against your centre, “Get to work, baby. If you’re lucky, I’ll let you come too.”

Within a second, your back is flat against the countertop. Harry gently nudged you to lie before sinking to his knees between your thighs, with you giggling as he did.

Those heighten now as he tugs you to the edge of the surface. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you look down at him to find him already looking up at you. Lazy smiles decorate both of your faces, his hands under your dress making hasty work of pulling your panties down.

“Someone’s needy tonight.” You tease, lifting your hips to help him out. 

Harry tosses the fabric over his shoulder, your legs draped over them as he stands tall on his knees with his face level with your cunt, “For you, my love? Always.”

And without hesitating a second longer, he pushes your thighs further apart, and dives forward to taste you. All movements fast. Desperate. Like a man possessed. 

His wet tongue slowly licks up through your equally wet slit, hums of satisfaction sounding out from him as he tastes you. Breathes you in. You shudder and shake already, head tossing back and smile wide while panting hard.

But the feeling of his lips wrapping around your clit that he starts to suck makes your chin meet your chest, your blurry vision blinked clear to take in the sexy sight of him. He’s smirking as he works, which turns you on as much as his mouth does. Harry’s face between your legs, mouth on your cunt and nose pressed firmly against you will never not be absolutely stunning. Especially when he looks so damn pleased with himself. 

You give him a grin, a hand leaving the surface to hold the back of his head, “You’re doing so good, baby. Keep going for me, yeah?”

He nods and hums, the movement and his moustache tickling you, and the sound vibrating through. Both things only add to the pleasure you feel, something you know he’s experiencing, too. He loves eating you out, an expert in the art of it, and he loves praise. Calling Harry a good boy and telling him he’s doing a wonderful job is his kryptonite. 

It also spurs him on. He’s still sucking on your throbbing clit, but now the tip of his tongue moves against it in fast flicks as well. The wet sounds of your cunt that he feasts on harmonise with your moans, your fingers knitted in his hair holding him in place against you. Not that he plans on leaving. Harry won’t let himself go anywhere until you’ve had your orgasm, and he’s got the proof of it all over his lips and chin.

His palms were stroking up and down your trembling thighs, but now they splay across your stomach. Fingers linking, he presses down to keep you in place. He’s eating you out like you’re his last meal, the speed of his tongue quickening. The desperation he feels heightening. 

All of his movements make it harder for you to breathe, see, think, and you definitely can’t speak a full sentence anymore. Nothing but broken moans and his name whimpered leave your lips that are still pulled into a grin of pure euphoria; his own also felt against your cunt. 

The knot in your stomach comes closer to unravelling with every suck and lick Harry gives your throbbing clit, a feeling that only grows more intense now that he’s brought his right hand down to your dripping hole and slipped his index and middle fingers inside of your pussy. Knuckle deep, with the cool metal of his rings kissing your skin, he pumps them in and out of you fast, curling them in that perfect way to hit that sweet spot.

The sounds of your arousal around his digits is obscene. Pornographic. You don’t think you’ve ever been wetter, and you’re gasping for air, with tears stinging your eyes. Your brain feels fuzzy. Body turned to jelly. 

“Fuck- H! Faster, baby, please.” You manage to moan out the most coherent sentence for a while, nodding deliriously next, “I’m so close!”

And he does what he’s told, because he always does what he’s told when you’re the one telling him to do it. Harry’s fingers fuck you faster, and the speed of his tongue goes quicker than ever. 

It’s only seconds later that you’re coming, thighs tensing hard around his head. Toes cramping so fiercely it physically hurts. Stars seen behind your screwed shut eyes making all of the pleasurable pain even more worthwhile. Arousal gushing from you coating his tongue and fingers in such a high quantity that you feel drained. 

He now lightly laps against you, catching every bit of release you give him, his whimpers garbled and grin still wide. You’re huffing and puffing, fingers sore from gripping his hair so hard. The rest of you feels liquified. Light. Loved. 

Now spent, your high something he rode you through and enjoyed every drop of, Harry pulls his fingers out while pressing soft and sweet kisses all over your core. It makes you smile, aftershocks of your orgasm causing the occasional shudder. Your hand stroke through his hair while his palms are back to running up and down your thighs. 

Once your breathing is back to somewhat regulated, he pulls back. Your legs over his shoulders manoeuvred to wrap around his waist as he stands tall. His face all flushed inches toward yours, the smell of you on his breath so sweet. Such a turn on. Harry wears your come like lip gloss, a good helping of it soaking his moustache and stubbled chin. 

He grins, nose brushing against the length of yours, “How was that for treating you good, huh?” 

“You never miss.” You hum, grinning back. It’s true. You’re still waiting for your soul to return to your body. 

“Damn fuckin’ right I don’t.” 

You giggle, bringing both of your hands to link around his neck. Harry brings his right one to cup the front of your throat, the left the back of your head, teasing and tilting you just how he likes. How you like, too. 

“Open up that pretty mouth for me, darling.” 

You do just that, ready for what you know is about to come. Yours, mixed in with his saliva. 

Harry doesn’t disappoint. He spits straight into your mouth, and then he’s slamming his against it. The kiss is deep. Sloppy. You can taste yourself all over his tongue, your tongue, and it’s sending you into a frenzy. Recharging you with a desire for more pleasure despite just experiencing a healthy dose that almost wiped you out. 

He pulls his lips away, which makes you chase them, him, desperate for more. But Harry keeps you pinned in place with his grip on your throat and a tut. 

“Now who’s being needy?”

You pout, cunt throbbing again, “You complaining?”

“Not at all, flower.” 

Slipping his hand from the back of your head to your ponytail, he wraps it around his wrist and tugs. Your head tilts back fast, a sweet sting felt all over your scalp that makes you gasp and clench around nothing. 

“But you’ve had your good treatment.” He coos, peering down at you with piercing eyes and a pleased smirk, “I made you come so hard. So much. It’s my turn, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” You rush out breathlessly, any bratty response you might have previously given no longer an option. Harry’s got you so worked up again already. You need him now. Need him to do whatever the fuck he wants to you.

“Good girl.” He grins, letting go of your hair and nodding his head; a gesture for you to climb off of the countertop, “Bend over.”

With the help of his hands, you slide off of the surface, turn around and lie your torso flat against the cool marble with your hands either side of your head. You can feel Harry’s eyes glued to your backside, the gap he created to let you get into position now closed again, and his fingers pinching the hem of your dress slowly lifting it up to your hips.  

A low groan rattles in his chest, you bare ass now on show. His stare scorches. Drives you wild. Makes you squirm. 

Now his touch has the same effect. Harry, as soft as silk, skims his palms over the rounds of your ass, squeezing your cheeks. Spreading them a little, too. 

“Got a little bruise on your peach.” He hums, his feather-light yet feral touch on the tender area so soothing, “Can I kiss it better now?”

“Please do.”

And with that, he sinks to his knees for the second time tonight. His soft lips press a gentle kiss against the sore spot, but you know he won’t stop there. 

With his hands on your hips and thumbs rubbing small circles, Harry trails his perfect lips up to the base of your spine, sweetly kissing each dimple that decorates the bottom of it. You smile, feeling wanted. Worshipped. You’re his deity, and he never misses a day of praying to you. 

Along with his mouth peppering kisses up your back, your dress bunched at your hips rises higher as well, with his fingers back to tugging the material up your body. You stand straight to help him rid the garment completely, the fabric tossed to the ground once off; one final kiss pressed to your temple. 

You stand completely naked, his hands quick to teasingly slide up your stomach and palm your tits. He cups and squeezes, toying with your nipples while nibbling your lobe. Your back arches, your chest pressed further into his touch and your ass against his rock solid cock, your head falling back against his shoulder as whine after whine tumbles from your mouth. 

“Your body drives me crazy. You drive me crazy. Love you so much.” Harry purrs, voice rugged and smirk evident. 

Your heart hammers hard, thighs squeezed together tightly to try and dull the throb in your pussy. But the way he’s playing with your tits and murmuring sweet nothings in your ear while now grinding his length against your ass means nothing will help. Nothing except for him being inside you. 

“Love you so much, too.” Your response is breathy, the smile on your face bright, “No more teasing, baby. Give us what we both want.”

Harry presses a grinning kiss to the shell of your ear, his hands slipping away from your chest to where his cock grazes your backside. His fingers lightly nudge it as he unbuttons his slacks, a whimper and groan heard upon him pulling himself free from their confines. 

“Bend over again for me, flower.” He speaks, tone a little taut. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s speaking with a clenched jaw and gritted teeth in an attempt to remain composed.  

Within seconds of your naked torso meeting the cool countertop once more, he’s teasing your cunt with his tip. Dipping it in for a moment before pulling right back out. Over and over again until your fluttering pussy drips even more and you’re close to screaming at him to get on with it. Lovingly, of course. 

You can feel him smirking, smug at what he’s doing and how riled up he’s making you. Harry loves to tease, and as much as you tell him otherwise, you love it when he teases you. 

But he drops the wind-up act quicker than you anticipated, and as he gives you more than just the tip, you’re crying out in bliss. Harry has pushed forward fast. Filled you balls deep. His hips press against your ass, your cunt hugging his shaft. He cried out at the feeling, too.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” 

You put your arms behind you, hands blindly reaching out for his hips and nails biting when you find them, “And you’re so fucking big. God, H… you feel so good.”

Harry has a firm grip on your own hips, using them as leverage to pull out slowly, and push back in fast, hard, rough. The thrust punches the air from your lungs, a broken moan following. His breaths are all rugged, too. If you could see his face right now, you know that you’d find his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and that gorgeous, sloppy smile that you love so much.

“So wet. So warm.” He mumbles mindlessly, pulling out once more with a groan, his focus felt on where you both meet, “Wish you could see how fucking good we look together.”

You open your mouth to say something back, but you’re stopped with another fast, hard and rough thrust. And then another. And then another.

Harry gives you no chance to speak, or even collect your breath. He just screws you mercilessly, and all you can give him is whimpers. Each quick stroke winds you, his cock hitting that perfect spot just as perfectly every time. He’s so deep. Feels so dreamy. 

The slapping sounds of your slick skin and his balls smacking against your ass harmonises with his groans and your whines. You’re close to your climax already thanks to all of the teasing, how turned on you are and the first orgasm you experienced still partly rallying through you. You need another. And you need him to reach his first. 

You can tell that he’s close to coming already from the all but animalistic sounds he makes. From the way your name mixed with love confessions and profanities rolls off of his tongue unencumbered. From the way his hands have slackened their hold ever so slightly on your hips.

Swallowing hard and sucking in air, you open your wired-shut eyes and flick them to look over your shoulder, “You’re gonna come, aren’t you?”

Harry, feeling your gaze, meets it, an apologetic expression worn as he nods and slows down his rhythm a fraction, “I’m sorry, darling. You just feel so good, ‘n I’m still a little bit drunk. You know I can never last long after a few too many.”

You giggle, which makes him grin, “‘M still a little drunk, too. ‘S okay, baby. Don’t be sorry and don’t slow down. I love how good I’m making you feel. How my cunt makes you come so quickly. Makes me feel so good.”

Pushing yourself up with your hands, you rest on them. He’s quickened his pace a little again, but you can tell he’s still hesitant to go full tilt. That he doesn’t want to come just yet. 

With your neck craned and eyes still on his, you flash him a cheeky smile, “Don’t be scared. Come inside me. Fill me up. Fuck it deep.”

Before you know it, you’re being hugged against his chest, his strong arms wrapped around it. Back flush against his muscled torso. Hands still on the countertop for extra support. His soft lips at your ear; breath and moustache tickling you. 

“You’re gonna kill me with that filthy fucking mouth of yours. You know that, right?”

“Good.” You smirk, his choppy breaths fanning down your neck in the most gorgeous way. 

He picks up his pace again, fucking up into you. The pair of you standing means he’s hitting even deeper than he was before, your arousal running past his length and down onto your thighs. Your moans louder than ever as his tip taps against your cervix which each delicious thrust. 

You grind against him. Clench around him. Your neck twisting a little further to catch a glimpse of him. The sight you find wettening you further of a furrowed brow, slack jaw and blown out eyes struggling to stay open. Harry looks so good. You love his beautiful face all of the time, but in the middle of sex is your favourite version. It’s so natural. So full of bliss.

“C’mon.” You start to urge him again, smirking as devilishly as you feel. As your thoughts. You know just what to say to get what you both want. Need, “Be a good boy and come for Mommy.”

The most spine-tingling whimper follows your dirty words, with Harry fucking you fast and hard until your legs threaten to give out. Until your hands can’t hold onto the countertop anymore and you have to rely solely on his arms hugging you to his body as support. Until your vision turns white as you screw your eyes shut and come hard, which triggers him to do the exact same.

You feel his come filling you up in quick and sharp spurts, his head dropping to the crook of your neck and groans soaking into your sweaty skin. Teeth grazing against it as he hunches up. Lips peppering sloppy kisses to it once he’s given you all he’s got and relaxed, and you’ve given him and done the same. 

What feels like hours, but is only really minutes, of you and Harry regaining your breaths and coming back to earth pass by before he’s carefully pulling out, tucking himself away and lifting you from the ground once more. You’re nothing but an exhausted and limp bag of bones, both of you chuckling quietly at the fact as he carries you to the guest bathroom to clean up. 

Once inside, Harry offers to help you out, but you tell him you’re good. He sets you down to stand, peppers your face in sleepy, sloppy kisses, tells you he loves you a dozen times, you tell him the same thing back just as many, and then he leaves you to it. 

After sorting yourself up, yawning all the way through the post-sex and pre-sleep routine of peeing, washing your hands and face, and brushing your teeth, you leave the bathroom, fully prepared to turn left and head upstairs. That’s where Harry will no doubt now be. 

But upon a cupboard closing sound coming from the right, the kitchen, you quickly realise he isn’t. He’s still in that room, and the thought of having to attempt wrangling his tipsy ass out of it again is almost enough to make you cry. You’re more than ready for bed now.

You’re still very much naked, but that doesn’t stop you from storming back into the kitchen like a woman on a mission, ready to scold. It’s got to be coming up for five a.m now. Why Harry has gone back to that room, you don’t know. 

The sight of his bare backside stops your footsteps dead, your jaw hitting the floor you’re frozen on. He was fully clothed when he left you in the bathroom, but now his suit has joined your dress; the different shades of green blending with black a heap on the floor. 

Your focus drifts from the pile, and also the dropped cake that still needs to be cleaned up, to his peachy behind, the tanned area taut and without blemish. Harry faces away from you, none the wiser to your presence. He’s busying himself with something at the counter. 

And what that is becomes apparent when your eyes skim up his muscled back, finding two bows knotted. One around his neat waist. The other around the nape of his neck. He’s wearing a goddamn apron. He’s fucking baking.

As though he could hear your thoughts and wanted to confirm them as fact, Harry turns around with a bright grin on his face, a silver mixing bowl cradled in the crook of his left arm, a wooden spoon in his right hand doing the mixing, and the beige pinny you gifted him one Christmas that reads ‘I’M KNEADY’ in bold, black lettering across it covering his torso.

“Worked up an appetite, so I’ve opened up the bakery.” He winks, voice still a little slurred. Whether that be from the booze, sex or fatigue, you don’t know, but you’re not mad about it, or at him. Not any more. Not ever, actually.

Instead, you grin back, giggle hard and walk toward the other apron hanging up on the peg, yours that reads ‘SOMEBODY KNEADS A HUG’. Harry bought you that the same year you bought him his; one of those moments where you just knew you were soulmates after gifting one another similar gifts without any inclination it would happen whatsoever. A pure coincidence. Or fate, as he would say.

You slip it on over your body, tying the ribbons as you saunter toward him. Harry beams at you, but he doesn’t seem surprised that you’re feeding into his silly antics. You love them. Love him.

Wrapping your arms around his waist, he sets down the mixing bowl and wraps his around yours. He presses a swift and cheeky kiss to the tip of your nose, you press one to his adorable dimple, and then you’re back to grinning at one another; exhaustion no longer felt. How much he loves you, how much you love him, gives you energy. Brings you life. 

“What kinda cake are we making?”

A lazy, cocky shrug from him and wicked glint in his gorgeous green eyes, “Whatever kind gets me called a good boy, and for you to dip into Mommy mode again.”

At that you laugh, shaking your head in a dizzy sort of way, and your cheeks flush rosy red. This man… he’s the one that’s going to kill you with his filthy mouth and mind that’s forever in the gutter, not the other way around.

You wouldn’t change a thing about Harry, though. Even when he’s being a drunk pain in the ass. You love every version more than anything else in the world.

“Better make it chocolate then.”

[sunshinetemptress93]

When you finally get to the scene you’ve been waiting to write

[sunshinetemptress93]

HARRYCHELLA | FINAL