#Mrs. Radcliffe

[tricornonthecob]

"You know... I actually think I missed your friends, Eliza."

[historicalreusedcostumes]

This red and black dress that crosses the front of the bodice is worn on Dinah Stabb as Princess Caroline in Prince Regent: The Trouble with Women (1979) and many years later worn on Helen McCrory as Mrs. Radcliffe in Becoming Jane (2007)

Credit: recycledmoviescostumes

[issela-santina]

Four magical scenes set in open water, where light has a diminished reach.

Our Flag Means Death — As Edward “Blackbeard” Teach lingers in the open water, before him is a vision of his lover Stede Bonnet, trident in hand, as a merman with a fabulous goldfish-like tail.

Mr. Queen — Jang Bong-hwan is held and kissed by a princess, Kim So-yong (later Queen Cheol-in), who had swum to him from out of nowhere. A green aurora-like light forms a wide circle around the two.

The Shape of Water — The Asset kisses Eliza Esposito, whose red dress opens up in the water while her left shoe drifts away from her foot. Not that she needs it any longer.

Swiss Army Man — Hank discovers a bit of a win-win upon kissing the lips of the undead Manny, who bubbles with air through a grin.

[denimbex1986]

'In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is King and honey, you should see me in a crown.'

"...I loved, loved, loved working with Benedict on that, and you know, the, the first series of that show went down so well - I only had a little bit to do in the first, first series, so I was excited to be focused on Moriarty in one of the episodes particularly because people loved the show almost immediately, and that line is an amazing line that - for an actor to say..."

'I'm in Wales, and I don't have to pretend to be something that I'm not.'

"...I always recommend Pride because I think it's just a beautiful film about how we're just so much more similar to each other than we think we are. And what was brilliant about that character, the character, was that he was one of I think 15 gay characters who are the lead characters, and it so it means you weren't just playing like a token gay because everybody was completely distinct from each other, even though they were all sort of relatively similar sexualities. He just shows that, you know, there's as much diversity within, within a sex - sexuality as there is for straight people too."

'I can't get used to calling myself queer, it was always such an insult.'

"...So much of it was, was personal, even though it was very different to me. I suppose it explored the idea of losing your parents, which at the time I hadn't - I lost my mother since - but I think that's the, the power of the sort of empathetic nature of art; that it allows us to explore things that otherwise we might be too frightened to explore. That film has helped me in a way because, since the film ended, I, I feel like there's stuff in it that I feel like I was able to exorcise in some ways..."

'Yeah, that's right, Dickie Greenleaf. It's nice to meet you too.'

"...He's a really solitary figure, and to be able to just work out what's going on inside his head, and whether he's sort of capable of love or whether, whether he isn't - I kind of believe that all human beings are in need of love in some way, but it was quite difficult in that sense to sort of access within, within him, because he was so solitary. So yeah, that's why I think he continues to fascinate people, Tom Ripley."

'You've always been against going to America.'

"Korea? Is it? That's my first film...I was 17 - first ever job; first ever film. It was lovely and there was a - an actor in it who played my father called Donald Donnelly, and he was an enormous influence on me. He was very well-known, but he was incredibly kind to everybody on the set, and I've always just - you know, you learn how to be by looking at your, you know, elders, and he was just lovely to everybody.

I remember very clearly on a Saturday afternoon watching like old MGM movies. You know, like those big things where there's, you know, lots of people doing synchronised swimming in a big pool from like, I mean like, old school, like, you know, choreography of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. And there's something about that that I just absolutely adored, and I knew immediately - I knew, I really; I remember when I was about seven saying that I want - that's something that I wanted to do, which is weird when I think about it. I was very shy, and so that helped me kind of come out of my shell so - I was very nurtured by, by, uh, my mum in that sense; she, she pushed me in the right direction. That's what I remember um, uh, inspiring me, yeah."

[monsterfxkr69420]

the state of my letterboxd…

[hippography]

MOUNTAIN HOPE 33228

Sire: Green Valley Fox 12602  Dam: Mountain Gal 17308

Champion Walk-Trot of the Pacific International

In accumulating forty-three awards in 1948 this dark chestnut three-gaited mare proved to be a ladies and amateur mount of considerable merit, but at the Pacific International late in the fall she proved that she had developed into a stake mare of considerable stature. Particularly so, for at that show the three-gaited division was stronger in quality and quantity than at any other Pacific Coast show in 1948. To make it a grand slam at Portland, Mountain Hope performed well enough before Charles W. Green to win the ladies, the amateur, the over-two stake and the championship stake.

In the early part of 1948 the mare was shown under lease by the Edward E. Radcliff stable and is now owned by Mr. and Mrs. Radcliff, and will be campaigned by them in 1949.

Mrs. Radcliff up in this picture.

Photo by Cosner

Betty Jellinek (ed.), 1949, Here’s Who in Horses of the Pacific Coast Vol. 5

[prince-of-red-lions]

guys idk what the one chip challenge is, but some twink I’ll call Mr. Radcliffe (cuz he looks like Harry Potter) did the challenge last week at lunch and he threw up and had to go home? 😭😭😭 Needless to say I teased Mr. Radcliffe relentlessly the next day

[startanewdream]

Out of the HP cast (if you were not married and whatever cast member was not taken in any way) - who would you date or choose romantically?

Ahh, funny question! I have no idea, I never had that hyperfixation phase with actors or artists in general!

[tricornonthecob]

Live Radcliffe reaction to the latest chapter (13) of If Your Own Windows Are Glass by @connectingconstellations

[bumblee-stumblee]

The Telegraph

Scores of actresses turn down roles in play critical of JK Rowling’s gender views

Craig Simpson

Thu, June 13, 2024 at 6:49 AM PDT·3 min read

A play that criticises JK Rowling’s views on gender is struggling to cast women with 90 actresses so far rejecting parts.

The stage production, which is set to debut at the Edinburgh Fringe, has already caused outrage over a working title which labelled the gender-critical Harry Potter author a c----.

The production is yet to cast any of the female roles, including that of Rowling herself.

The part of Harry Potter film star Emma Watson has also been repeatedly turned down, and around 90 actresses have refused to take part in the project amid concerns over its critique of Rowling.

The author has become a figure of hate online among some activists, and received death threats after publicly sharing concerns about the encroachment of transgender campaigning on women’s rights.

Actors have been found for male leads, who will portray Harry Potter cast members Rupert Grint and Daniel Radcliffe.

Creative producer Barry Church-Woods told the Telegraph: “This project has met some kind of resistance every step of the way, though I’ve been generally surprised by how difficult it has been for us to recruit the female cast in particular.

“It’s a well-paid gig meeting industry standards and the script is terrific.”

He added: “I think it’s fair to say that a few things are coming into play in casting.”

The play, which was written by queer-identifying Hollywood scriptwriter Joshua Kaplan, tells the story of a fictional intervention staged for Rowling by the stars of the Harry Potter franchise, Watson, Grint and Radcliffe.

The three actors publicly denounced Rowling in 2020 when she first raised concerns about the spread of gender ideology, the belief that gender is unfixed and changes according to how people self-identify.

The work was initially titled TERF C***, with TERF standing for trans-exclusionary radical feminist, a term which has been deployed pejoratively against women who have opposed trans ideology.

It is understood that 30 actresses have turned down the role of Rowling in the play, and 60 have refused the part of Watson, while agencies representing aspiring female stars have been nervous to put their clients forward for the project.

There is some suggestion that the actress may have ideological misgivings about the play, or be concerned about a potential backlash.

It has been suggested by producers that some actresses may not want to appear in a play critiquing Rowling and ruin their chances of appearing in the lucrative new Harry Potter TV series on the Max streaming service.

Rowling is acting as executive producer for the series, and will be involved in key decision-making.

Mr Church-Woods said: “We’ve had agents reluctant to put names forward, I suspect, because they do not want to damage their clients chances of landing roles on the new Potter TV series.”

Writer Mr Kaplan has insisted that his play does not carry a set message, and is more about “relationships and how Rowling’s opinions evolved” rather than a work “interrogating the substance of her opinions”.

TERF plays the Sir Ian McKellen Theatre from August 2 to 25.

But I thought TWAW? Why aren't they looking to hire Transwomen actors to play the women's roles if they truly believe that they are women?

Isn't it funny how they seem to know what a woman is when they want to use them to mock other women?

[elizabethan-memes]

Another novelist among the friends of the family was Jane’s favourite, Frances Burney, who had written Evelina and Cecilia, and who now was publishing her novel Camilla by subscription. A bit like crowd-funding today, subscribers got the privilege of having their names listed in the front of the finished book. The list for Camilla reads rather like a sisterhood of Georgian female novelists, because so many of them supported their fellow author. It includes a Mrs Radcliffe, and Miss Edgeworth (author of Belinda) and indeed a nineteen-year-old ‘Miss J. Austen of Steventon’, whose guinea must have been paid for her by her father.

Lucy Worsley, Jane Austen At Home

[the-cricket-chirps]

Dorothea Tanning

A Mrs. Radcliffe Called Today

1944

Oil on canvas

[fayestardust]

Here's a new speedpainting of Mr John Brady, mostly for @bobparkhurst and @almost-a-class-act since we're all completely normal about John Brady. I also posted this on Instagram, and I'm begging you guys to tag Ben Radcliffe because I want him to see it and also to reply to my very important DM. LINK HERE THANK YOU I LOVE YOU.

Also tagging Dana because I was implored to, @itstheheebiejeebies.

[jgroffdaily]

A Broadway Star Gets Married on Her Day Off

Lindsay Mendez, nominated for a Tony in “Merrily We Roll Along,” married actor J. Alex Brinson in a Monday ceremony officiated by castmate Jonathan Groff. Daniel Radcliffe was their ring bearer.

On Broadway, with most shows shuttered, Monday is typically the day actors and crews rest and recharge.

Or, if you’re Lindsay Michelle Mendez and John Alex Brinson, it’s the day you get married.

Ms. Mendez currently stars as Mary Flynn in the musical “Merrily We Roll Along,” so the wedding was planned not just around her schedule, but that of the officiant and ring bearer’s, too — Ms. Mendez’s castmates Jonathan Groff and Daniel Radcliffe.

Ms. Mendez said her castmates Mr. Groff, who was previously ordained by the Universal Life Church, and Mr. Radcliffe had played an important role in her relationship journey with Mr. Brinson. “They’ve become our really, really close friends in real life,” she said. “It just felt appropriate for Jon to marry us and for Dan to be our ring bearer.”

Several Times a Minister Mr. Groff has officiated other weddings, including the nuptials of his former “Hamilton” castmate Phillipa Soo and the actor Steven Pasquale.

Mr. Groff, ordained by the Universal Life Church, is a seasoned officiant who has presided over several other weddings. Credit: Heather Gershonowitz

[tilly-tilly-2827]

Interventions & Interventions

Reimagining An Offer from a Gentleman #7

Synopsis: A year ago, Sophie would have scoffed if someone had told her that she would be married to Benedict Bridgerton. A year ago, if someone had told her that she would be welcoming a child, Sophie would have thrown herself off a cliff. But now, she doesn’t have to be afraid of anything. The love of her life is right by her side. Everything was going well, wasn’t it? Or, the little drabble of Benophies going through the early days of Sophie’s pregnancy.

AO3 post from here!

The half-read novel forgotten on her lap, Sophie couldn’t help leaping up from the window-side chaise as she finally saw the carriage coming up the road. Yes, she had been staring through the window for about an hour, Benedict had told her in his letters from London that he would be home before noon. Although it puzzled her that not one, but two carriages stopped in front of the gate, she found herself rushing to the door, despite Mrs. Crabtree’s yelps. “Mrs. Bridgerton, Mrs. Radcliff told you complete bed rest was required…”

“Terrorizing Mrs. Crabtree again, my love?”

“Benedict!”

And Sophie was in the warm arms of her adoring husband once again, the familiar smell of sandalwood and soap filling up the emptiness that had plagued her during his absence. Feeling a soft kiss on her forehead, Sophie snuggled on his chest adoringly, his turquoise cravat tickling the edge of her nose.

“I missed you,”

“But I missed you more,”

Looking up to his evergreen eyes, Benedict kissed her lips softly, his hands cupping her cheeks. Sophie diligently opened her lips, feeling him tickling the corner of her mouth, and just as her hands moved to the back of his neck to kiss him more, tasting the sweetness of his lips, the two heard a rather loud cough from the sitting room.

“Ah! Mrs. Crabtree! Delightful to see you again as well!”

Benedict's voice was rather high-pitched as he expertly positioned Sophie in front of him. Sophie blushed, noticing that Benedict was subtly concealing a slight bulge in his trousers that had begun to appear.

“Welcome home, Mr. Bridgerton.” Mrs. Crabtree bobbed a little curtsy, “Should I get the tea ready for you? Mrs. Bridgerton should be back on her rest…”

“Thank you, Mrs. Crabtree,” Benedict replied as Sophie deepened her blush, feeling Benedict’s hands softly caress her behind, “But I’m afraid there is an urgent errand for me upstairs…”

But Benedict’s words were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Mr. Bridgerton? May we come in?”

Mrs.Crabtree saw Benedict’s eyes light up, almost like a little child on a Christmas morning.

“Oh, sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen! Come in, come in!”

“Sophie, you are going to love this,” Benedict whispered to her excitedly as he opened the door. Sophie’s mouth hung open as she saw five men standing; the two holding a wooden cradle frame, one holding a white mattress and a roll of beautiful botanical wallpaper. One had a handsome rocking horse in his arms, trimmed with rich, white manes. The last man was quite sweating, overwhelmed by the size and the weight of the splendid chest he barely managed to hold.

“There is more,” Benedict was grinning ear to ear as he pointed to the carriage outside, “Please, please come on up gentlemen. Upstairs, the room to the right, with the flower craving on the door. And would you carry the boxes in the sitting room?”

Sophie and Mrs. Crabtree could only stand there gaping, as the men carried mountains of furniture, toys, socks, and blankets to the nursery. Sophie was beginning to feel pain in her head as she saw colorful boxes being carried from the second coach, presumably bonnets, scarves, and dresses he had bought from Madam Delacroix.

Sophie loved her husband, she truly did from the depth of her heart. But as she began the blissful marriage with Benedict Bridgerton, the utter differences in perception of money became her constant anxiety. With most of her life in service, it was difficult to understand how Benedict splurged on extravagance and wealth, spending his money as if he had abysmal wealth. Or at least, in her eyes. In his eyes, it was never “splurge” or “extravagance”; he would call it “necessary expenses”. He wholeheartedly felt that way, and Sophie knew Benedict would never be considered a spendthrift inside the ton. But why would Benedict need a new waistcoat when he had 46 in the closet? Half a year ago, she had struggled to buy a new pair of gloves, even though she needed them desperately. Now, Benedict would buy her a diamond necklace if she had even looked at it for more than five seconds. (Sophie had to beg him not to, Daphne looking at Sophie with a puzzled look as Sophie desperately tugged his arms away from the jewelry shop. It had been their first mild argument as a married couple.)

Sophie had hesitantly shared her thoughts about his financial tendencies, and Benedict immediately went down on his knees and apologized, promising he would be more careful. But, his reason or sanity tended to fly out of the window when it came to his child. His baby.

Sophie knew how much the baby meant for him. His elder brother was already blessed with two sons. Daphne already had four children of her own, and Colin had just welcomed the adorable Agatha just a year ago. How Benedict gently cradled his niece in his arms with adoring eyes, Sophie knew that even before she could even imagine he would be her husband, he was going to be a wonderful father.

Benedict had burst into tears of joy when Sophie had timidly told him of her pregnancy, sobbing in her arms for a solid hour. Sophie had softly run her fingers through his curls as Benedict sniffed his nose and promised her he would be there for her every step.

Benedict Bridgerton faithfully kept his word. In every session with Dr. White, he was with her, his hand on hers. He rubbed her back as she reversed every bit of substance in her stomach in a chamber pot, running around the house for a napkin and a glass of water. He would fill the kitchen cupboards with pears and green apples; he even ditched on chicken and beef from the house when he learned that the burning smell was leaving her in torture. He would massage her terribly swollen toes, and Sophie would doze off on the couch in his studio, and Benedict would sketch her, gently waking her up only when Mrs. Crabtree called the two for supper. Benedict was in her every step; in her walks, study, meals, bed, and even baths. Truly, the most considerate husband she could ever wish for. Wasn’t he?

Thus, Sophie felt rather guilty when she felt relief receiving a letter from Sir Henry Granville, asking Benedict to come to London. Lord Wellington had seen his work in the summer exhibition at the Royal Academy and had asked Sir Granville if he could meet the young artist in person.

“Oh, Benedict, how splendid!” Wapping her arms around his neck, Sophie pestered him with kisses, “You once told me Lord Wellington is a patron to many artists! Oh, Benedict, he sees the potential in you,”

“I’m not going.”

“… Whatever do you mean?”

Benedict gently led her to the chaise, making her take a seat. Kneeling himself on the floor, Benedict softly placed his hands on the baby bump that had begun to show several months ago. A gentle roundness on her belly. They both smiled when they felt the baby give a small kick; it was no longer a flutter but a gentle nudge, almost as if the baby was stretching his legs to meet his father.

“My love, I’ll be fine on my own.”

“But I promised that I’ll be by your side in every step,”

Sophie took his hand, placing a small kiss on his fingertips.

“You have already done so much for me, love.”

“But”

“And the baby wouldn’t come out for months, Benedict. You heard Doctor White tell us several months ago that I’m stable now.”

“Sophie,”

“Go to London. Benedict. For me.” Sophie gently caressed his soft brown curls. “I know how much you wished for this,”

Benedict buried his face in her knees, his hands still firmly placed on the bump. Sophie continued to stroke his curls, her fingertips tickling the edge of his ears.

“Two days, Sophie. I’ll be back in two days.”

“Your letters said three weeks, Ben.”

“Three days, then.”

“Benedict, the baby isn’t going to disappear or fly away! I’m planning to keep a close watch,”

“Aren’t you going to miss me, dear wife?”

Sophie averted her gaze, blushing, as Benedict looked up at her with a slight tease. Taking a deep breath, Sophie gently tugged his shirt by the collar and lightly placed her lips on his.

“A week then,” She murmured against his lips, “Can’t let the baby forget Papa’s voice,”

“A week it is,” Benedict replied with a deeper kiss. “And did you just call me Papa?”

Sophie ignored his question, moving her focus to undoing Benedict’s buttons. But when she finished the last one, Sophie cupped his face between her hands, staring firmly into his charming eyes.

“No gifts, Ben”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” and he gently flopped off Sophie’s hand-knitted slippers, moving his lips on her toes.

And Benedict had kept his word. After giving a pair of new boots to Mr.Crabtree and a bottle of rose water to Mrs. Crabtree, Benedict took Sophie’s hand, leading her to the nursery, already rambling on about the purchase he had made with his mother in London. However, Mrs. Crabtree swiftly intervened, saying that Sophie needed immediate rest.

“Why so, Mrs. Crabtree?” With a slight tilt, he asked, “She looks perfectly healthy to me,”

With a firm, yet motherly glare from Mrs. Crabtree, Sophie knew that she had to tell Benedict of the fever she had a few days earlier, and the village midwife had instructed her to stay in bed for a few weeks. Sophie could see the color draining from his face as she hastily rushed through the story.

“I never should have left,”

“Benedict, there is nothing to worry about. The fever broke out in a few days…”

“Few days?” Benedict arched his eyebrows. “Sophie, I know enough it’s not a good sign for the baby. Why aren’t you in bed?”

“Mrs. Bridgerton wanted to greet you as soon as possible,” Mrs. Crabtree added gently from the corner, seeing Sophie’s lips quiver. “Mr. Bridgerton, why don’t take Mrs. Bridgerton up to the bed? I’ll prepare a tea for two upstairs…”

“Why didn’t you write to me, Sophie? “ Benedict carried her up the stairs and tucked her under the covers despite Sophie’s weak protests. His tone was quiet, but Sophie noticed a touch of sadness, “I would have left London in a second,”

“It wasn’t so high of a fever, Benedict,” Sophie gave a soft sigh, Benedict putting an extra blanket on the covers, “I didn’t want to interrupt your work. You told me that you were meeting Lord Wellington on Wednesday,”

Kneeling himself on her bedside, Benedict took her hand, holding it tightly.

“Nothing is more important than the health of you and the baby, Sophie. Not even Lord Wellington or the bloody paintings,”

“Did Lord Wellington ask you for a landscape painting?”

Benedict’s eyes widened.

“How did you know? I was planning to surprise you,”

“Your eyes and tone convey more than you think,” Sophie smiled, placing a hand on his cheeks, “Congratulations Benedict. I couldn’t be more proud,”

But as Sophie pulled herself up for a kiss, Benedict quickly stood up, awkwardly moving to the foot of the bed.

“You need rest, Sophie,”

“Benedict, I’ve been resting for four days, and I remember you saying that I looked perfectly fine.”

“But,”

“Tell me about London,” Sophie said, smoothing out the silk covers, “I’ll be here in bed, resting, as Mrs. Radcliff had told me. Please talk to me, love. How was Sir Granville? What did Lord Wellington say about your paintings? ”

Benedict still looked concerned, his brows knitted into a worrisome frown.

“Aren’t you going to show me what you brought for the baby?”

Benedict burst out of the room in a second, and as Sophie laughed merrily, he was soon back with his arm full, placing the little blankets, wooden trinkets, and tiny knitted socks on the white covers. Sitting cross-legged on the covers, Benedict explained every purchase with so much enthusiasm, his eyes sparkling like spring meadows. As Sophie softly traced the botanical patterns on the wallpaper, Benedict told her that it was imported from Italy, hand-painted by a craftsman. He had also told her excitedly that the cradle was made with the same cherry tree as Miles’ and Edmund’s.

“I might have gone overboard,” Benedict chuckled to himself, scratching his head as he took a small pair of black shoes from the box. “But Mother seemed ecstatic about welcoming a new grandchild as well…”

“No, Benedict this is absolutely beautiful.” Sophie tried to keep her tone bright and cheerful, “Oh, Benedict, the baby isn’t born yet, and he’s already the happiest in the world…”

“What about you?”

“What?”

“Are you angry that I spent too much?”

“No, no, no.” Sophie stuttered, “It’s necessary expenses, Benedict. And I love every item you bought, truly…”

“Then what’s on your mind?” Benedict softly traced the outline of her face, “I’ll pay a grand for your thoughts.”

Sophie laughed, “My thoughts are worth less than a penny, Love.”

“Well, I beg to differ, but tell me,”

Sophie stared at her hangnail, the edge of her left middle finger slightly swollen. With her right hand, she wrapped her finger, feeling a sharp pain as she tightened her grip.

“I should be the one doing this,” Sophie sighed, not quite looking at his eyes, “Ordering the cradle, the blankets, the napkins, the bottles, everything. When you should be focusing on your paintings, Benedict. A few weeks ago, Mrs. Crabtree asked me if I wanted to go to the village to order, but I thought it would be too early…”

“Sophie,”

“And my mind didn’t even go to the nursery, Benedict! The decorations, the wallpaper, the toys, I couldn’t even think about the decorations. I’m already a terrible mother…”

“Breath, Sophie, breath.” Benedict softly moved up to the bed, he plopped himself next to his wife, resting his back on the headboard. “You’re not a terrible mother, Sophie.”

“But,”

“When I first went to Sir Granville’s, I didn’t even know how to set up the easel. I didn’t know where to buy the right paint, and it took years to notice that I was being overcharged.”

“Really?” A small smile crept up on Sophie’s lips, and Benedict felt a bit of relief; he knew that Sophie was on the verge of tears.

“Truly,” Benedict kissed her forehead, “Nobody starts as an expert, Sophie.”

“Yet you are already a perfect father,”

“I’m far from perfection, Sophie. I had siblings, to make me experienced and bestow me with their knowledge. All the things I bought from London? All Mother and Kate.”

“Benedict, are you telling me lies to make me feel better?”

“Is it working?”

With a crooked smile, he peered into his wife’s eyes, and Sophie giggled in response, resting her head on his broad shoulders.

“And you’ve already done a splendid job of raising the little one inside you! I can’t imagine how hard the change must be.” He continued, rubbing her belly affectionately. “Focus on the health of you and the baby, Sophie. Leave me to worry about everything else.”

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Sophie softly pinched his cheeks, playfully tugging his skin. “Sometimes I can not believe if you are even real,”

“It would be quite a tragedy if this was all a dream.” Benedict laughed, “I would willingly drink a bottle of poison to keep me in this wonderful dream,”

“But, Benedict.”

Ah, the Benedict in b flat.

“Mmm?”

“The dresses you bought from Madam Delacroix?”

“Oh, she already kept your measurements from the wedding…”

“I’m never going to fit in them, Benedict.”

Damm, Benedict cursed under his breath. He finally understood why Genevieve was so reluctant to sell them, and why she repeatedly kept asking for the new measurements. “I know my wife,” Benedict had told Geneville rather impatiently, “She was beautiful in my shirt and breeches, I’m sure she will look splendid any dress…”

"Don't worry about those dresses, love. We can always have Madam Delacroix adjust them as needed.”

“And pay another grand for just the adjustments?”

“… Necessary expenses?” Benedict suddenly felt the need to switch the topic, “Now why don't you get some rest while I start setting up these toys for our little one?"

Sophie knew his transparently obvious tactic, but with the comfortable warmth of her husband, and his tone filled with gentle reassurance, she found herself too tired to start an argument. With a soft smile, Sophie nodded, watching as Benedict started to fiddle with the wooden toys. As she drifted off to sleep against his shoulders, she could hear the soft hum of Benedict's voice, whispering promises and dreams to their unborn child.

------------------------------------------------

Violet had been rather startled, receiving a letter from her second son, begging her to visit him and his wife at Wiltshire. Benedict had been in London just two weeks ago, dragging her to every street of London for baby supplies, and even Violet herself had been exhausted by all the shopping. The baby wasn’t due in a few months, but as she got to the end of the letter, telling her about Sophie’s declining health, she quickly packed her bags. It was a relief that Hyacinth was visiting her sister in Scotland, and Eloise had not even dropped a word of sarcasm as the two rushed into the carriage.

But Violet noticed that Benedict didn’t exactly tell her the truth when the two arrived at Wiltshire. As Benedict had written, Sophie did look rather feverish, her cheeks awfully crimson, and she was at least several stones thinner, despite the huge swell on her belly. She did not look well, but not as terrible as Benedict had explained in his letters. Sophie, although still in bed, had greeted the two with a smile, apologizing for how she wasn’t able to welcome them at the door.

“Do not worry, my dearest. I’m more worried about your weight, my dear, have you been eating enough?”

“I have been trying, but my stomach seems to be rejecting everything…,”

“I bought plums which saved Daphne from starvation, Sophie, and this oatmeal is said to be more nutritious than the regular ones…”

For a week, Violet diligently cared for Sophie, overseeing her meals with Mrs. Crabtree. Whether it was the oatmeal brought from London or the new jugs of milk from Mrs. Crabtree’s sister, they weren't sure, but Sophie seemed to be regaining her strength day by day. When Sophie's fever finally broke, Benedict, Eloise, Violet, Mrs. Crabtree, and Mr.Crabtree all breathed a sigh of relief. Dr. White also finally smiled with satisfaction, declaring that she could leave the bed.

Unlike Benedict, who had leaped from his chair and was beginning to pester Sophie with kisses despite Eloise’s eye roll, Violet noticed that the dark shade of worry and fear didn’t leave Sophie’s deep forest eyes with Dr. White’s words.

For another week, Violet had promised to stay in Wiltshire, to keep an eye on Sophie’s condition. Violet silently observed her second son flocking around his very pregnant wife every second, simultaneously preparing for the arrival of their baby, painting the nursery, assembling the crib, and even knitting tiny socks. Violet was quite amazed by the wall painting Benedict was working on in the nursery, a cherry blossom that spread across the wall, adding violets and hyacinths on its foot.

But what mildly concerned her was how Sophie never seemed to actively touch what Benedict had bought from London, or what Benedict had assembled or made for the baby. Yes, she would smile and giggle as Benedict playfully smudged the Castleon green paint on her cheeks and her rounded belly, and her constant worried gaze would soften as she looked at Benedict, reaching out his arms to tenderly stroke her roundness.

But when Violet surprised Sophie with the baby blanket she had done tulip embroideries on the hems, Sophie’s fingers were shaking, almost as if she were afraid of breaking the soft material. And at that moment, Violet finally understood why her loving son had desperately begged her to come to their newlywed home.

It was the last night of their stay in Wiltshire, their bags already packed and placed ready on the doorsteps for the carriage tomorrow morning. The two were alone in the drawing room, the fire cracking peacefully in the fireplace. The warm light was enough to see the small tremble on Sophie’s thin lips.

“This is beautiful, Violet. I don’t know how I could thank you for everything…” Despite her shaking hands, there was a smile plastered on Sophie’s face, her fingers carefully tracing the red petals.

“No need to thank me, Sophie.” Violet gently said, “I have done everyone for my grandchildren, and there is no reason to leave this little one out,”

Thank you, thank you, Violet saw Sophie mouth the words of gratitude several times.

“May I?”

“Oh yes, please,”

Gently stroking Sophie’s belly, Violet felt a warm flutter as she sensed a firm kick, remembering her first days of pregnancy, and the bright smile Edmund showed when he first felt the presence of a new life.

“So eager to meet his Mama,” Violet smiled as Sophie’s belly tumbled again. “As a former vessel to the Bridgertons, I am afraid to tell you that he might resemble his Papa more.”

For the first time Violet had seen her in weeks, Sophie laughed, a bright cracking laughter that vibrated merrily in the room.

“I believe so,” Sophie replied, gently caressing her roundness. “He is going to have Benedict’s curls and his nose,”

“But he will have your eyes, Sophie.”

Sophie smiled, imagining for the first time, the little bundle of joy cradled in her arms, the little version of her loving husband. Perhaps he would flutter his long eyelashes, dazed by the soft sunlight, or reach out his little hands to wrap his hand around her fingers. Or he might cry out a little, wailing for his mama,

“Do you think I will ever be able to meet him?”

“The baby?”

Sophie nodded, her eyes still placed on her belly.

“Oh don’t be silly, Sophie. Of course, you’ll meet your baby. In three months time my dear…”

“My mother never got to see me,”

Violet’s hands on the teacup froze.

“Or at least, that was what I was told.” Sophie’s tone was oddly flat, as if she were trying to repress any emotion, “That when I came out, there was too much blood and she had already passed away,”

“Oh, Sophie,”

“I’m not afraid of dying,” Sophie continued, smiling weakly, “I’ve already had such a blissful life,”

“Don’t say that Sophie, you are still two-and-twenty,”

“My Mother gave birth to me when she was much younger,”

Violet found herself at a loss of words. How lucky she was, to have given birth to eight children, and she knew she had been blessed by god for surviving each one. But she also knew many mothers left the world without ever feeling the warmth of their newborn child. Maria Beckett, whom Violet had never met, had been one of those mothers.

“I don’t fear leaving this world, Violet. Because I know for sure that Benedict would love and adore the baby no matter what. He would love the baby twice as much, for the amount that I wouldn’t be able to deliver,”

“Sophia,”

“And your son is the most charming man,” Sophie’s smile grew even bigger, but Violet saw the corner of her lips trembling, “Far, far, better a man than I should deserve. He would have no trouble finding a new mother for the baby, someone much more suitable than myself,”

“No, Sophia,” Shaking her head, Violet took Sophie’s trembling hands, firmly holding her hand in hers. Violet felt the roughness of her hands, the skin harder, coarser than any hand she had ever held. “I will tell you a million times how lucky my son is to have you as his wife, no matter how much you deny it.”

Sophie tried to raise the corner of her lips.

“Thank you, Lady Bridgerton,”

“Violet, Sophie.”

“Thank you, Violet.”

The two silently looked at the small fire in the fireplace, the flickers of sparks crackling in the darkness. Violet heard Sophie take a deep breath, almost as if she was letting down a big piece of luggage from her shoulders.

“But, what fears me the most,” Sophie continued slowly, but her voice was shaking, her breath was short and breathless, “Is if I can’t give Benedict his baby.”

“Oh, Sophie,”

“I still have three months to go, and I know that my body isn’t catching up,”

Tears were running down Sophie’s crimson cheeks, her shoulders shaking, her lips trembling. Violet gently took her daughter in her arms, rubbing the back of her delicate shoulders.

“Sophie,”

“And when the time comes, when he has to choose between me and the baby,” Sophie broke out into a sob, “I know that he’s going to choose me before the baby. After years and years of wanting a baby, after months and months of preparing, all his time, money, and effort wasted, ”

Her words were bearly audible between sobs and tears,

“I hear him, humming lullabies in his sleep, with so much love and anticipation. He’s already a father, mother, and it breaks my heart if I can’t give him what he wished for years, that I’m going to leave him devastated,”

I promise you and the baby will both be perfectly fine, those exact words almost slipped, but she stopped herself, knowing the gravity and the reality of Sophie’s fears. Violet noticed that she couldn’t find the right words for the poor girl who was crying and crying in her arms, the eight childbirths she had experienced weren’t enough, the depth of her fear, Violet noticed, was far deeper than she had imagined.

“Benedict had a swing set up in the gardens several weeks back. Violet, he was so happy and excited, saying that it was the same as the one he had in Bridgerton House.”

“Sophie, I am so sorry,”

“And I wanted to be happy, Lady Bridgerton. Tell Benedict that it would be lovely if the baby could share moments on the swings with his siblings, just like with Ms. Eloise. But I couldn’t say anything, because I’m so afraid that I’ll disappoint him so miserably,”

“Oh, I love him so, Lady Bridgerton.” Sophie sobbed in her arms, “And I’m so ashamed of myself that I can’t appreciate the love that he’s given me so much, I’m ashamed of myself that I’m so afraid of his love,”

From Violet’s eyes, Sophie had always been an honest, honorable young lady, with an innate sense of kindness. But Violet suddenly saw a little girl with blond curls and almond eyes, crying herself to sleep, shivering with fear and loneliness.

Violet knew Benedict always slept in a warm bed along with his brothers, and he never slept without a bedtime story and would beg her to cuddle him even when Violet had to leave to nurse Colin. For Violet, it had been one of the happiest moments of her life, gently stoking Benedict’s chubby cheeks, who looked so breathtakingly like his father, snoring happily as she left a soft kiss on his forehead.

But Sophie had no one to listen to her, even if she feared the monster under her bed. With no one to tuck her in bed, no one to tell her a bedtime story, no one to leave her with a goodnight kiss.

But suddenly she had someone who would listen to her every word. Who would delight in her beauty, who would honor her being in his deeds and words. Who would curl her in blankets and leave her with a sweet kiss. When she spent a lifetime alone and abused because of her mere existence.

Of course, she should feel afraid,

“There is nothing wrong about feeling afraid, Sophie,” Violet said calmly, gently stroking her blond curls as Sophie continued to weep in her arms, almost breathless from her tears. “There is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, my dearest.”

“Love can be difficult, my dear. Loving someone, you risk the hurt, the pain…the loss. Of course, you would feel afraid Sophie, because you are risking your body and soul to something that is far above your control. Fear is a quintessential part of love.”

“But perhaps,” Violet smiled, softly wiping the tears from her daughter’s cheeks. “you can trust Benedict a little more. Trust the love you have for one another. My son loves you dearly, and I love you dearly, with or without the baby. The two of you have already been through so much, and you both take so much care of the love you share. Those kinds of love grow and thrive, Sophie. It doesn’t wither after a fire. It doesn’t disappear after a storm. Because the love you two have, has strength to overcome them,”

“Allow yourself to have faith in your love, my dearest,”

“And you will be surprised how powerful it can be,”

--------------------------------------------------

“Eloise Bridgerton.”

Eloise froze for a brief second, the strict stern voice sending a sharp shiver down her spine. But seeing the floral vest and a teasing smirk in the corner of her eyes, she hastily returned the cigarette between her lips, feeling the nicotine deep in her veins.

“This swing is exactly the same as the one on Bridgerton House, isn’t it?”

“I had it made just several weeks ago,”

“So your daughters and sons can smoke behind their mother’s backs?”

Benedict scoffed, a wry smile on his face.

“Because,” He seated himself on the swing, gently rocking himself forward. “I thought my children could have chats like us,”

“Benedict, Sophie still has three months to deliver her baby. Isn’t it too early to be planning for more?”

“Please don’t tell Sophie,”

“You’ve already built a pair of swings, Benedict. And Sophie is one of the quickest women I have ever known,”

“Did I make a fool of myself again?”

“I believe you did.”

Benedict groaned, drilling his head into his knees. Eloise only laughed wholeheartedly, tapping his shoulder to offer him a cigarette, but she was quite surprised when he waved it off.

“You managed to quit?”

“Sophie doesn’t like the smell.”

“So perfect, aren’t you?”

But Eloise knew he was craving for one as his finger twitched. And as Eloise took another smoke, languorously blowing the Sidestream in Benedict’s face, he snatched the packet from her hands, lightening up a cigarette in practiced hands. Eloise crackled with laughter as Benedict gazed up at the sky in relief, his whole body relaxing with just one puff.

“Remind me to change before I go back,”

“Mmm.” Eloise only hummed in response.

The two smoked in silence, watching the shimmering stars in the night, and listening to the lonely tunes of the owls in the distance. Soon, the lonesome hoots were replaced by Benedict’s low hums, the nostalgic tune engraved in her childhood memories,

Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly, lavender's green,

When I am king, dilly, dilly, You shall be queen.

Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so?

'Twas my own heart, dilly, dilly, that told me so.

Call up your men, dilly, dilly, set them to work

Some to the plough, dilly, dilly, some to the fork,

Some to make hay, dilly, dilly, some to cut corn,

While you and I, dilly, dilly, keep ourselves warm.

Lavender's green, dilly, dilly, Lavender's blue,

If you love me, dilly, dilly, I will love you.

Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly, And the lambs play;

We shall be safe, dilly, dilly, out of harm's way.

“So, happy, aren’t you?”

“Happier than ever, El.”

Eloise missed those quiet moments with Benedict. Truly. Eloise had told herself a million times that Benedict was happy with his new life in Wiltshire. That her brother didn’t miss his past life in London. That he’d rather protect life with his Sophie than to be in London close to his family. Throwing away the comfortable life in London. Throwing away their time together as siblings, throwing away their time on the swings, replacing her with new memories of Sophie and the baby. But Eloise knew deep in her heart that he would never have been happy if he had stayed in London. Without Sophie.

It was quite lonely to be at No.5 with only her mother and Hyacinth; who rather liked to do talking on her own. Benedict was the only sibling who truly listened and understood her, or at least she thought, and it was quite lonesome when he was miles and miles away when she wanted to talk with him desperately.

“Do you know why I don’t get married?” She said, abruptly.

“Because men are too inferior to match your superior mind?” Benedict teased her in a mocking tone, and Eloise had to crack a smile.

“Close, but I have other reasons as well,” Eloise said, “But do you promise not to tell Hyacinth? Or Anthony or Mother or anyone else?”

“I will swear an oath by my daughter’s name.”

“How could you ever know the sex of the baby?”

“I just know.” Benedict hummed happily, “Enlighten me, Eloise. The reason why you keep refusing every proposal.”

Eloise took a deep breath.

“I don’t want to get married because I want something that you have with Sophie. That kind of love and passion and drama. I want more than just, homes, estates, or hounds.”

“You have everything I desire in a relationship. The mutual love, respect, care, compassion. I’ve never seen the two of you quarrel like Kate and Anthony. Always so calm and relaxed.”

“Is that truly how we look like?”

“Mmm.”

“Were you ever a romanticist, Eloise?”

“Well you certainly made me one,” With dimmed eyes, Eloise dropped the ashes on the ground, “ I never believed in fairytales. I didn’t even believe in love, Benedict. Until it blossomed in front of my eyes,”

“It was beautiful, seeing how you fell in love with each other at No.5, despite living in two different worlds. You didn’t even hesitate to face the consequences, Benedict.”

“And you literally saved Sophie from death, brother. She could have been hanged if you weren’t there. You are Sophie’s shining knight of armor.”

Benedict gave a low laugh, blowing out smoke from his lungs, but Eloise continued,

“I pride myself on having read quite many books, but no story had been as romantic as yours. It’s almost as if it were right out of a fairytale.”

“Eloise,”

“What?”

“It’s not a fairytale.”

“Don’t you dare say that, brother. It’s quite a miracle the lady in silver happened to be the maid you saved from Cavender…”

“You can say that because you don’t know the full story, Eloise,”

And Benedict finally told the truth between Sophie and Benedict; that he had first asked her to be his mistress. And that Sophie had rejected his offer, and he had blackmailed her to come to London. But he did remove the part when he took Sophie’s virginity on the sofa. How much he loved and respected her; she was still his younger sister. But even without the most scandalous bits, Eloise’s crisp blue eyes dimmed and dimmed, her face crunching in disgust as she continued on with the story.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Eloise’s tone was laced with disgust and annoyance.

“Anthony stopped me,”

“Then why are you telling me now?”

“Because,” Benedict stopped for a second, a drop of hesitation, “I want my dear sister to know that love stories are not always perfect,”

“But it is,”

“I just said that I asked Sophie to be my mistress,”

“Yes, but you came to your bloody senses and married her in the end. And Sophie forgave your stupidity and kept loving you despite your awful behavior. Now carrying your child. It’s still a perfect story, Benedict. Happily Ever After!”

Benedict blatantly stared at his little sister, almost taken aback by her pure naivety. Almost as if she were trying to worship the perfect love story between Sophie and him. That, he knew, was far too dangerous. To romanticize an ugly reality.

“Sophie and I…yes, I’ll admit that it is a miracle that we are together, but El, we are far from perfect.”

“But you two are,”

“Do you know it took weeks for Sophie to tell me that she was pregnant?”

“What? Why would I know…,”

Benedict interrupted her words, breaking the one rule he always kept when he was talking with Eloise.

“I only realized that she was pregnant when Anthony and Kate subtly asked me if Sophie wanted to see the family doctor. And do you know what she said when I lightly asked why it took so long to tell me? She said it was “too soon to be sure.” But what did she think we were doing every night?”

“What were you doing every night?” A wave of panic hit his breath when Eloise’s sharp blue eyes stared at him with a look of innocence and utter curiosity.

“T, talking.” He managed to stutter, “B, bonding, I would rather say…”

“When is anyone ever going to tell me the bloody specifics?” Eloise muttered angrily, and Benedict thought it better to swiftly avert Eloise’s interests.

“Did I ever tell you that Sophie loathes my lavish expenditures?”

Just as he thought, Eloise’s eyes widened in surprise and a little bit of delight to hear their marital conflicts,

“But you never ravish money!”

“She had different views,” Benedict smiled weakly, “And I know I’ve upset her in some kind or other when she says my name in b flat.”

“Huh,”

“And do you know that I almost made her cry because of the baby supplies I brought in London?”

“I don’t understand Benedict. Why would that upset her? Shouldn’t she be pleased?”

“She thought she was an unworthy mother because she didn’t prepare them herself,”

“Then why didn’t she tell that before?”

“There are so many things she doesn’t tell me, Eloise.”

Eloise sank into silence, processing the aspect that she had never imagined in her brother’s perfect relationship. To Eloise’s eyes, they just seem so perfect, like they were born for each other,

“Has Sophie told you that she was afraid of dying?”

“WHAT?”

The cigarette dropped from Benedict’s fingers. There was genuine hurt and shock in Benedict’s voice, as he buried his head in his head yet again. The half-burned-out cigarette lay forgotten on the dirt. Eloise stretched her legs to snub out the last remaining flame.

“In her letters, she kept repeatedly writing about how she wanted me to visit My Cottage more; to take care of you and the baby. If she can’t make it through,”

Eloise tried not to look at a tear that dropped on Benedict’s worn-out yet perfectly mended brown boots.

“She didn’t exactly say that she was afraid of dying,” Eloise’s voice came out more like an excuse, seeing his brother shrunk and defalated second by second, “But she sounded so desperate in her letters, and her fear, was, well, implied…”

“I just knew something was troubling her but I should have known…”

“Is that you asked Mother to come?”

Benedict hitched his breath, his throat making an akward noise.

“Yes.”

“Because you can’t ask Sophie?”

“…Yes.”

“You’re a coward.”

“A little harsh, Eloise.”

Benedict finally looked up from his hands, but his green-grey eyes were wavering,

“I always want Sophie to tell me everything, but she tends to keep everything inside herself. I’ll ask, but she’ll answer it’s nothing. And if I push too much, she flees away.”

His tone was filled with guilt, almost as if everything was his fault.

“Why don’t you just ask her to just spit it all out? I always thought honesty and transparency is required in any form of union…”

“El. She had a difficult childhood. A traumatic upbringing. Much harder and gruesome than we could ever imagine.”

Eloise grimly nodded, remembering the time she encountered Araminta Gunningworth at the modiste after her brother’s marriage. The verbal slander she slashed on Posy was both alarming and horrendous, sending chills in her bones. Eloise was shocked at how it could be addressed to her very own daughter. And Sophie had been the bastard. Eloise shuddered, imagining the horrifying extent of Sophie’s destructive past.

“And no matter how hard I try…” Benedict’s words trailed off in the darkness. Eloise saw Benedict clench his fist, gripping the coarse ropes, “There are parts of Sophie I could never understand. Even how desperately I yearn to understand,”

“But I love her El. So ardently that it burns me to the core. And it kills me that I can’t take any pain, any burden for her. And I want to make it work, And I know she’s trying her best to make this, make us work.” Words were bursting, a flooding river on a stormy night, “And I feel terrible that I can’t understand everything about her…”

“But isn’t that everyone?” Eloise found herself saying, words nonconsciously slipping from her lips, “I never understood why Colin suddenly fell in love with Penelope when he had known her for years. I didn’t even know that they were in love even though I have known them for a lifetime, and I don’t understand why Fran married John when they just sat in silence, when she is practically my twin,”

“And I bet,” Eloise continued hesitantly, “Sophie doesn’t understand why you have to have 60 waistcoats in your closet.”

“It’s actually 48 now.”

“You threw them away?”

“I gave them away to the servants when I left London,”

“Sophie did really make you into a changed man, didn’t she?” Eloise muttered to herself, but, no, she still wasn’t finished with her point.”

“Anyway, I just want to say that nobody understands each other. Yet, you hold on to each other. You and Sophie. Despite your flaws. Despite Sophie’s flaws. So desperately and so adoringly. Isn’t that perfect enough?”

Eloise heard a lonely howl from the distance, perhaps a hound crying for its mate. Eloise can remember Benedict’s drunken slurs a year ago, whining about the memories of his Lady in Silver,

“You two are just too perfect.”

“Perhaps we are, Eloise. Like you say. Perfect.”

“Mmm.”

“But do you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because we know our imperfections.”

“What?”

“And we try our best dispite of it all.”

“I truly don’t understand what you are trying to say.”

“You will when you are older.”

“I hate you, Brother”

“And I love you too, Eloise.”

----------------------------------------------------

Just like I said, just like a bloody fairytale, Eloise thought to herself again as she watched the couple in the sitting room, snuggling together on a sofa. Her mother was knitting quietly beside the fireplace, a content smile on her lips.

Sophie perched on Benedict’s lap, excitedly showing the tulip-embroidered blanket her mother had given to her. Benedict stroking her golden locks, clinging to every word, looking at Sophie with the most adoring eyes.

No other word could explain the loving couple other than perfection. The honest, honorable wife and the absolutely besotted husband. There could be no secrets or conflicts between them, Eloise just knew.

Perhaps Benedict had lied to her about Sophie’s flaws or Sophie’s frustration with his habits. Perhaps Eloise had misread her letters, the ones she thought were dripping with fear and dread of death.

Because in Eloise’s eyes, Sophie was shining through the darkness, the glow in her whole presence, the lively, excited expression. There was no angst, no fear but just utter happiness and content between the two.

So, so, so bloody perfect,

#Writer’s Notes

“Love isn't something natural. Rather it requires discipline, concentration, patience, faith, and the overcoming of narcissism. It isn't a feeling, it is a practice.”

—Eric Fromm

“But if I know what love is, it is because of you.”

—Hermann Hesse

[forthegothicheroine]

Do you have any gothic novels that you can recommend off the top of your head? Especially to people who want to try their hand at the genre? I've hit a wall in my project and I need to get some fresh inspiration, but I don't know where to start and the book side of tumblr failed me the last time I tried asking them for recs

Hell yeah! I made some old posts for this a while back, but it's good to look at it again with my more recent taste! Let's see...

Classic Gothics

Dracula: The one, the only. Often imitated, never equalled.

Frankenstein: Short, sad and world changing! Can get a little slow at parts, but definitely worth it. (True story, my parents read this to me as a fetus to calm my kicking, so it's part of my personal mythology!)

The Case of Charles Dexter Ward: The most gothic of Lovecraft's work, and possibly my favorite. Novella length, usually found in collections.

The Picture of Dorian Gray: Sinister, sexy, philosophical, with a main character I want to punch in the face!

Carmilla: Another novella, about as lush and swooning as vampire stories get.

The Hound of the Baskervilles: A very readable gothic mystery.

Confessions of a Justified Sinner: This one isn't as action packed, but if you have big religious issues like me, it's incredibly haunting.

The Monk: Like the above, but sleazier and crazier!

Northanger Abbey: A gentle parody of early gothics, starring an adorable proto-goth girl.

The Italian: I'll be honest, I find Anne Radcliffe kind of a slog, but if you liked Northanger Abbey and want to read what Catherine Morland reads, this is probably the most accessible.

A Long Fatal Love Chase: This starts as campy and then takes a plunge into gut-wrenchingly intense. The book Jo March was always trying to write!

The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde: Another novella, and Stevenson is one of the best writers out there for excitement!

The Werewolf of Paris: Gothic monster as serial killer, still scary today.

Rebecca: The foundation of all gothic romance to come afterwards. A ghost story without a ghost, with an ending that's still debated as happy or sad!

Jane Eyre: The other foundation of all gothic romance to come afterwards. I bounced off the child abuse-heavy beginning a few times, but I'm very glad I finally read to the good stuff!

The Castle of Otranto: Considered the first gothic novel, a goofy b-movie in written form.

Modern-ish Gothics (post-1950 or so)

The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein: Fuck the haters, I love this book.

Mexican Gothic: Genuinely scary, genuinely romantic, genuinely creative. A favorite.

Blackwater: A southern gothic saga of a family in a flooded town, whose scion marries a woman who isn't quite human. A whirlwind ride!

A Bloodsmoor Romance: Another family saga, this one northern gothic, with sisters whose lives all go off the rails in different supernatural ways. Give this a try before writing Joyce Carol Oates off entirely!

The Silver Devil: A nasty, problematic bodice ripper where you'll cheer for the heroine to bring the hero down low!

Interview with the Vampire: To be honest again, I'm not super into Anne Rice, but this is a page-turner, and every vampire book that has come after it has had to respond to it in one way or another. Read the next two Vampire Chronicles books if you like it!

A Taste of Blood Wine: My own preferred sexy vampire romance!

The Bloody Chamber: The ultimate dark sexy fairy tale work, accept no substitutes.

Haunted Castles: Contains the brilliant novella Sardonicus, as well as some other campy gothic stories!

A Great and Terrible Beauty: Many millennials were introduced to the gothic genre via this, Fear Street Sagas, or A Series of Unfortunate Events. This is my favorite of the three, though the sequels are a bit of a letdown.

Gormenghast: This series is a throwback to the pseudo-medieval, Otranto-style gothic, but much better. Don't read Titus Alone.