#Regency style palace

[sailor-aviator]

By Its Cover: Chapter One

By Its Cover: Chapter One

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: The frivolity of high society has never much interested in you. You preferred to spend your time reading, something your sisters couldn't fathom as they spent their time shopping the latest dress styles. The youngest of five children and the fourth daughter, not much was expected of you. You knew you might be married one day, but you hoped beyond hope that it would be to someone that might understand your intellectual pursuits. You begin exchanging letters with a mysterious stranger, and what's more, your older brother's rakish best friend seems to find himself in your path more and more as the season goes on. What's a girl to do? (Regency!AU)

Content Warning: Anxiety, Anxiety attack, Debutante presentations, Sibling not being supported, Spoiled sibling, Self doubt, Negative self talk, Catty girls will be catty girls. I think that's really all, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 4.6k

Series Masterlist

“Dearest, you must stop squirming.”

“This dress is uncomfortable.”

You picked at the skirt of your gown, an off white in color, as your mother let out a heavy sigh as she pursed her lips. You stood outside the throne room with a gaggle of other, more eager, debutantes waiting to present themselves to the queen. You couldn’t think of a worse punishment if you tried, if you were being quite honest.

The thought of parading yourself around for all to gawk and inspect had your skin crawling, and while you weren’t proud of it, you had even attempted to feign illness in order to escape the mortifying spectacle of it all.

“Enough,” your mother huffed, grabbing your hand and jerking it down to your side as several of the other ladies of the Island turned their scrutinizing gazes towards your direction. Your mother gave them a polite, cheery smile, never taking her eyes off of them as she turned towards you. “I know you are nervous, darling, but this is something that must be done. Your sisters all had to do it, and I before them. It is simply something one must grit their teeth and bear.”

You let out a heavy sigh, signaling your reluctant understanding of the situation, and your mother’s shoulders visibly relaxed. You mustered up your best smile, one that you were almost positive looked more like a grimace, and stood up a little straighter as one of the palace attendants walked briskly up to where you stood.

“My lady,” he nodded at your mother, sweat beading his brow as he gave a quick bow before turning to you with a look of distress. “You are next. This way, please. Hurry, hurry.”

You sucked in a breath, sparing your mother a half panicked look as you were ushered towards the towering doors that led into the throne room. Your brother and sisters were in attendance, you knew this. Most of high society was behind those doors, and the ones that weren’t stood behind you, eagerly awaiting their turn. Your fingers trembled with nerves, and you were vaguely aware of your mother glancing at you just as nervous.

You were sure you looked as worse a state as you felt. Your skin felt clammy, tight against your face as you sucked in deep breaths through your nose, letting them out through your mouth. The hum of conversation sounded behind you, and you felt your pulse quicken as you heard the attendant announce your name behind the ornately carved doors of white and gold.

The whispers behind you hushed as the doors slowly opened to reveal the crowd of nobles and well-to-do families gathered in the spacious room. Your eyes roamed over the familiar faces, clinging to where your siblings stood in the middle of the room, your brother giving you an encouraging smile as your sisters looked on. You spotted Natasha not too far off, an encouraging smile on her face that stood in stark contrast to the concentrated grimace that pulled on your brother’s lips. You gulped, taking a shaky breath as your mother cleared her throat quietly behind you, signaling for you to start walking. Your eyes snapped forward, meeting the stunning green of the queen’s.

Queen Penny was a most beloved monarch, having been the figurehead of the royal family for decades since she married the king. Her quiet grace and beauty was apparently a strong compliment to the wisdom and discernment of the king, not that anyone your age would really know considering he had kept himself cloistered away in the palace for almost an entire decade. No, very few had seen him, rumors of a prolonged illness following his name with every mention—something the queen was quick to make her displeasure known about, and so mentions of the king were kept hushed between stolen whispers and curious glances whenever she showed up to an event alone.

Now, her attention was trained solely on you, the look of terror on your face must have seemed a sight to the dignified woman as you took a tentative step forward. A perfectly manicured eyebrow raised slowly as you took your second step forward, slowly picking up pace as you made your way down the makeshift aisle. All eyes were on you as you strode across the room, doing your best to hold your head high and shoulders back, vaguely aware of your mother keeping pace behind you.

“Smile, dearest,” you heard her whisper quietly. You inhaled sharply, stiffening at her words. You willed yourself to pull your lips into a smile, cringing at the forced feeling of it and knowing that it looked as awful as it felt. You could have sworn you saw the queen’s own lips twitch, but still her face remained stoic as you came to a stop in front of her. You were barely conscious of the fact that you managed a curtsy, dropping your head slowly before rising once more.

The room was quiet, silent enough to hear the scampering of a mouse. You waited with bated breath for something, anything. A dismissal? A laugh at your awkwardness? An ill-tempered comment at your utter lack of decorum?

Another beat of silence passed before the queen rose from her seat, eyes staying fixed on your near trembling form. Her lady-in-waiting stepped forward, but was quickly waved off as Queen Penny took slow, measured steps down to where you stood. You held your breath as she stopped in front of you, green eyes scanning you from head to toe before moving back up. She said nothing as she circled you slowly, her eyes studying you for any sign of weakness or perceived imperfection. You heard her state your family’s name with a thoughtful hum.

“Your sister was the season’s diamond not five years ago, yes?” She asked from behind you. You swallowed thickly, not daring to turn and look as you nodded.

“Yes, your majesty,” you replied, surprised at how even your tone was given the panic coursing through your veins in that moment. You were surprised you even remembered you had sisters.

“Yes, I remember,” she agreed. “Married an earl, if I remember correctly.”

You heard your mother murmur her assent, and you assume the queen had looked to her for confirmation.

“The youngest of four girls,” Queen Penny continued, “you must have had your hands full, Celine.”

“No more than any other mother, your majesty,” your mother replied with a nervous chuckle. The queen hummed in agreement as she rounded your other side to come face to face with you once more. You glanced up at her with trepidation, waiting for her verdict. Her face remained impassive before her lips pulled into a regal smile.

“You show promise, my dear,” she said, placing her fingers below your chin to raise it as she looked down at you. “You may just be the season’s greatest surprise yet.”

And with that, she turned and made her way back up the steps to her seat. Your heart stuttered in your chest, frozen with the shock of the encounter before snapping out of it as your mother’s gentle touch pulled you back into the moment. You looked back to see her with a tight smile on her face as she gestured for you to step to the side so that the presentations could continue. You felt your cheeks warm at your slight blunder, allowing yourself to be led off with the other debutantes.

“But Mama, why her?”

You rubbed your temples to try and soothe the headache you were currently trying to fight off as Georgiana screeched her displeasure throughout the manor. Georgiana had been so proud of the smile and nod the queen had given her the year prior, boasting about it to anyone who would listen for a solid week after it had happened.

“Georgiana, my darling, you must calm do-”

“She doesn’t even deserve it!” She screeched once more, whirling around to fix you with a glare. You winced, shrinking back into the settee with a grimace. Though you loved her dearly, Georgiana was perhaps the most spoiled out of all your sisters.

She had been the perfect image of what it meant to a young lady of one of the oldest families of the Island. Her hair was always poised in elaborate updos with her dresses styled in the latest fashions. Her outward appearance, however, was no match for the ugliness she kept inside in your opinion.

While beautiful in outward appearance, earning many interested suitors in the season prior, she was determined to have nothing but the best.

“I think I’d like to marry a Duke myself,” she had commented one day once her many suitors had left. “The only thing better would be a handsome prince.”

You had snorted at the idea. You loved your sister dearly, but her expectations of the lavish life she should lead left you with a sick feeling in your stomach. A quiet life surrounded by family and friends suited your tastes quite well.

You were ripped away from your silent musings as your older sister stomped towards you, wrath consuming her features as you pressed yourself further into the seat.

“What makes you so special?” She huffed, crossing her arms with a sneer. “Why would the queen show such an interest in you of all people? You’re so…boring.”

You bit back the angry remark that threatened to leave you at the insult your sister hurled your way. Just because you didn’t delight in the latest fashions or take part in the favorite pastime that was gossip, didn’t mean you were boring. You spent your days strolling through the gardens or park with Natasha or in the parlor with your latest read. Did you loathe the idea of going to parties or finding yourself stumbling along the dance floor? Of course you did.

You weren’t stranger to the fact that you had been compared to your elder sisters from the moment you were born. Of course your parents had treated you all with equal kindness and love, but those outside your family were not as forgiving of your faults or perceived imperfections. Now you were beginning to wonder if the judgement had been following you all along.

“I don’t know, Georgie,” you answered her quietly, glancing towards your mother for help. “Perhaps she was bored. You know how she likes to stir things up for her own amusement.”

Georgiana seemed to mull this over for a moment, and you could see the frown that tugged at your mother’s lips as the words passed through your mouth. Before any of you could say anything more, the doors to the parlor opened to reveal a familiar older man strolling through with a smug smirk adorning his face.

“Good afternoon, one and all,” Pete Mitchell drawled as he sat down on the settee next to you. Mr. Mitchell belonged to a wealthy, respectable family, albeit as the second son tasked with making his own way in the world. He had been a dear friend of your father’s since boyhood, and was practically an uncle to you and your siblings.

“Peter,” your mother sighed, looking relieved as the tension in the air was cut by the cavalier aura that Mr. Mitchell seemed to exude everywhere he went.

“How lovely to see you,” she smiled, sitting across from you as Georgiana took up space in one of the armchairs, a small pout still marring her features.

“And you as well,” he grinned back at your mother. He turned to face you, the smirk falling back into place as he regarded you. “I heard you made quite the impression on our dear queen, Bug.”

Georgiana stiffened noticeably, and you waived him off with a scoff.

“I’m sure the queen was merely bored with all the humdrum of the day,” you offered stiffly. The room fell into an awkward silence as Mr. Mitchell glanced between the three of you as you looked everywhere but at Georgiana.

“I believe I’m sensing some tension,” Mr. Mitchell spoke finally.

“Nothing ever gets past you, does it, Peter?” Your mother sighed.

“No matter,” Mr. Mitchell grinned, looking between the three of you excitedly, “Charlotte and I are hosting a ball tonight, and I wanted to come by to invite you all personally as the family of my dear, late friend.”

“Oh, Peter, how lovely,” your mother smiled. “Of course we will be in attendance. Won’t we girls?”

Georgiana clapped her hands excitedly as you felt a wave of dread wash over you. Mr. Mitchell leaned closer towards you to whisper in your ear.

“Don’t you worry, Bug,” he said. “I’ve already got the books laid out for you in my library when you’re ready to sneak off.”

You offered him a thankful smile as he turned his attention back towards your sister and mother. Perhaps there were people in this world who understood you after all.

The Mitchell’s manor was as ostentatious as any of the nobility’s homes as far as you were concerned, and it was a wonder that they weren’t mistaken for the actual ruling class more often.

Your carriage stopped in front of the steps leading up to the entryway, and an attendant moved forward to open the door and offer his hand to your mother to help her out, followed by Georgiana, with you stepping out last. The cool, night air was abuzz with excitement, laughter, and the sound of general revelry from those in attendance that evening. It already felt suffocating as far as you were concerned.

“Smile, my darling,” your mother murmured to you, resting a gentle hand on your arm to steer you towards the front doors. “It is a party, after all. You should at least try to have some fun while you are here. You’ve already caught the eye of several suitors.”

Your head whipped around, spying a group of men assessing you from across the yard. A frown tugged at your lips as the feeling of dread came back in full force. They weren’t unattractive by any means, but you weren’t thrilled at the idea of being appraised like a piece of meat either.

“I think I’d rather pluck my eyelashes out one by one then entertain that lot,” you muttered, earning a sigh and a sharp look from the older woman.

“Bug, please.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek for a moment before casting her an apologetic look.

“I am sorry, Mama,” you said, defeated. “I will try to make the most of our time tonight.”

Her disapproving look morphed into one of kind understanding. “That is all I ask, my darling.”

Georgiana walked a couple steps ahead of the both of you, eager to fawn in the attention of the available suitors in attendance that evening. William had gone ahead of your little group to arrive earlier in the evening whilst Lydia and Theodosia would arrive with their husbands throughout the night if they hadn’t arrived already.

Several men appraised Georgiana as she passed, a pleasant smile on her face as she sauntered into the ballroom. Her pale, pink gown swished about her as she greeted old friends and passed demure smiles to the men she walked past. You felt more and more out of place the further into the room you wandered, pressing closer and closer into your mother’s side.

“Bug!”

You turned to see Natasha making her way towards, purple skirts in hand as a grin spread across her face. A smile of your own broke out across your lips, and you abandoned your mother’s side to rush towards your best friend.

“Nat!” You exclaimed, grabbing onto her hands as the two of you met in the middle. “You cannot believe how relieved I am to see you.”

“You?” She laughed. “I had to go through a whole year of this without you! It’s me who’s relieved.”

She pulled you off to the side, glancing around the room as she did so.

“I see Georgiana has already started her ritual,” she snorted, nodding towards the middle of the room. You turned to see your sister surrounded by a group of potential suitors, their gazes never leaving her even as her friends attempted to garner attention with a well timed comment here and there.

“Let her have her pick,” you scoffed. “Everyone will be so busy with her and her future husband, I’ll slip beneath their attentions and escape for the season.”

The two of you began to walk the side of the room, avoiding collision as you chatted arm in arm.

“You don’t want a husband?” Nat inquired, arching a brow at you in amused curiosity.

“Not if I can avoid it,” you chuckled. “I enjoy my freedom too much. My sisters have set the standard of the perfect housewife and lady, and as we both know, I am anything but. I am far too well read for any of the young men here for them to feel secure in the fact that they’re the smartest person in the room, and any other man who would want me is simply not worth having.”

“Honestly, Bug, I don’t know how you manage it,” she smirked sardonically.

“Manage what?” You asked slowly, giving her a curious look.

“Manage to make something as fun as courting and the attention of men seem absolutely barbaric and grim,” she quipped with a laugh. You rolled your eyes with a smile, moving to say something but you were stopped as you ran into a wall.

You stumbled back with a grunt, resting a hand on your chest as you glanced up. Not a wall, no, but a solid chest of warm muscle.

“Is this what we’re stooping to now, ladies?” Drawled the man as he turned around with a tired sigh. He was handsome, you’d give him that. Blonde hair cut short that still seemed to dance in front of his ivy green eyes. A chiseled jaw that clenched in irritation as he regarded you with a raised eyebrow.

“I beg your pardon?” You asked him, brow furrowing in confusion. He rolled his eyes with a scoff.

“Are you that desperate for my attention that you need to assault me in order to gain it? Did you think I’d rush to your side and play the gentleman? I can assure you, many have already tried that approach, and they’ve all failed. You’ll have to come up with something new, I’m afraid.”

A muscle in your cheek twitched with your growing irritation at the arrogant man in front of you.

“What?” You asked him flatly, face already hardened into a glare. Nat rested a hand on your shoulder to keep you calm, all too familiar with your temper.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said politely, offering him a placating smile, “but I’m afraid we have no idea who you are.”

The man studied her for a moment before his emerald gaze flickered back to you curiously. Something seemed to have clicked in his mind because his irritation morphed into a mixture of curiosity and surprise.

“Seresin?”

All three of you turned to see William approaching you, a look of pure excitement on his face as he fast approached. He let out a laugh as the other man gave him a grin.

“My god,” your brother exclaimed, pulling the other man into a brief hug before clapping him on the shoulder. “It is you! It’s been years, hasn’t it? You’ve been off gallivanting across Europe for God only knows how long.”

“I see you haven’t changed a bit, Will,” the man laughed. Your brother’s gaze flickered to yours before doing a double take.

“There you are,” he said, moving towards your side. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Seresin, you remember my younger sister.”

The man turned to you once more, and your cheeks warmed at the feel of his eyes roving over you.

“Come now,” your brother chided. “Surely you remember Bug.”

The man’s eyes alighted at your nickname, a smile curling on his lips that made him look much more boyish and mischievous than before. It was the smile of a familiar face, and suddenly you remembered a friend of your brother’s from when you were small. A handsome boy with golden hair and green eyes that spent nearly every holiday off from the prestigious boarding school at your home with your family.

“Lady Bug,” he breathed in what appeared to be disbelief, and you scowled at the nickname.

“You’re the only one who still calls me that,” you griped, causing the blond’s smile to grow.

“I suppose it’s a name that can remain between us then,” he suggested, taking your hand in his and placing a lingering kiss to the back of your hand. The heat in your cheeks grew, and you quickly snatched your hand away, clearing your throat and gesturing towards Natasha who still stood at your side.

“Nat,” you chirped, waving between the two. “This is Jake Seresin, Duke of Austin. Your grace, this is Natasha Trace.”

“A pleasure,” Nat smiled politely with a small curtsy.

“Miss Trace,” he nodded, eyes darting back to you. You swallowed thickly, looking anywhere but at the man in front of you. It was then that you caught Georgiana’s eye as she made her way across the room to your little group. She tossed her hair over her shoulder as she sidled up in between your brother and the duke, a coy smile sliding onto her face as she batted her eyelashes at the latter.

“My, I was wondering where you were, brother,” she sighed, casting William a look over her shoulder before fixing her gaze back onto the handsome man in front of her. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Georgie,” William started, clearing his throat, “don’t you remember Jake? He spent quite a few holidays with us growing up.”

Recognition lighted in her eyes.

“Oh my!” she exclaimed with a laugh. “It’s been so long that I hardly recognized you, your grace. We were just children last we met if memory serves, but it would appear that we are children no more.”

“Yes,” he agreed, eyes straying towards you. “It would appear we have all grown up.”

Georgiana turned to follow his gaze, a scowl creeping onto her face as she realized he was looking at you.

“Of course, this is Bug’s first season,” she commented with a hollow smile. “I even wonder if she was ready to make her debut. She’s still so much like the little girl we all knew.”

You pressed your lips into a firm line, willing yourself to stay calm in the face of Georgiana’s blatant baiting. Her gaze met yours, daring you to speak up, but you knew better than to give fuel to your sister’s fire. Instead, you turned to look at the dance floor, choosing to ignore her rather than play her silly, little game.

“I recall being rather fond of that little girl,” Jake remarked, and you felt your lips twitch into a smile before schooling your features once more.

“Yes, well,” William interrupted with a clap of his hands. You turned to see him offer his hand to Natasha with a small smile. “Miss Trace, would you care to accompany me to the dance floor?”

“I would be delighted, my lord,” she smiled, taking his hand as he led her off to join in the next dance.

“Oh, I do love to dance,” Georgiana sighed, looking up at Jake through her lashes. “Do you like to dance, your grace?”

Jake offered her a polite smile. “I suppose there are worse pastimes.”

“Bug much prefers to have her nose shoved inside a book, I suppose,” Georgiana remarked, barely concealing her sneer. “I have no taste for them, as I find them dreadfully boring. When I’m not waltzing, I’m practicing my pianoforte. I’m quite accomplished, you know, but I’ve always said I would have liked to make a career out of dancing were such a thing possible.”

“You don’t like dancing, Bug?” Jake asked, turning to look at you with curious eyes. You opened your mouth to answer, but Georgiana cut in.

“Oh, she can’t stand it!” She giggled. “Ever since we were little, I’ve always been the dancer. You’ll hardly ever find her on the dance floor.”

You supposed you were used to being talked over, being the youngest of your siblings—the quiet one, even. You had your opinions, of course, but being the fourth daughter and sister of an earl made it so that you flew under the radar more often than not. You were simply forgotten at the best of times and ignored at the worst. What could the fourth daughter possibly have to contribute to a conversation that the others before her had not already offered?

Still, it surprised you when Jake paid little mind to Georgiana’s comments on your nature, opting instead to maintain his focus on you. Like he was still waiting for you to answer.

“I don’t…dislike dancing,” you started carefully, glancing out on the dance floor. “I suppose what I dislike is having to pretend that it doesn’t hurt when boys step on my feet during it.”

A grin broke out on the blond’s face, and the scowl Georgiana shot your way did not go unnoticed by you.

“I suppose that would dampen anyone’s attitudes towards dancing,” he joked with a wink, and you felt a stirring in your stomach as your cheeks heated once more. Perhaps it was nerves from the unexpected attention.

The song ended, and Georgiana let out an exaggerated sigh as she shot a longing glance at the dance floor. Jake grimaced before schooling his features into a more placating look as he offered his hand to Georgiana.

“Would you care to dance with me?” He asked her politely. Georgiana gave an excited gasp as she placed her hand in his, shooting you a triumphant look that you chose to ignore. She was the clear choice between the two of you, so why she seemed to think this was a competition was beyond you. Still, you couldn’t help but notice the glance back the duke did as he accompanied your sister out onto the dance floor, and for a split second, you wished it was you instead of her.

You shook your head to rid yourself of your thoughts. You were lucky to be in the position you were in. You were the youngest daughter, an afterthought. You had the freedom to do what the others could not, to disappear without ever marrying if you so chose. You could live your life in solitude with the freedom of expanding your mind and not having to worry about playing lady of the house under the authority of your husband.

You lifted your chin, watching as your best friend danced with your brother and your sister danced with the duke. You could be content on the sidelines, away from everyone else.

Silently, and careful not to attract attention, you slipped out of the ballroom and into the foyer, padding up the stairs to Mr. Mitchell’s private library. He had promised you a new menagerie of tales, and as you crept higher and higher up the stairs, twisting and turning down the halls, you came upon the quiet stillness of the library. The fire was already lit, as if your surrogate uncle knew you’d make your way up sooner rather than later, and as you ran your fingertips on top of the leather-bound books, the dreams of a different life faded into memory.

A/N: Chapter one is done!! What did we all think? I'm so excited to see who Regency!Jake turns out to be and who Bug will grow into as a character. As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. If you would like to be notified on when I post updates, please follow my side blog (@sailoraviator-library) and turn on post notifications! My work is cross posted on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator. Until next time!

[kinktae]

most undesirable || (M)

Spring has sprung and engagement is on the forefront of all of Regency London's young ladies' minds. All except for yours, of course– the Queen's niece who a certain notorious author has named the Ton's most undesirable.

pairing: lord!jungkook x lady!reader

word count: 5k

genre: BRIDGERTON AU, regency era, angst, eventual smut

warnings: cocaine usage (not oc or jk), oc has dead parents

A/N: this fic was commissioned by the lovely Baby. As per her request, it features me and our beloved izzy! please do let me know if you would like a part two, i have big plans for whats to come next ;)

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PART ONE **UNEDITED**

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A word of profanity left your painted lips as the outsoles of your lace-up boots danced across the limestone floor of the palace, making haste but not in a manner that was unbecoming, your head held high despite your mood running low.

You reached the door of Her Majesty's room with purpose, hands fiddling with the satin of your dress to make sure it covered your shoes. It wasn't that you didn't appreciate the influx of garments your dear aunt had gifted you upon your arrival. Still, the heels Her Majesty had deemed in style this season were particularly uncomfortable. She would no doubt grow sour to see you parading in countryside shoes in her home.

"Your highness." One of the oldest guards snickered, his eyes flicking towards you knowingly as he and another guard moved to open the grand doors to their Queen's private quarters.

You crunched your nose, "Shh." 

Of course, the guards had already read the paper… Rotten gossips.

Willing a smile onto your face, you were let into the room. Your aunt sat at her sofa, the furniture floral in design, its fabric dyed a luxurious red. Between her hands were the source of your dismay, the newest Lady Whistledown papers fresh off the press. 

You hadn't had the pleasure of reading this week's issue personally, but word traveled outrageously fast in the palace; both maids and guards suckers for a good scandal. You knew quite intimately the matter of its content as you were the matter of its content.

"Ah. Niece. There you are.” The Queen called you over, setting the paper down beside her unceremoniously.

You walked closer stiffly, "Aunt Charlotte, you wished to speak to me?"

"You know I adore you, don't you? You're like a breath of fresh air in this miserably dull palace."

Your once tense shoulders relaxed instantly, taking comfort in knowing she hadn't called you in for a scolding.

"It is you that lights up every room you enter, your Majesty." You bowed your head slightly, knowing well that flattery was your best line of defense should the tides change against you. 

"I do, don't I?" She agreed with a grin, before it fell off her face suddenly. "Sorry– whatever were we talking about?"

"Um–"

"Ah, yes! Well, there's no point mincing words. I'm sure you've seen it by now. I mean, can you believe it? That sorrowful sow Whistledown attempting to soil the reputation of my bloodline with such a frivolous title as… as…" She snapped her fingers, forgetting the word she was looking for.

The sound echoed throughout her enormous chambers, currently barren as your aunt was in the process of renovating.

"Ice Princess." You reminded her quietly. She tutted her tongue in recognition.

"How tactless, how tasteless! It is me who sets reputations. Not her. No, no, this simply won't do."

You watched in silence as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Remind me, darling. Why weren't you at the Danbury Ball?"

You shifted, thinking back on the excuse you had given her, "I was… ill."

It was a lie, of course. You had been feeling quite well actually when notice of the ball came 'round. But could anyone fault you? Ballrooms and gowns weren't exactly your area of expertise.

Growing up, your mother and your aunt couldn't be more different; you often heard stories of the two sisters butting heads from your grandfather. One sister went on to marry the king of England, the other a humble traveling merchant. One stood throne in England; the other lived simply in France's countryside. Despite their differences, it was no secret that your aunt loved her older sister dearly, writing to her often in hopes of convincing her to come move to England. When she learned that your mother was with child, she even went as far as to purchase land for her sister and soon to be niece.

But your mother was every bit as stubborn as she was kind. She loved her husband and the life she had built with him, staying by his side until she passed last year. Your poor father was grief-stricken; by eight months, the stress on his heart had become too much, dying nearly a year after your mother.

It was your aunt who had reached out first, offering her deepest condolences and, far more noticeably, all the money you could ever need and your very own suite in the palace.

You weren't exactly sure why you had agreed to such a lucrative proposal. You, much like your mother, adored the countryside and the small town you grew up in. And perhaps that was why you agreed, not to move in, but instead to visit. She was family, after all, something you didn't have very much of left, though you have since come to know of a cousin Friedrich, recently married to an Edwina Sharma that your aunt raved on and on about.

In the week you had been here, you had come to know far more about British aristocracy than you ever wished to know, entirely out of your element amidst the corsets and personal maids. Only recently had you managed to lower your number of attending maids to two, a far cry from the original seven you were greeted with.

You did your best to fit in, but you were no fool. You knew nothing of soireés– or how to dance for that matter, so the moment your aunt spoke of a ball, you knew you had to conjure up some excuse as to why you woefully must decline.

"Exactly! For heaven's sake, you were ill. How dare Whistledown suggest otherwise." She gestured at the staff in the room as though they were her audience.

The sound of the Queen's chamber doors being thrown stole the attention of everyone in the room. Unsurprising to you, two young maids barreling in, tripping on each other.

"S-Sorry, Your Majesty!" The blonde stuttered out.

The brunette nodded in agreement, "Our apologies, Your Majesty. We didn't know where her highness had gone–"

"–We came running as soon as we realized she had snuck off."

Isabella and Roselia. Of course. Your two personal maids. You had only just managed to shake them from your trail when you heard the news that the Queen had sent for you. You should have figured they'd inevitably catch up with you.

They were pleasant enough company, the duo were quite funny, actually, but the constant shadowing was something you learned you rather detested. You understood they were under strict orders by the Queen to ensure your every need was attended to but still… surely even nobility understood the concept of wanting to have a moment alone?

"Oh— Are we interrupting something?" Roselia's cheeks went pink, eyes running over the room as she took note of the Queen's pursed mouth. "We'll just… we can wait outside actually."

"Outside, right! We'll be just outside." Isabella chimed in, heading bowing as the brunette maid yanked her back and out of the room.

"Sorry for the intrusion!"

You stifled a snicker, watching as the young maids slipped back out of the Queen's chambers, shutting the grand doors as they went. Your aunt merely rolled her eyes at the bumbling maids.

Suddenly, her Majesty sniffed, and it was as if a switch had been flipped. All her maids ran towards her, offering handkerchiefs as if their life depended on it. You nearly laughed at such a ridiculous display of servitude, but seeing as you had spent well over a week in the palace, you had become accustomed to such theatrics.

"Whistledown is right about one thing, you know." Queen Charlotte said as her nose was blotted at. "Everyone needs to meet you. And meet you they shall."

In surprise, you pulled your eyes from the doting maids, "They shall?"

"Certainly. We shall have a ball. Here in the palace, of course."

You felt your stomach plummet into your leather-bound boots, your aunt's words echoing.

"All of London's marriage-minded ladies and lords are to be invited. We'll show Whistledown just how splendid you are. Oh! How glorious if you were to find a suitor! That certainly would put to rest that frozen title once and for all."

Just faintly, you could make out the sound of white noise buzzing, mixing with the words the Queen spoke. Anxiety flooded you, deafening your brain's attempts to self-soothe and rationalize that this wasn't the catastrophe you felt it was.

"Aunt Charlotte," you tried to swallow, but your mouth felt stripped of all moisture, "I… I'm not sure if that is wise–"

But it was as if she hadn't heard you, rambling on as if you hadn't objected, "I'll be arranging for etiquette and dance lessons since my beloved sister undoubtedly failed to do the same for you. Are you free this afternoon, darling?"

You stood for a moment, no doubt looking foolish as you struggled to get your words out, "I… I suppose I am…"

"Dear, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Are you feeling well?" The Queen cocked her head at you, eyes sizing you up with concern.

"I… I am not feeling my best." You admitted.

"That's the second time now. Growing up in the countryside— all that sun and dirt— it's made you weak of constitution. Hm. Very well. We'll wait until you're feeling better. In the meantime, I will begin planning!"

You averted your eyes politely as she bent over suddenly, inhaling a white powder off her tea tray through a nostril. She sat up with an exhale, eyes fluttering open with a smile.

"Oh, how I love having you come to stay in the palace for a change. I'm terribly bored these days, you know." She sighed. "Did you care to assist me with planning?"

Despite how you felt seconds from unearthing your already digested lunch, you managed an apologetic smile, "I'm not sure I'd be of much help. I'm afraid I've never hosted a party before."

"Yes, my dearly departed sister never cared much for such things, did she? Such a shame she raised you out of the aristocracy." She said.

A furrow found your brow.

"You're wrong, you know." You disagreed before you could think to hold your tongue. And just like that you had become a magnet, all eyes in the room snapping towards your frame.

"Oh? About?" The Queen offered you a pointed look.

"About the way I was raised. I wouldn't change a thing about it. My mother didn't fail me… she loved me. I had a mother and father who loved me. That was worth more to me than any new dress could ever." You said, gesturing to the gifted garment you adorned today, with perhaps a touch more spite than you should've.

Of two things those in the palace knew to be true. One— Her Majesty was not wrong. Ever. Her opinion was the first to seek and the only to matter. Anyone was someone because she said so, whether explicitly or subtly.

And two— her love for her niece ran deeper than even she anticipated, as watching you stand before her defiantly didn't fill her with rage as the staff in the room assumed, but rather with melancholy. 

You looked like your mother just then. It seemed you reminded her of her sister more and more as the days rolled by.

"Your mother would be pleased to hear that." She merely replied, wondering if her sister might be looking down on you both at this moment. At her words, your entire demeanor softened.

"Very well. Off you go." Your Queen sniffed, a handkerchief at her nose within seconds.

Bowing, you moved to exit the room.

"And niece," she called one last time, causing you to turn around, "must you wear such unsightly footwear under your dress?"

You felt your face grow hot, muttering a quiet apology before exiting the room altogether.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"Chin up, darling." Your aunt reminded you.

You followed her instructions coolly, hoping you didn't look nearly as nervous as you felt.

It was undoubtedly a soirée for the books; every square inch of the ballroom was gilded in gold, the chandeliers' gleam diffusing luxuriously as it bounced around the room.

Eligible men and women of all shapes and sizes had come from far and wide, donned in their absolute best; every possible hue of pink, blue and purple on display for Her Majesty. The ballroom looked akin to the royal grounds, you thought; the cool-toned dresses reminding you of upside-down bellflowers, floating across the marble floor in a synchronized dance.

Flocks of the most noticeable families and town figures had swarmed their way to the royal estate, drowning themselves in champagne as corseted woman fluttered their eyes at the Ton's lords.

But despite their poised smiles, neither woman nor man spared you more than a cautious glance and courteous bow. As the hours ticked by, you couldn't help but feel increasingly uneasy. Was it fear of Her Majesty sitting beside you that kept them away from you? Or was it the less than auspicious picture a certain faceless author had painted for them about you?

"It's rather hot in here, wouldn't you say?" The Queen spoke to you suddenly, looking larger than life from her magnificent throne.

"I suppose." You agreed absentmindedly, far too occupied with how a group of ladies' eyes flickered your way.

She continued, "Perhaps some champagne will cool you down. Why don't you fetch yourself a glass, dear?"

The meaning behind her words was clear. Go. Socialize.

"A splendid idea." You concurred.

Granting yourself one final shaky breath, you straightened up, walking towards the table where drinks were being freshly poured.

"What shall it be, my lady?" A servant greeted you politely as you reached it.

"A glass of champagne, please." You smiled, grateful for a friendly face, perhaps the first of the night.

The servant nodded, moving to open a new bottle.

"She doesn't even hold a title, you know. That Ice Princess."

You blinked, growing still as your ears caught wind of a conversation between party goers not far from you.

"But she's the Queen's niece?"

A sinking feeling washed over you, the kind that made all the other noise in the room disappear. You flirted briefly with abandoning your spot in the room altogether, but the bubbling pour of golden liquid into a glass kept you still. You thanked the servant with a halfhearted smile.

Bringing the glass to your mouth, you turned an ear to the three gossiping ladies, careful to avoid their gaze.

"Word has it her mother married out of the aristocracy." One of them babbled, pulling noises of disbelief from the others.

"Pity. Though, I suppose that explains the appalling way she walks in heels. You'd think she grew hooves from all that time she spent in the countryside." Another prattled. Stifled giggles rang around the group like they were all in some sort of secret, one that wasn't theirs to know. "Can you believe she thinks herself better than us?"

"One more glass, if you please." You asked the same servant, quickly making your way back to the Queen, now with a glass in either hand.

You approached her wordlessly, merely offering her a glass.

"Ah." She accepted the drink eagerly, and for a moment, there was silence, the two family members enjoying the cool velvety acidity of what was no doubt costly champagne.

"It appears the Ton thinks poorly of me." You blurted out.

You felt rather foolish telling this to your aunt. It wasn't as if you really cared what three cankerous aristocrats thought of you. But who else were you to tell? You knew no one.

Your Aunt Charlotte furrowed her delicately painted brow, "Darling, it'll do you well to realize that this Ton doesn't think. They merely reiterate what they've been told. They don't know you. Never mind what they think they know."

But her words went in one ear and out the other, merely background noise to the way you suddenly felt all eyes on you.

And suddenly, your dress was too tight, the ballroom too small. You felt your breath grow shallow, a sure sign of panic. How may others deemed you the subject of gossip tonight? What else were they saying about you?

"I think I should step out for a moment." You muttered.

"Take your maids with you!"

You were halfway across the room before you could even think to register your aunt's reply. Blinking away your tears, you pushed yourself through the crowd, muttering absentminded apologies as partygoers scoffed in protest.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

How small you felt sitting alone in the palace's rose gardens. You wept on a stone bench, wishing ever so badly that your mother was here, looking back with sorrow at how she used to pull you into her lap whenever you were upset. How she used to wrap her arms around you, and everything seemed better, if even for a moment.

How you missed her. How you missed your father. How you missed your life away from this shining, hollow palace.

But they were gone, and the simple life that awaited you back home was gone. Aunt Charlotte was all the family you had left. Without your parents, your home was gone.

"Oh! My lady… forgive me!"

A soft voice caused you to gasp, turning to face the man that had walked in on your self wallowing.

You were up on your feet in seconds, wiping away at your face. 

"No… no, it is I who should apologize! I'm sorry you had to see me like that." Your cheeks burned.

"See you like what?" The mysterious raven-haired stranger pressed, a note of cheekiness to his tone. "Human? Heaven forbid."

You laughed gently, sniffling away your shame. You knew at once he was no threat to you.

The young lord wasn't exactly sure what had led him to the palace gardens; most of the event seemed to be taking place indoors as the night nipped and chilled unforgivingly. Still, a few stray bodies mingled underneath the string of lights that the palace servants had strung up. He had briefly greeted them, passing through the clouds of cigar smoke and small talk before bounding down limestone stairs.

He had tucked his hands into his pants pockets, sighing as the night's festivities grew quieter the further he slipped away, the crunch of wet grass kissing the underneath of his dress shoes. His mind was heavy with thoughts, hardly noticing where his legs had taken him.

It was the sound of your cries that pulled him from his thoughts and jerked him back to his senses.

He was in the Queen's rose garden; he immediately recognized the vibrant flowers and tall bushes. What he failed to recognize, however, was the weeping girl sitting on a stone bench, a look of embarrassment written plainly on her pretty face as she realized she was not alone.

He was quite handsome, you noticed despite your humiliation. He was younger than most of the lords inside, his face still featuring a certain softness despite his sharp features. His gaze was inherently kind, his warm brown eyes all but beckoning you to lower your guards.

"Lord Jeon.” He introduced himself with a bow, eyes never leaving yours. "Forgive me if I frightened you, my lady. I shall return at once and grant you your privacy."

You sank back down onto the bench, pulling the shawl wrapped around your shoulders closer. Your dress was beautiful— you were beautiful… puffy eyes, smeared makeup and all. He couldn't imagine why a lady like yourself would be weeping in the rose gardens unattended.

"It's alright. I supposed I'm not the only introvert at this party tonight. The garden is big enough for the two of us."

Lord Jeon shrugged, "A bit of fresh air is good for the soul."

You watched cautiously as he walked closer, sitting beside you on the opposite side of the bench. 

"You know… I've been told I'm a decent listener." He said suddenly, brown eyes admiring the roses surrounding you.

You blinked, "Is that so?"

"Well… not explicitly. But I've got two ears, so I'd say I do alright." He teased.

You smiled softly, contemplating how much to reveal to this stranger.

"It's… I suppose I'm just a bit out of my element here." 

"You?" He seemed surprised, a slight chuckle of disbelief accompanying his question.

"You laughed." You raised a brow.

He bit down on his lower lip as if contemplating his following words.

"Well, it's just… I can't imagine someone like you having trouble at these events." He confessed.

For a moment, you wondered what he could mean. Looking down at your lap, you realized he must be referring to your extraordinarily fanciful garments.

"Ah. These clothes were a gift, and this hair— well, none of this is me. Not really. Truly, I don't know why I came." You sighed. 

He nodded, "Beginning to feel that way myself, actually. Most lose interest when they hear my name. I'm a bit of a nobody, it seems."

"Funny. It would appear you and I have the opposite problem." You nearly laughed.

"Uptown girl, are you?"

"I'm afraid I've got a bit of a reputation. And no one cares to know whether it's true or not." You said.

He let out a sigh.

"Terrible soirée full of terrible people. I can't say that doesn't happen here often."

You let his words hang in the night's cold air, your fingers intertwining themselves across your lap.

"Is that all?"

Your head turned to face him, growing warm to find him already looking at you.

"Forgive me, it's just," he continued, "your sadness… it feels heavier than you're letting on."

He watched as your body language changed, suddenly tense as if you had built your walls back up.

He was back up on his feet within seconds, his shoes coming into view by the bottom of your dress as he stood in front of you.

Swallowing down a sob, you allowed yourself to look up at him.

"May I?" He asked, extending a hand out as if wanting yours.

Hesitantly, you gave it to him, assuming you would be ushered back onto your feet. To your surprise, however, he merely flipped your hand over, your palm now facing the night sky.

Your eyes widened as he took a finger and traced a line onto your palm. 

No. Not A line. A letter.

L-O-V-E-R-? 

He wrote into your palm. You stared at your hand, skin still buzzing faintly from where his finger had run across.

His mother used to do such a thing when he was younger and much angrier, often struggling to say the words when something troubled him. He only hoped it would work for you the way he had for him.

Frowning, you shook your head. He wrote once again.

F-A-M-I-L-Y-?

A tear fell from you as if instinctively. You nodded your head, confirming his suspicions. Spurred on by his touch, you moved to grab his hand, flipping it upside down as he had done to yours.

L-O-N-E-L-Y you wrote.

"… I just wish I had a little bit longer with them." You found yourself saying once you had finished.

"No time is enough when it comes to the people you love." He spoke with heart as if referring to his own personal melancholy.

Another tear fell from your eyes as his thumb ran over your palm, not to spell anything but to offer his condolences.

"No. I suppose not." You sniffed, a shiver running over you as a crisp breeze passed the two of you.

He wrote into your palm again.

C-O-L-D-?

You let out a laugh, shrugging dismissively.

"Here." Lord Jeon suddenly peeled his suit jacket off his shoulders. You froze, stunned silent as he gently draped it over your shoulders, a gentle smile on his face.

Your chest tightened, moved by the gesture of kindness. But before you could think to thank him, his warm fingers were at your palm once more.

F-R-I-E-N-D-?

His smile tugged at your heartstrings. You wondered how anyone inside could possibly look down on him. You didn't need to know his name to see that he was kind, a worthy suitor for any marriage-minded aristocrat.

F-R-I-E-N-D. You wrote back.

Happy was the girl who sat on the cement bench of the palace's rose garden, wrapped up warm under the jacket of the first person to show you genuine, unconditional kindness since arriving weeks ago.

The two strangers sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the quiet of company. Neither of you knew the other, but there was comfort in the silhouettes of the adjacent shadows at your feet, knowing that neither had ill intent towards the other.

"Do you ever wonder what it might be like to live in a palace?"

You fell stiff, mute as you turned towards him, watching how he looked over at the illuminated estate. 

"Lonely."

"You think?" He pondered.

"I'm not fond of big empty rooms. They tend to make me feel small." You explained quietly.

"Well, should I ever have a palace, there would be no empty rooms. Every room with music and the sound of children's laughter. I would decree it so."

"Children? And where do you figure you might obtain those?" You chuckled.

"Well, they'd be mine, of course." He grinned lopsidedly.

You grinned back at him. "Then the happiest of children they would be."

You suppose the young lord reminded you somewhat of a child. He was a man by every definition of the word, standing tall and proud, but there was something about the way his large eyes took in the palace that was decidedly childlike. Eyes wide and glimmering with awe.

You watched contently as he suddenly noticed the silver plated container that sat by the leg of the bench; an unopened bottle of champagne sat neatly in a bed of ice, several glasses along side it.

Your dear aunt thought of everything when it came to party planning, you were coming to find out.

"Shall we?" He smirked suggestively.

"I don't see why not." You laughed.

The two of you giggled as he attempted to open the bottle, champagne spilling everywhere. He tried to pour you a glass neatly, but your new friend had no future in bartending, champagne spilling over the glass' edge and onto your fingers.

Sticky but smiling, you brought your glass up, mirroring him.

"A toast." He decided, his own glass now only half full from his carelessness.

"To?" You questioned.

He contemplated for a moment, meeting your inquisitive eyes innocently. A boyish smile broke out across his face.

"To us, of course. Tonight's most undesirables." He declared, making you chuckle.

But before you could touch glasses…

"Your highness!"

Your eyes went wide, your stomach dropping as a certain blond maid came scrambling into the garden.

"Isabella! Please! Just 'my lady' will do." Heat rocketed up your neck, ears no doubt hot to the touch. 

Her hands fell to her knees, clearly out of breath from running around the palace grounds, undoubtedly in search of you.

"My lady, I should advise you to return to the party. Her Majesty the Queen has someone she wants you to meet." She cautioned.

You cursed internally.

"Of course, she does. Give me just a moment then. I'll be over shortly."

The young maid's eyes flickered over to Lord Jeon, cheeks rosy.

"But your highness—"

"Thank you, Isabella." You cut her off curtly. 

The young maid gave you two one more final look over before nodded, pardoning herself with a curtesy.

Hesitantly, you turned back towards Lord Jeon, unsure what to make of the look of disbelief clearly written across his face.

Awkwardly, you brought your glass to your mouth, taking a cautious sip.

"Your highness? You're a princess?" He gawked, eyes still wide. 

"No!" You quipped. "Not… technically?"

The young lord merely blinked at you, his doe eyes telling you everything his mouth wasn't.

You were rambling before you could help yourself.

"M-My mother is the Queen's sister. Technically speaking, she held the title of 'Princess.' Though, I suppose if my mother were born a man then, yes, that would make me a princess— titles are patriarchal in nature, it's all… very complicated, really…" 

You felt like you couldn't take in a deep enough breath, the chilly air now burning your lungs.

"So… not a princess. Just… daughter of a princess." He reiterated, clearly stunned.

You felt a frown form on your face, all your etiquette instructor's reminders of poise and manners slipping from your mind.

"I am the Queen's niece. We shall leave it at that."

The handsome lord had the most fascinated look on his face, eyes locked on the way your jaw twitched, mouth shut rigidly to hold back the slew of word vomit you instinctively felt compelled to let out.

The way he held your eyes – the intensity behind his dark orbs – made you uneasy yet engrossed you all the same.

You bit down on the side of your cheek, "Are you upset that I didn't tell you?"

He shook his head suddenly as if trying to shake off his shock.

"No. I'm not."

"Are you… disappointed?" You grimaced.

You hadn't the faintest clue as to what was running around in his handsome head.

"Disappointed?" He cocked his head.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what the hell you're thinking right now, and it's frankly unnerving." You frowned.

The raven-haired man let out a noise that toed the line between amusement and disbelief. 

"I think you owe me a toast… your highness." He teased.

Rolling your eyes, you failed to fight back a smile, bringing your champagne glass up to meet his, his smirk assuring you that whoever your aunt wished you to meet could wait a moment or two. 

[flowerandblood]

The Vanity and Variability (2)

[ Jane Austen • Aemond x Baratheon • female ]

[ warnings: sexual tension, angst, mention of trauma, violence ]

[ description: Despite coming from a family with royal blood, Aemond is forced because of his brother’s debts to choose one of the daughters of the famously wealthy general, Borros Baratheon, as his wife to save his family from bankruptcy. When he arrives to make his choice he is distraught and discouraged, made all the more so by watching from the sidelines his youngest daughter, who seems more intrigued by his dog than her possible future husband. Slow burn, sexual tension, regency and Jane Austen prose vibe, vain, self-righteous Aemond. ]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in regency times (1805-1815). The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Aemond & Miss Baratheon & VhagarMoodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

When their father received a letter of marriage proposal from Otto Hightower he was furious. He thought it would be humiliating for him to give any of his daughters away to a proud, vain bankrupt who would choose any of them by grace, just for their vast fortune.

He decided to create a small domestic gathering and called her, all her sisters and their brother into their living room.

They sat at the table listening with attention and surprise to what he had to say to them. Their father was met with a completely different reaction than he had expected.

"Please, father, he is almost like a prince. I would live in a palace!" Exclaimed Maris, already imagining in her mind how she would walk through the grand chambers of their gigantic mansion located in London.

"The Targaryens are one of the most important names in our country, it would bring great honour to our family. Your grandson would have royal blood, father. What harm would it do for us to have him come here to determine if we would like him?" Cassandra asked, and their father could not find the right answer to this question, so he finally gave in, recognising that it was nothing official for now.

He replied to Mr Hightower that his grandson could come to his estate to get acquainted with his daughters under his watchful eye to decide if they liked each other.

She had no idea what she thought of the arrival of someone like him; her sisters lived only for his person, counting down the days until his arrival.

One evening they sat all together in their nightgowns in Cassandra's room, which she was entitled to as the eldest daughter and was the largest, talking animatedly. It was good custom for it to be the eldest daughter who was married first, and it was clear that she was concerned about what Mr Targaryen would think of them.

"When he arrives here, we must all behave with decorum and maintain good manners. Do you hear me?" She directed her words at her and she swallowed quietly, nodding and lowered her gaze, fiddling with the fabric of her chemise.

She was the youngest of them, standing next to them looking less like a real, full woman and more like a child in her eyes.

Although the shape of her breasts and hips were outlined under her chemise, she didn't look as serious as they did, she still tied her long hair up with a ribbon at the back of her head instead of forming it into an exquisite bun like they did.

She tried once to style her hair in such a bun, but found that it completely didn't suit her. She looked as if she was just trying to disguise herself as a grown-up woman, a wife and mother, which she was not, and she gave up sadly, telling her maid to let her hair down again.

She had never thought about marriage or love before, being far in line behind her sisters, but one day she realised that since it was not agreed that Mr Targaryen would marry Cassandra and that he could choose any of them, he could choose her too.

The thought terrified her.

"But what will I do if he chooses me?" She asked one day on a walk, walking with them leisurely into town to see the new hats in the shops, and Floris laughed out loud at her words.

"Don't bother, you look like a child and you're unkempt. You have nothing to worry about." She said lightly, and she felt burning tears of humiliation under her eyelids, slowing down and following them completely behind.

Although she did not want a husband at all, it hurt her cruelly that they thought he would despise her not only as a possible future spouse, but as a person in general.

She confided her worries to her father, standing before him and weeping, struggling to put her distress into words, and he looked at her with paternal concern, running his hand over her chin. When she had finished speaking he stood up and walked over to her, catching her soft cheeks in his large, rough hands.

"My dearest, why do you need the attention of someone like him? A man who only wants your wealth, who I am sure will not respect or value you? I hope that after his visit your sisters will change their minds and no marriage will take place, and you will pay no attention to him at all when he arrives here. Even if he wanted you for a wife, I would never give you up to him for the devouring of those vultures of London with only vanity and volatility in their hearts." He murmured lowly and leaned down, kissing her forehead, and she felt an immense sense of relief.

Her father, as well as her brother, were always able to comfort her.

When the day of Mr Targaryen's arrival came, her sisters had been dressing up all day, shouting and running around the house, accusing each other of stealing jewellery or dresses, losing something every step and crying. She watched this with amusement, dressed in her everyday summer gown, looking calmly out of the window, thinking only that this commotion did not concern her.

She had stopped feeling bad about the thought, but she was curious to see what kind of man he would be.

When his carriage finally arrived outside their manor house everyone, according to good manners, went out to meet him with their father in the lead. When the carriage door opened a large, beautiful white dog, looking like a fox, suddenly jumped out of it.

She thought it was love at first sight.

She immediately ran towards her despite her father's calls, and the animal jumped on her, putting its dirty paws on her shoulders, licking her face. She laughed, embracing her around her waist, dishevelled by how sweet this dog was.

When she finally jumped down she stroked her soft fur and raised her head, noticing the man looking at her out of the corner of his eye, pale, his lips tightened into a thin line expressing impatience and embarrassment, his gaze piercing, cool and uncomfortable, the black ribbon bow tying his almost white hair into a long ponytail.

He pulled off his cylinder, tucked it under his arm and it was only then that she noticed his famous black eye patch, the long scar stretching across the entire left side of his face.

She thought that, contrary to what she had imagined, he was not scary, but, according to her father's words, he seemed to her infinitely vain and distraught at having to be here, even though they were doing his family a favour.

She decided not to think about him and leave the conversation with him to her sisters, leaving all her attention and love to his dog, whose name, as it turned out, was Vhagar.

Taking advantage of her owner's absence, she decided to lock herself in her room with her along with a piece of roast on a plate and practice tricks with her.

"Sit." She said lowly, and Vhagar immediately sat down, looking greedily at the piece of meat she had in her hand. She handed it to her as soon as she followed her command, and she devoured it greedily, licking herself with a loud click.

She also appeared to be able to lie down and stand still on command, as well as running up to her leg.

"Give me your paw." She said, extending her hand to her, and she sat up, wagging her tail, looking with big eyes at the next piece of meat she was holding, panting heavily.

She sat down next to her on the floor, still holding her outstretched hand in front of her.

"Give me your paw." She repeated, and she began to squirm and bark, not understanding what was expected of her, what she had to do to be able to eat this delicious piece of chicken.

She took her paw in her hand and shook it, showing her what she was supposed to do, then placed a piece of meat in front of her, which she immediately swallowed.

"Good doggy." She praised her and stroked her, taking another piece from her plate, again extending her hand to her.

"Give me your paw." She said softly, Vhagar twisted in her place and barked. She repeated the command and she scratched her thigh with her paw, checking to see if this was the movement she had in mind.

"Good doggy! Such a good doggy!" She said happily, letting her eat another piece of meat, stroking her fur, praising her wisdom.

They both jumped when she heard a quiet knock on her door. She opened it and was startled to see the silhouette of their guest, looking down at her as if he was about to kill her, Vhagar threw herself at him cheerfully, longing for her owner.

"Vhagar! Calm down! Sit." He commanded her coolly, clearly frustrated, and she pressed her lips together, deciding that she would share the rather pleasant news that his dog was able to perform a new activity thanks to her efforts.

"I was just teaching her a new trick." She whispered, not wanting to wake the sleeping family members and was already about to explain to him what the trick was specifically about when he spoke directly to her, looking at her disapprovingly.

"Don't come near my dog again." He hissed and whistled at Vhagar, motioning towards his room.

She pressed her lips together, feeling a sting in her heart at his unpleasant and cold words, but thought she might have expected it. She saw to her surprise, however, that his dog turned towards her every once in a while, standing and apparently considering whether she felt like continuing to play with her instead of going to sleep.

Despite her owner's efforts, she refused to budge and jumped up when he suddenly grabbed her violently by the fur on her neck, pulling her forcibly towards his room, as if he had completely lost his temper, furious, she pulled in the air loudly and squealed in despair at the sight, hearing her whine full of pain and terror.

"− no! − please! − wait −" She called out pleadingly, and suddenly, as if he realised what he was doing he looked at her surprised and let go of Vhagar, who immediately ran away from him, hiding back in her room. She looked at his face and was surprised to find that he was broken, she had a feeling that he was about to cry.

What was the matter with him?

She swallowed loudly, wanting to quickly alleviate the situation she ran into her room and picked up a piece of meat, shoving it under Vhagar's nose. She immediately followed her, curious, and they both left the room, but when she saw her owner standing in the same place she panicked and lowered her tail, fearing that he would do the same to her as he had a moment ago.

She approached his stony figure, she had the impression that he had completely frozen absorbed in his own agony at the thought that his dog would now hate him.

"Hand it to her and call her out, just don't get angry." She whispered to him pleadingly, handing him the meat she held between her fingers. They both crouched down, looking at Vhagar, who watched them with lowered ears, alert. He held out his hand to her, she could see that his fingers were trembling.

"− come, Vhagar − I'm sorry − it's all right −" He whispered with difficulty, brokenly, no longer resembling at all the man she had seen getting out of the carriage. He seemed suddenly human to her, full of some cruel contradiction she could not comprehend. She felt the pain pouring out of him, the fear of rejection, and involuntarily felt sympathy.

She realised that he had probably been forced to come here, exposed as if in a market to be watched and judged by her sisters, all the time in the limelight, having to make a choice even though they, in his eyes, were not worthy of him in status.

She thought he had no right to feel superior to them, coming here only for their fortune, but she couldn't help seeing him now as just an ordinary man, terrified by the vision that his beloved pup would be afraid of him.

Vhagar approached him slowly and hesitantly took from his hand what he had on it. She saw his fingers stroke her white fur with tenderness and gentleness, and then her head snuggled against his chest, his face pressed against hers expressing something like relief, his lips tightened, his eyes red.

She smiled at the sight, feeling at the same time remorseful at the fact that all this had happened because of her, because she hadn't asked his permission if he would mind if she played with his dog.

"− I'm so sorry −" She whispered softly and he looked at her, she noticed with surprise that his gaze was not cold and chilly. It was focused, uncertain, filled with feeling, suffering and loneliness, depth and emptiness at the same time.

He did not answer.

She stood up and called out quietly to Vhagar, heading for his room, and she immediately moved to follow her. She wanted to lead her to his bedroom and force her to stay there to end this whole unpleasant situation.

She sat down on the floor and reached out to her. She immediately laid down next to her and put her paw on her thigh as she taught her. She smiled and stroked her soft fur, then lifted her gaze and saw that he was standing over them, looking at them as if they were some amazing creatures, in his eyes surprise and shock that she dared to enter his room in the middle of the night in just her nightgown.

The realisation of this gaffe hit her with redoubled force and she stood up quickly, explaining that she only wanted Vhagar to go in there after her, leaving quickly and closing the door behind her, running to her room and sighing heavily, feeling her heart pounding fast.

She thought that this was not a good start to their acquaintance and that he probably hated her for sure now.

However, she decided that since he wouldn't consider her anyway it didn't matter, she was more worried that by her behaviour he would have a bad opinion of her sisters, and she knew how Cassandra cared about this marriage.

She was the eldest and felt time was slipping through her fingers, many men had asked for her hand because of her father's wealth, but they were too old for her or unpleasant to look at.

It appeared that she might have been too fussy, and now someone from a royal background almost their own age had come to their house and it seemed the perfect opportunity for her.

She didn't want to ruin her happiness.

However, as always, Floris was unable to restrain her nosiness even at breakfast, pestering her with questions and accusations that she did not have the strength to answer. She felt Mr Targaryen's eye on her, and if she didn't know him she would have thought she saw a hint of sympathy in his gaze.

"My dear, apologise to Mr Targaryen for your behaviour and for taking his dog for yourself." Her father finally said to her, and she swallowed loudly, lifting her gaze to him.

She could see that he was looking at her uncertainly, terrified of what she might say, of what she had seen, which could reflect badly on his reputation.

"I am deeply sorry for my behaviour and all the unpleasantness that came with it." She choked out with difficulty what she really wanted to say to him and saw that he swallowed loudly, lowering his eyes and hummed under his breath as if in thought, running his fingertips over the table top.

"I also apologise, miss Baratheon." He said lowly, startling her completely, and as he lifted his determined, burning gaze to her she understood that he wanted to tell her that he was ashamed of his behaviour.

She felt a warmth in her heart at the thought that he had decided to apologise to her even though the fault lay with her.

She heard Floris snort at his words, displeased that he had not rebuked her.

"Mr Targaryen, do not apologise to her. She is like an animal herself." She said with amusement, looking her straight in the eye, and she felt humiliation spilling over her body, her cheeks red.

She swallowed hard, breathing unevenly, lowering her gaze, repeating to herself that she couldn't make a scene and start crying in front of him, that Cassandra would reprimand her again, saying she was acting like a child.

She felt she was losing to her own distress and got up at last, apologising quietly and left quickly, running out into the courtyard. She heard quick footsteps behind her a moment later and didn't even have to turn around to know it was Royce.

"Wait." He called out to her and she stopped, looking at him with parted, trembling lips, tears streaming involuntarily down her red face. Royce put his arm around her waist and she embraced his as they moved ahead, looking forward, saying nothing.

"Don't mind her. She can't bear the thought of not living in a grand palace. Unfortunately, I can't say she's the smartest of my sisters." He said amused, and she burst out laughing through her tears, hugging him, as usual feeling relieved in his company.

"What was he apologising to you for?" He asked after a moment, and she grunted quietly, unsure if she should talk about it.

"He was angry that I locked myself in my room with his dog. But he was right. That's all." She said briefly, figuring she would skip the details, not wanting to put him in a bad light in front of her brother, recognising that she had known him too briefly to judge him so quickly.

Royce already wanted to go home, but she said she wanted to continue her journey and walk to the lake to calm down completely. She loved listening to the quiet sound of the water sitting by the shore and had no desire to look at Floris for the next few hours.

So she moved ahead alone, taking comfort from the beautiful summer views all around her, the fields surrounding her green and full of flowers, the air clean and crisp.

She shuddered when she suddenly heard a loud barking and saw Vhagar running quickly towards her. The dog pounced on her and started licking her face, and she laughed out loud.

"What are you doing so far from home?" She asked, stroking her snout as she fell back onto her four paws, and it was only when she looked around that she noticed Mr Targaryen's silhouette sitting on the shore, his impenetrable gaze directed towards her.

For a moment she considered returning home, but realised she didn't want to go back there. Even more so if he wasn't there now, her sisters would lash out at her with questions and accusations, keeping at least a hint of civility in his presence.

Only Ellyn was being nice to her, Cassandra tried to fight the feelings warring within her, but she could see the frustration on her face.

No matter how hard she tried to stay away from him, she kept running right into him.

She thought that maybe if they had her attitude they would experience the same thing.

She sighed heavily and started walking towards him, recognising that it wasn't just his shore, that she was the first to discover this place and had as much right to sit there as he did.

She sat down beside him on the sand, a safe distance away, which Vhagar took immediate advantage of to lie down between them, laying her head on her thighs.

She was sure he would get up and go somewhere else, discouraged by her presence, he, however, seemed to make nothing of it, sunk in his own thoughts. She closed her eyes and began to listen to the sounds of the wind and water, the pleasant breeze wrapped around her face. She felt sleepy.

She opened her eyes after a few minutes, looking around as if half asleep, and saw to her surprise that Mr Targaryen had fallen asleep beside her, his head settled on his shoulder, his face unusually gentle and calm.

She thought he needed a moment of rest and solitude too, and smiled at the thought.

With some strange warmth in her heart, she lay down next to Vhagar and wrapped her arms around her, wanting to fall asleep next to them.

After they had returned to her mansion, after what he had said when Floris had assaulted her, she herself was not sure what she thought of him.

On the one hand, she felt grateful because he had stood up for her, refuting any rumours or conjecture about the nature of their walk, but on the other hand, his words were so cruel and insolent that she thought he would never have referred to a woman of his status in such a way, that he was showing how much he despised them, that he did not regard them as equals.

The next day they were all due to go to church, and as it was literally a five-minute walk from their property, they decided to go there on foot.

She wore her bonnet on her head, so she tied her hair up in a bun like her sisters to make the whole thing look right, the colour of her headdress warm cream, just like her dress.

She did not know if the form of the walk made Mr Targaryen happy or not, his expression remained invariably indifferent. He walked at the front with her father and Royce, Royce telling him something with amusement and he seemed to be partially listening to him.

Further along walked Cassandra, Maris and Floris, adding a word or two to their brother once in a while, and she walked at the back with Ellyn.

"Floris is very jealous." She told her quietly, clearly wanting to comfort her. "She teases each of us behind closed doors and says very nasty things."

She did not feel surprised by what she heard. Floris always cried when her father refused her, loving to point out mistakes to everyone but herself.

She thought that she had felt overlooked all her life and was now trying to make up for it by getting everyone's attention, the higher-ranking person it was, the better.

It wasn't long before they arrived at a beautiful little brick church surrounded by a stone wall and orchard. They went inside, their father greeting everyone, the presence of Mr Targaryen sparked great interest and everyone wanted to shake his hand.

She could see the tension on his face, the enormity of his discomfort in the presence of so many strangers, and she thought he was in constant pain, forced to be polite and courteous when he felt like running away.

One by one, they all began to sit down in the pew where their family always sat, but when she wished to take her place at the end, Floris placed her hand on the seat.

"This seat is for Mr Targaryen. After all, we won't let him sit at the back." She said lightly, and she felt a tightening in her throat, tears of humiliation filling her eyes once more.

"There's enough room for everyone." She whispered, her father leaning over, looking at her concerned, not understanding why she and Mr Targaryen were not yet seated.

"There isn't."

She looked at her with red eyes, feeling her clenched lips tremble, but there was not a trace of hesitation or sympathy on her sister's face.

So she turned back, swallowing loudly, sitting down in the empty bench behind them, her father turning his head after her, startled.

"What are you doing?"

She did not answer him, for she looked shocked sideways when she saw that Mr Targaryen had stepped into her pew following her, placing his cylinder on his free side, undoing one button from his tailcoat, sitting down beside her with his legs crossed.

Floris turned towards him, apparently wanting to announce to him that there was a place for him on their bench, but before she could open to say anything, a single, cold sentence left his lips.

"Please attend to your prayers, Miss Baratheon."

Floris turned pale and pressed her lips together, turning away, pretending nothing had happened. She looked at him sideways and swallowed loudly as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, frustrated.

"Can't you concentrate on prayer in the house of God either, Miss Baratheon?" He growled and she shook her head, pulling out her prayer book from her small pouch hanging on her hand, not daring to turn her gaze to him for the entire liturgy.

Despite her best efforts, she couldn't concentrate on what Pastor Thomson was saying, thinking only of the fact that he had given up the seat he was entitled to by his status and sat next to her.

She thought he did this because he wanted to avoid her sisters, because after their nap at the lake he knew she would not torment him. That he sat next to her because he wanted to show Floris again what he thought of her.

She figured that perhaps he wanted to comfort her too, that he didn't want her to sit alone away from her family, rejected and abandoned.

The last thought filled her heart with gratitude and warmth and she found herself thinking that he was a more complicated man than she had originally assumed.

As they stood up to receive the eucharist, Mr Targaryen let her go ahead and, squeezing between him and the pew, she involuntarily brushed against his body and heard him quietly gasp through his nose, all tense.

She knew he was standing behind her in line, she could hear his breathing behind her, she could feel his gaze on her. This was a test, he wanted to see if she would get distracted again, if she would think about him, if she would end up pestering him like her sisters.

She thought he didn't deserve her treating him so objectively.

She preferred to think of herself as his friend who, understanding his needs, would not impose on him, allowing him to remain comfortable in her presence.

She didn't look at him as she passed him in line or as she sat back in the pew and they both listened to the psalms, waiting for everyone to take communion.

She swallowed loudly as she felt him spread his knees, sitting down more comfortably, his leg rubbing against hers and pressed to her barely perceptibly.

She felt a pleasant shudder and swallowed loudly, running her fingers over the book lying on her thighs, but she didn't dare to look at him, not wanting to give him satisfaction.

She gasped, her heart starting to pound like mad as he righted himself on the seat and grunted, leaning back with his shoulders against the rest of the bench, his knee pressed almost painfully hard against her leg now.

She felt herself breathing through her mouth, droplets of sweat running down her neck, her fingers tightening on her prayer book.

She felt him looking at her.

She felt his breath directed towards her, enveloping her face.

She glanced at his hand lying on his knee pressed against hers, his pointing finger tapping restlessly against the material of his trousers, as if impatient.

What did he want?

Why was he doing this, playing with her, putting her in this position?

She drew in the air in horror when his hand suddenly pulled away from his knee and moved over her thighs towards her fingers, as if he wanted to grab them.

She clutched her book, terrified, and heard him hum under his breath as he grabbed her prayer book, sliding it out of her hands in a slow movement.

She felt her whole body quiver, her fingers trembling as they lay numbly on her lap.

She knew he had seen it.

Was he deriving some kind of dark satisfaction from it?

She watched out of the corner of her eye as he looked through her prayer book page by page, even though he had his own lying on the backrest in front of him.

Hers was older, had belonged to her mother, was her only memento of her after her death, and she felt uneasy seeing it in the hands of someone else.

"Please, sir, give it back to me." She whispered quietly and heard his murmur expressing surprise or displeasure.

"What harm am I doing? I am merely looking at it, Miss Baratheon." He hummed low, licking his finger and turning the page, something about the gesture seemed inappropriate, ungodly to her and she thought he had done it on purpose.

"Please. This is my only memento of my mother." She mumbled helplessly and felt him suddenly freeze.

She didn't look at him but she could feel the atmosphere of discomfort between them, his knee pulled away from hers as he grunted, swallowing loudly, pointing her book towards her, holding it in his hand.

She reached for it with a trembling hand, and their fingers involuntarily touched, she had the feeling that his thumb had purposely run over her skin, as if in a gesture of apology, of comfort that made her want to cry, she felt goosebumps on her cheeks.

She put her prayer book back on her thighs, clasping her trembling hands on them, breathing hard, feeling as if he was mocking her, taking pleasure and satisfaction in what he could do to her, in how naïve she was.

She felt as, despite her mind's tremendous efforts, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks. She wiped them away quickly with her thumb, but they kept flying.

She saw his hand, which again laid stretched across his knee clenched into a fist, his fingers moving restlessly.

He knew she was crying because of him.

When the liturgy ended she stood up first and headed quickly for the door, not looking at him or her family.

When she turned into the field corner and knew no one could see her anymore she burst out into a loud sob, tired of her sisters, tired of this strange, variable men who played with her, who would never look at her or her family as equals.

She drew in a loud breath when she heard quick footsteps behind her and, thinking it was Royce, turned hopefully behind her. She turned pale and parted her lips with a sound of mournful despair when she saw him, breathing loudly, his hair in partial disarray, slipping out of its ribbon.

"Miss Baratheon. Forgive me." He mumbled, not believing himself that these words were coming out of his mouth, clearly surprised and ashamed of his own behaviour. "I have no idea what has gotten into me."

They stood before each other in silence, looking at one another with wide eyes, she struggled to calm her breathing, her trembling lips slightly parted in disbelief.

"I don't understand you, sir. I try, but I don't. You are cruel. You humiliate me and my sisters knowing that we do not stand in a position to oppose you. I would like to be your friend, but I am not sure you could be a friend to anyone, let alone a person of such low position as myself." She almost wailed, shaking her head, looking at him with anguish, something flashed across his face, his brow furrowed, his lips tightened, he swallowed loudly, her words hitting something deep inside him.

She did not give him a chance to reply. She turned her back on him, seeing her family approaching, and set off towards her mansion, thinking with despair that she already felt sorry for whichever of her sisters this man would choose as his wife.

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Taglist 1 @its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

[andibuilds-simblr]

Finchley Hall · a (mostly) unfurnished Georgian estate

Hello fellow Simmers! For my first build, I'd like to share Finchley Hall, a 64x64 lot designed for Henford-on-Bagley.

This Neoclassical Georgian-inspired manor house is (almost) entirely unfurnished, for you to decorate the interior - whether in Regency style or to your own modern taste. This build, while unfurnished, is CC-heavy.

More info and download below the cut!

Finchley Hall, the envy of all Finchwick, is the ancestral seat of the Earl and Countess of Henford...

While there are many ways you can configure the rooms, I recommend using the basement level for the kitchen/servant's hall/scullery, main floor for drawing rooms, dining, library, and gallery, second floor for suites, and attic level for staff rooms and storage space - if you want that authentic manor feel.

Required CC:

Lili’s Palace Classicist Manor Set (Pediment 2)

AJDuckie Elegant Parquet Flooring Override

Anachrosims Gorgeous Georgians Build Set

Ravasheen Easy Peasy Lumen Squeezy Hidden Lights

Needlework Reverie’s Recolored Cottage Living plants (Rosebush)

TheJim07 Majestic Pedestal

TheJim07 Four Seasons Statues

Felixandre Chateau Part 1

Felixandre Chateau Part 2

Felixandre London Exterior Set

FelixandreXHarrie Orjanic (Flagstone Floor)

Felixandre Berlin Part 2

Felixandre Paris Part 1

Felixandre July 2018/December2017

Felixandre Colonial Part 3 (Fence)

Required Packs:

Vampires

High School Years

Cottage Living

Realm of Magic

Get Together

Note: Use bb.moveobjects on before placing the lot. While it's unfurnished, some of the trim (lighting, exterior decor) may reflect as furnishings, so make sure to place the lot as furnished!

Download Here (SimFileShare)

[hxhhasmysoul]

5 Favourite Fics I’ve written

rule: 5 favourite fics you’ve written and pass it on to 5 other writers

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thank you @cursedvibes for the tag. it took me a while to do it because i don't really like the fics i've written, idk, writing for me is dealing with my adhd brain and the results never really make me happy they just give me relief. i think part of it is that i despise my writing style, the language, i have no turn of phrase. i find it unpleasant to read. but at the same time i like the process of planning a story and its setting. so the fics i will list are those which i really enjoyed making up a setting for, which i think have fun world building and/or plots/intrigues. these are from oldest to newest.

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Fairytale kingdom, nightmare castle

it's my first fic ever, it's actually huge (157,059 words) but unfinished, i want to get back to it but it needs 2 action filled chapters and i'm scared of that. it's actually a killugon fic with canary as the third protagonist, hxh power system but in an empire/regency inspired aesthetic. it's very plot driven, world building heavy, has scenes from many povs. it has a courtly/political intrigue.

rating E

Levels

this fic is special to me because i made a friend through it. but also it's one of two fics on this list that are a vibe... like it kinda has a plot but it's mostly a vibe and to some extent a vague musing about the hxh story line plus a tribute to Blame! aesthetic. oh it's a killugon. it's also my one and only attempt at horror, it's not really scary or creepy, i can't do mood writing to save my life.

rating T

Conventional Wisdom

this fic is also basically a vibe, it's a fic i wrote during the pandemic and it's about loneliness and craving connection. it's also a killugon. this one is an urban fantasy au, gon's a magical creature killua is a human. i didn't set out to write them both ace in this fic, it just kinda turned out like that.

rating T

Trapped

this is me going against all my instincts honestly. i usually dislike fairy tale retellings and here i'm kinda writing one. granted i made it my comfort zone so it's as not fairytalesque as i could. but it has the trappings of the beauty and the beast. it's world building and plot heavy. it's a sukuita fic, also a pairing i never expected myself to like, even less to write for.

rating E

The Only One

this is another first one for me, when i really consciously and purposefully wrote a character to be quite ooc. i just needed that. it's also extremely tropey, royalty au, harem au (like it takes place in a harem, there isn't a harem of lovers to choose from), there are fabrics and linguistics, there's a palace intrigue. it's an author pleaser, i wrote it to make myself feel good. it's a sukuita fic, sweet and angsty.

rating E

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Tagging, but only if you feel like it: @subdee, @voidcat-senket, @yuujispinkhair, @canzie-gumm, @ishouldgetatumbler

[dpsisquared]

6 (although I think I already know the answer :P), 10, 20!

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

Other than Dimileth, lol... certainly Sylvain, particularly teasing Dimitri. He's just The Guy that says what the audience wants to say. And there's always an undercurrent of "I'm being an ass cause that's my gimmick but I do actually care underneath all this smarmy bs".

Lately I've been writing Flayn more and she is fun too. Her stage notes are basically "how would an overexcited puppy react to this?" Lol. Petra as well because she is usually dropping some knowledge but you have to really analyze your sentence structure and word choice but keep that same message.

10. How would you describe your writing process?

Utter chaos. Anarchy.

But more seriously, GRR Martin has a quote about "gardening" writing style, where you start with a small seed of an idea and let it grow on its own which is exactly what I do. I have never outlined a fic or even known where it was headed when starting. For example with my ongoing fic rn, I didn't start out thinking "I'm going to write a regency au with a count of monte Cristo type revenge arc". A conversation popped into my head where there was a party at some palace where a few women were talking about Kronya's body being found just outside. I just liked the contrast. Then I thought, oh the gossiping seems regency-ish. Then, I have to ask myself questions to fill in the blanks- who killed her and why? Dimitri-- but how do they not know that? He's hiding his identity-- ok then who do they think he is? What would have had to happen to make that plausible? Etc etc etc, eventually a setting and plot come together. This is why my longer fics are usually complete by the time I start posting. Because the beginning setup usually comes last 😅

Unfortunately this leaves a lot of unfinished WIPs with 1-2k words written in one sitting and abandoned 🫠 Sometimes I come back weeks, months, or even a year later and finish them, sometimes not.

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

Hmmmm not sure if this counts, but I always try to keep Dimitri and Byleth's relationship balanced. I don't ever want it to be "woman with no personality of her own saves complicated man". I try to show how he has done a lot for her too 💙💙💙

A random thing I do for Byleth is reevaluate any dialogue that has her saying more than two sentences without pause. Almost always I will cut it down if that's the case, unless she is relaying an event or something unemotional like that.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

10 best royal exhibitions to continue the Coronation celebrations, from Buckingham Palace to Blenheim

The day of the Coronation is over but these remarkable royal exhibitions across the UK means the excitement doesn’t need to be

By Natasha Leake

18 May 2023

The glow from King Charles III’s Coronation is starting to fade, but there is plenty more pomp and ceremony to be discovered at these extraordinary royal exhibitions currently being staged across the country.

Stately homes and royal palaces have transformed their sumptuous rooms into backdrops for stunning showcases of royal regalia, period costumes and mementos of past Coronations.

From Blair Castle to Castle Howard; Blenheim to Buckingham Palace, book a date at one of these must-see royal exhibitions to keep the celebrations going.

Through a carefully curated selection of more than 200 pieces, the Kensington Palace fashion exhibition draws parallels between the pomp, ceremony and performance of the contemporary red carpet and the pressure to ‘see and be seen’ at Georgian court.

One-of-a-kind creations worn by Lizzo, Katy Perry and Lady Gaga et al. are juxtaposed with outfits worn by 18th century movers and shakers in the State Apartments, which, handily, is where the showcase is staged.

Pictured: A row of magnificent outfits in the King’s Gallery at the Crown to Couture

5 April - 31 October 2023

Blenheim Palace is using the occasion of the Coronation to celebrate its historic connection with the Royal Family.

With a collection of previously unseen artefacts, crowns, coronets, robes, and photo albums, take a trip into the world of royal fashion with an impeccably restored Norman Hartnell silk gown, worn by the then Rosemary Spencer-Churchill to the Queen’s Coronation in 1953.

Also on display are costumes from Bridgerton and The Crown, and a page from a Blenheim visitor’s book, which includes the elegant inked signatures of Wallis Simpson (the future Duchess of Windsor) and her second husband, Ernest A. Simpson.

Pictured: The restored Maid of Honour Coronation dress worn by Rosemary Spencer-Churchill to the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II in 1953.

19 March - 30 July 2023

Originally launched in 2022, the award-winning Castle Couture exhibition returns this summer to Blair Castle, the ancestral home of the Atholl family, with an extended edition that showcases statement designs, intricate embroidery, innovative textiles, and style influences from the 18th century through to the 20th century.

Among the highlights are delightfully delicate ostrich feather and Brussels lace fans by the renowned Parisienne craftsman Duvelleroy, the appointed supplier to Queen Victoria.

There are also pieces from the personal collection of the late Katharine Stewart-Murray, Duchess of Atholl, Scotland’s first Scottish female Member of Parliament.

Pictured: This ballgown would have been worn by Lady Glenlyon (later Anne, Duchess of Atholl) during the visit as they dined with the royal couple.

1st April – 28th October 2023

In a homage to the Regency period, visitors are invited to take a step back into the world of the Georgians with an exhibition that looks at how fashion trends reflected the significant trade, travel and technological advances of the period.

A highlight of the exhibition is a rarely displayed, full-length portrait of Queen Charlotte (of Bridgerton fame) by Thomas Gainsborough, dated from around 1781, which usually hangs in the White Drawing Room at Windsor Castle.

The showcase also features one of the earliest surviving British royal wedding dresses: a stunning gown worn by Princess Charlotte of Wales in 1816.

Pictured: A painting of King George III by Allan Ramsay, c.1761–2.

21 April – 8 October 2023

The late Queen Elizabeth II’s beloved corgis captured the hearts of the nation the late monarch’s funeral.

Now they are being celebrated as part of a free exhibition at the Wallace Collection, in central London.

The one-room display features touching imagery of the Queen with her corgis.

It coincides with the museum’s exhibition, ‘Portraits of Dogs: From Gainsborough to Hockney,’ which celebrates human devotion to dogs over the centuries through a carefully curated selection of 50 paintings, sculptures, drawings and taxidermy.

Pictured: Queen Elizabeth II sitting on rocks on the Garbh-allt Burn with two corgis on the Estate at Balmoral Castle, Scotland, September 1971

8 March – 25 June 2023

Situated in a pair of beautifully restored early Georgian townhouses, the exhibition showcases centuries of royal fans from across the globe, including a special, printed, English fan marking the restoration of Charles II and the contemporary fans made by The Fan Museum in honour of the late Queen Elizabeth II’s Diamond Jubilee.

The exhibition promises to be ‘not merely a look back on what has been but a rally of hope for what is to come.’

King Charles III has also taken an avid interest in the Fan Museum’s work.

Pictured: A Belgian folding fan dating from 1881

1 February - 24 June 2023

The Long Gallery at Castle Howard, home to the Howard family for more than 300 years, is hosting an incredible exhibition featuring an exact replica of the Crown Jewels and peers’ robes worn to coronations gone by.

Set in 10,000 glorious acres on the edge of the Yorkshire moors, Castle Howard was commissioned in 1699 by the 3rd Earl of Carlisle from Sir John Vanbrugh, who later conceived Blenheim Palace.

The 1st Earl of Carlisle was descended from Lord William Howard, the youngest son of Thomas Howard, 4th Duke of Norfolk (the current Duke of Norfolk organised the King and Queen’s Coronation).

Pictured: Castle Howard’s replica of the Crown Jewels

From April 1

During the last Coronation, the hotel had to secure extra flagpoles in order to fly banners for the many different royals and dignitaries staying there.

The archive overflows with Coronation material, which is why Claridge’s unveiled a space showcasing the hotel’s status as ‘the Royal Hostelry.’

Mementos on display include pages from Queen Victoria’s diary, fans created for the coronation of King George V and Queen Mary, and Claridge’s menus and cocktail cards created for the coronations of King George VI in 1937 and Queen Elizabeth II in 1953.

Pictured: A collection of royal mementos including featuring a book of 53 photographs of the then Prince of Wales, and an order of service from the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II

Until May 31

The world watched in awe as the newly crowned King Charles III and Queen Camilla processed from Westminster Abbey back to Buckingham Palace in the Gold State Coach.

This extraordinary regal treasure is available to view at the Royal Mews at Buckingham Palace, alongside the Diamond Jubilee State Coach, which transported Their Majesties to the Abbey ahead of the service.

Also housed in the mews? The famous Windsor Grey horses, which drew the magnificent carriages on the day.

Pictured: The Gold State Coach

2 March - 30 October 2023

At the epicentre of the Coronation was Westminster Abbey. So where better to delve into the gilded history of the captivating service?

A new exhibition in the Chapter House reveals the key elements of the royal ceremony, which has taken place at the Abbey for nearly a thousand years.

Featuring historic illustrations and archive photography, it promises to unpack and explain the Coronation’s magnificent ceremonial regalia and objects.

8 April - 30 September 2023

[anachrosims]

[TS4 ROOMS] PALLADIAN GREEN ROOM

Hello! I bring you a functional, Regency-era bedroom in the Palladian Georgian style. Comes with functioning bed, washbasin, vanity, chamber pot, and bathtub. Perfect room for a country manor or even for a palace.

Download at the Gallery under ID anachrosims or--

DOWNLOAD TRAY & MODS FOLDER @ MEGA, NO ADS!

[mercurygray]

Thirsty Thursday/Friday- something involving horses or dogs for the Regency AU.

Shoving this together with a prompt from @junojelli, who says 'Some Regency AU from the POV of Annie, who has been instrumental in her brother's engagement'

Annie had never been to a house before.

Her friends had laughed at that, when she'd said it aloud, but there were houses and houses, and Belleau was a house, the kind you had built by Robert Adam when you were elevated to the peerage and made a duke and expected to entertain in that style.

The heat of late summer was slowly descending upon London and everyone was making plans to retreat to the country, if such a retreat could be had, and so, of course, the Duchess had invited the unmarried sister of her fiance to come and stay.

It had been quite the thing, to take Sir Lewis's carriage from London, and stay at an inn along the road, and come up the drive the next afternoon jolting and tired but treated to such a view. The house, too, was a marvel, with fully fifteen maids out front to meet them and someone to take her bags, and a bedroom the size of a palace just for her. And the Duchess is mistress of all this?

Annie had only ever expected to visit a house like this one as the governess, and never a guest. But a guest she was, with all the rights and privileges therein, curtseyed and catered to. Should Miss Winters like tea, in her room? She said yes only because that was what ladies did, after long journeys, but she'd only taken a few sips before throwing on her shawl and going to explore the rest of the house, which soon led to the rest of the garden, which then got her out to the stable block, where she was quite ignored by the grooms and allowed to explore at her leisure.

They did not keep horses in London - quite an expense, her mother would have said, and a hired coach did them very well when it was required. But Dick had taken her to see the Household Cavalry, and feed the grays, Annie laughing at their soft, snuffling noses tickling her hand. Dick had met the Duchess several times for a ride in Hyde Park, and Annie knew she loved her horses.

How could you not, when they were creatures like this?

She walked along the stalls, admiring their great heads and liquid eyes, stopping to hold her hand out, flattened, as Dick had shown her, for one tall dark fellow to sniff and fuss over, his ears forward and relaxed and quite at his leisure. He made a noise and swung his head, and Annie realized she was not alone - there was another woman, waiting just behind her. Another house guest, probably. Dick said there would be several. "Are they not magnificent?"

"Indeed they are," the woman agreed, coming to join Annie with a brief smile. The horse Annie had been petting gave a contented whiffle and leaned into the other woman's hand. "They keep a lovely stable here. Quite the best in the county."

"I was told tomorrow there is to be a steeplechase," Annie shared, "which the Duchess will win, of course."

"Who told you she will win?"

"Oh, my brother - Captain Winters. He says she is far and away the best rider of all of them - and she knows the course the best, but that does not signify quite as much as how she can handle it. Sir Lewis was teasing him about it in the carriage here," she added, loyally, "but my brother would not hear it said otherwise."

"That is rather like Sir Lewis," her new friend agreed, still scratching behind the horse's ears. "What a compliment from the Captain - he rides very well himself." She paused and looked over at Annie. "You have a good eye for horses, Miss Winters - this is the Duchess's favorite."

"How do you know?"

She gave a brief chuckle. "I should hope that was obvious."

Annie turned and looked, really looked, at the woman to whom she'd been speaking and with no small embarrassment realized her error. "Your grace!"

The first (and last) time she had seen Joan Warren, she had been dressed to pay calls, and the meeting had been that of an instant - here, in the stable, without hat or pelisse, the Duchess was another woman entirely, very out of character with soft-dressed hair and a shawl around her shoulders, and a hunter nipping at her ear. "Pray do not trouble yourself about it," Joan assured her, smiling ear to ear and batting the animal away a little. "It is nice sometimes to not be recognized."

Annie had another thought. "Please do not think badly of my brother for that story about the carriage. He does not talk out of turn about you, I promise."

"I did not for one moment believe he did," the Duchess assured her. "And I am sure Montjoy enjoys being told he will win," she added, scratching the horse under his chin. "He loves it as much as I do."

[janec23]

Happy STS! (I'm @harleywriteshit, though I think you know that.) I'm super interested to hear about your French Regency-era WIP! Is French history a topic that you were interested in outside of writing, or something that you're researching because of the setting you chose?

Hi @harl3quinade! Yes I know who you are, thanks for the ask! :)

So, I was invested in French history since I visited the Versailles palace when I was young and I had an awesome tour in french. Most of the classic romances have their settings in the english regency era, so I wanted to do something different.

My WIP is vaguely inspired by the French Regency-era, despite all my research on that, I still wanted to have the freedom of creativity, and be excused for some anachronistic slip XD

I tried to be as much close as possible to the reference material, for example in describing the palace and the garden style or the dresses, but I really wanted to put a queer subplot which I know is not in line with the era.

I just loved the idea of these two young girls from different countries at war discovering that their friendship might be something different and unexpected!

[genshinarchives]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐅 "𝐆𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐄𝐒"

A tldr guide to the side characters of God of Heroes.

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

Enu (picrew)

The original God of Heroes and the first king of Auruk, as well as your online friend. He saved a group of desertfolk from the evil god Enkidu during the Archon War and created Auruk to protect them. The Sword of Marduk was his weapon that Gugalanna stole from him during one of their battles in the desert. As a countermeasure, he used his magic to create a domain underground called Irkalla, which serves as a place for souls that have been wounded by the sword in his territory to recover. He implemented a rule so that only those with the Authority of King can enter. Enu was later killed by Enkidu.

Elisha

Enu's NPC, whose appearance you imitated. After Enu's death, she defended Auruk in his place until she died during one of Gugalanna's invasions.

Enki (picrew)

The NPC you created to be your attendant and the vanguard of your team. He's a doppelganger that can imitate the appearances and up to 80% of the abilities of the people he interacts with. He passed on his fighting style and magic knowledge to Cyno's forefathers. Cyno bears a striking resemblance to him.

Shamash (picrew)

An udug and a palace guard. He's the younger brother of Ereshkigal. He has a strong sense of duty towards you, is diligent and rather straitlaced. He doesn't like slackers and would often butt heads with his sister who's the complete opposite of him. He later becomes Ka-dingirra's Overseer of the Eleven Generals of Tiamat.

Ereshkigal (picrew)

An udug and a palace guard. She's the older sister of Shamash. Although she tends to space out, she performs her duty well and is very loyal towards you. She has a nonchalant attitude unlike her brother, and likes to play with the Rubik's cube in her free time. She cares about humans a lot.

Ushar (picrew)

A devoted soldier of Auruk. He was the one who found you and brought you to Auruk after you killed Enkidu. Dehya is his descendant.

Kingu (picrew)

Auruk's Overseer of the Eleven Generals of Tiamat and a member of the Regency Council. Originally from Sumeru, he became a general of Auruk to repay Enu for saving him. He returned to Sumeru while your soul was recovering in Irkalla, and went on self-imposed exile in Avidya Forest to punish himself for not being able to protect you. Tighnari is his descendant.

Semiramis (picrew)

The Sand Priestess and a member of the Regency Council. Logical, reliable and responsible, you can't help but notice how similar Al-Haitham's personality is to hers.

[palacesims]

After almost two years of lurking royal simblrs I've decided to share my own royal save! As I'm new to all this please excuse any errors I make along my journey, enjoy my first palace (WIP) and follow it's progress!

..............................................................................................................................

Depicted is the front façade.

As you can see there is a main building as well as add-ons

The main building was apart of the old castle that was torn down to allow for a more grand palace.

It was made in the stasian style of opulence and grandeur popularized by Queen Mother (Often Regarded as empress mother) Anastasia.

As Anastasia is in advanced age the palace is her daughters way of immortalizing her mother who helped keep the kingdom together during the revolt.

The center "main" building was made from the keep of the old castle, new brick was laid over the old and an extra story and roof was added.

The exterior of the build took me around 5 1/2 hours 🥲, My head cannon however is that in game it took around 12,000 sims working hard labor to get the project completed before the Queen Mother Died (still alive).

It was inspired by Buckingham palace, Versailles and the winter palace. Other buildings gave inspiration but those three are what impacted the most.

Some lore here Queen Alexandra is the queen of Österreich, an Austrian/French inspired Kingdom with probably the most fleshed out backstory in this save. Österreich has the territories of Willow creek, newcrest, and magnolia promenade.

Queen Alexandra married the King of Bladen (hentford on Bagley), what the joint lands will be called is not certain but most foreign nations refer to it as the Östro-Bladen Union.

All the gold you see here was mined in Palidos (brinlelton bay), which was once a colony during the rule of her father Emperor Leopold Ⅱ. As one might have guessed a rather violent revolt saw the dissolution of the empire.

The Reason why Österreich lost to such a insignificant revolt is because of two things; 1 they had the element of suprise, allowing them to siege important places and even the imperial palace.

And 2, ocean separates the two, Österreich was unable to get enough troops quick enough to Palidos and by time they did Leopold signed a treaty recognizing the independence of Palidos and the sovereignty of their King in an attempt to avoid execution, it did not work.

During the revolution The Queen Mother and her daughter were safe in Chateau d'If, a "cottage" she made on an island off the coast of Palidos to escape the rigid court of her husband and his unfaithfulness.

Her son was taken prisoner and she quickly dove in to a deep depression refusing to leave the cottage until the Palidians sent ships to conquer the island, The shock made her incapable of fulfilling her regent duties.

This lead to the woman in green above, Princess Casidora the eldest child the the previous king of Österreich to rise to power, and during the regency she was often referred to as Princess Regent (much to her disapproval).

I hope you enjoyed my first ever post and the history my save has! let me know if you'd be interested in more lore! I will probably give palace updates every two days and show portraits of important sims with dialoged below them.

My Plum Tree and Famliy echo for this save will be posted soon, have a lovely day!

[rococorevival]

The Outrageously Over the Top Bedroom from: “The Gay Deceivers” (1969)

I don’t know what to call this style. Hollywood Regency? Rococo? Art Deco? French Provincial? It really reminds me of Jayne Mansfield’s “pink palace.” I must say though, despite the fact I recognize this is rather kitschy, I kind of love it!  

[enchantedlandcoffee]

Bloodline of Queens sounds so nice, tell me about the plot☺️💕

hey liyah <33

So Bloodline of Queens is a fantasy regency A/B/O fic. It is set in Windistow in the kingdom of Diow where Queen Anne Styles currently rules. The rulers in the kingdom of Diow have been omegas ever since the reign of Potentia Styles.

The Queen-To-Be, Harry Styles, has a secret though. Since birth, his mother has been helping him disguise himself as an Omega to avoid the wrath of a so-called curse on the Bloodline.

Harry has been getting flashbacks to himself with an older boy in the palace. An older boy that looks a lot like him. His quest for knowledge about his family may lead to him losing everything.

[alnwicks]

Hey random question but what is the main architectural style of Winchester? What has inspired you IRL?

Thank you for asking! I love this question omg

I'm actually an art historian, so I put a lot of thought (probably too much) into the art and architecture of Winchester.

The majority of the historical architecture in Winchester is in the Palladian, Neo-Palladian and Georgian styles. There are a few older buildings/palaces/churches that are built in the Gothic style, but most of the architecture is Palladian and Georgian. I also draw heavily from Georgian and regency era interior design styles for my more stately sets. Canonically all of the palaces and royal houses in Winchester are in a variety of different architectural styles to reflect the idea that over the years the royals built/acquired different homes that were built in different eras and styles. For example, the main palace was built in a English Baroque style, their summer palace (and Victoria's favorite house) is Palladian, their country house is Georgian, and their ski house is more contemporary. But if you want to see a specific palace or style let me know!

In terms of inspiration, I'm mostly inspired by English manor homes like Chatsworth, Anmer, Audley End, Belton and others!

[dwellordream]

“...High society in Regency England, led by the prince regent, who was notorious for his gluttony and love of lavish entertainment, favoured a toil-free pleasure-filled life (Priestley 1969). The regent’s banquets made culinary history. At one feast prepared in the Brighton Pavilion, his French chef, Carème, served more than a hundred dishes (Murray 1998:179–85). The quantity and variety of food in the prince’s own daily diet was astounding – when he died, he was so obese that his belly hung below his knees. Equally opulent was the Brighton Pavilion in which these sumptuous feasts were served. Although a tour of the pavilion today reveals a palace much more modest than the one at Versailles, what catches the eye is the impressive kitchen, which, during the life of the prince regent, contained every conceivable cooking convenience of the time. 

The high society forming outside the Regency court was equally given to an energetic search for pleasure. French aristocrats who visited England were astounded by the amount of French dishes consumed during a single sitting in the houses of the wealthy. While the poor had to manage with frugal meals that rarely included meat, the nobility and the nouveaux riches followed a lifestyle that defined a good hostess by how much food she could waste when throwing a party. Gluttony became a sign of distinction for the aristocracy and the wealthy merchant class. Nor was the ideal of marital fidelity as pervasive during the Regency as it was in the middle and late Victorian periods. 

Melville (1908, 1926) and Murray (1998) document that the keeping of mistresses was common in aristocratic circles, and no secret was made of such extra-marital liaisons. In fact, a mistress often enjoyed more favour than did a wife and was encouraged to develop her wit and charm. The candid writings of Harriette Wilson (1929), the most famous courtesan of the Regency, show the off-hand manner in which extra-marital relations were contracted and lived. Murray (1998) qualifies, however, that, in spite of the common acceptance of these liaisons among the upper classes, the Regency period was a transitional time between the ‘licentious formality’ of the eighteenth century and the ‘Puritanism’ of the nineteenth. 

Although adultery was assumed to always be present in certain aristocratic families, in which marriages were often still being contracted for political and economic ends, adultery was beginning to be considered a sin, especially in middle-class circles (146). Some historians have attributed the reckless pursuit of pleasure and the new exhibitionism of the upper classes to a style set by the prince regent himself, who had little interest in economy, a partial interest in politics, and a total obsession with parties. Yet, one person cannot set the tone of an epoch or a social class; there were other forces influencing the behaviour of the aristocracy. There was a general denial of reality within the aristocracy during the reign of the prince regent that might help explain the quasi-desperate pursuit of pleasure and status. 

The colourful costumes worn at Regency functions, the gluttony, the maintenance of elaborate country mansions, the keeping of mistresses in plain view, the penchant for masked balls where anonymity facilitated promiscuous behaviour – all this stood in stark contrast to the violence, crime, and poverty that were afflicting the majority of the population. It was as if the upper classes were having one last fling before letting their successors settle down to the formulation of a workable and more sober society. Middle-class Victorians took up the challenge with considerable ardour. 

They were faced with a dilemma. They could not sanction the immorality of the Regency’s open celebration of pleasure and the aristocracy’s withdrawal from reality; nor could they revert to a nonprogressive ideology founded on medieval Christian virtues. The discipline and commercialism required by industrialization complicated the adoption of either solution. Once again, the English had to opt for the ‘middle ground.’ A plethora of moral books and movements emerged in response to the numerous massive social displacements of industrialization. 

Hannah More’s widely influential books – Thoughts on the Importance of the Manners of the Great to General Society (1788) and Christian Morals (1813) – together with William Wilberforce’s Practical View (1797), addressed issues particular to a rapidly industrializing nation that possessed a dominant aristocracy substantially preoccupied with the goings on of its own exclusive social circles. Aristocrats were encouraged to improve themselves and act as an example to the rest of the nation. This idea of ‘improvement’ through moral rectitude was to become a central theme of the early Victorian epoch. 

It helped link manners with ethical comportment, echoing Edmund Burke’s ([1796] 1991) passionate argument regarding the importance of manners in moral development: Manners are of more importance than laws. Upon them, in a great measure the laws depend. The law touches us but here and there, and now and then. Manners are what vex or soothe, corrupt or purify, exalt or debase, barbarize or refi ne us, by a constant, steady, uniform, insensible operation, like that of the air we breathe in. They give their whole form and colour to our lives. According to their quality, they aid morals, they supply them, or they totally destroy them. (242) 

Moralists suggested that the middle and lower classes were in need of leadership from the aristocracy and would improve by applying the principles of self-betterment. They did not call for a revolt against the aristocracy but encouraged members of the upper class to reform themselves and stand as examples. Concurrently, they called for a return to religious virtue. Hannah More favoured Sunday schools as a means of controlling rising delinquency. The Methodist and anti-conformist movements had already awakened interest in social activism when More sounded her alarm. According to these movements, being a nominal Christian was not sufficient. 

Going to church only to fall asleep there was considered by reformers as an unfortunate left-over from a previous epoch of ‘leisure’ during which most men worried only about the pennies in their pockets and the food in their bellies. The Church of England responded to this moral revival by forming pious societies and charity groups designed to provide spiritual and material relief to the poor. In a bid to promote the integrity and stability of the family, it also began preaching against sexual libertinism, something that had been of less concern in the eighteenth century. 

Associating the ruling classes with the notion of a ‘public good’ was unique to England and facilitated a later cooperative, non-revolutionary venture between the aristocracy and the middle classes, a venture that eventually drew in the working classes. In France, the aristocracy had bitterly withdrawn from the monarchy’s bungling attempts at integrating the bourgeoisie within the administration of the state. As a consequence of this, the French did not view the aristocracy as a class to be emulated but one whose habits could lead to further subjugation. They adopted some of its stylistic and aesthetic mannerisms but rejected its downward condescension with their own brand of upwardly reactive publican pride. 

In England, however, although the aristocracy was considered suspect due to its proverbial sensual libertinism, the upper classes managed to extricate themselves from their bad reputation at the eleventh hour. The early Victorian saying ‘A place for each, and to each his place’ was the social compromise reached between the aristocracy and the rest of the nation in exchange for social certainty, order, and stability. 

A fitting example of the moral literature that appeared in response to the gluttony and ornamentalism of the Regency period was Reverend Thomas Gisborne’s (1794) Enquiry into the Duties of Men in the Higher and Middle Classes. He insisted that morality, manners, and honour were equally required for the development of a complete gentleman or gentlewoman capable of functioning in a society in which social mobility and mercantilism were on the rise. Gisborne espoused a moral imperative that would protect people against the corruptive influences of a fickle marketplace. 

Such warnings against the dangers of commercialism were also present in Lord Chesterfield’s Letters (1774). Chesterfield made every effort to encourage the preservation of the persona of the traditional English gentleman despite the mercantilism of the period. Hugely popular at the time of its publication, the work advised its reader that, although he might end up as a merchant, he would morally prosper as long as he took care to acquire all the qualities and ‘polite behaviour of a gentleman.’ Thus, the qualities attributed to the well-bred gentleman were being filtered down to the commercial classes and being presented as a national ideal. 

England was acquiring a national courtesy tradition no longer dependent on continental imports. A similar democratization was observable in English usage. The colloquialisms of the working-classes were increasingly integrated into the novels and works of nonfiction, thereby creating a distinctly English publican language that was neither aristocratic nor bound by the lowest common linguistic denominator. 

This rapprochement between the aristocracy and the lower classes was accomplished in great part through the inclusion in novels of protagonists who had been in the service of the aristocracy and, having learned the language of the nobility, were now using their own version of genteel speech (McIntosh 1986:9–10, 82–3). The traditional English butler was such a personage, able to converse equally with his titled employers and his working-class staff. What continued, however, to keep classes distinctly separate from one another was the matter of ‘accent.’ To this day, a person’s accent in England can limit his social mobility. 

Travel abroad now became a fashion rather than a search for knowledge and education in Continental mannerisms, as had been the custom during the grand tours of the previous century. The same foreigners who had previously acted as models of perfect etiquette for the youth of the upper English classes were now considered as anomalies. So, the influence of the Italians and the French decreased in direct relation to the rising wealth of the English aristocracy and upper middle classes. Literature even appeared exposing the ‘superficial’ side of the Continental cult of elegance. The anonymously published The Man of Manners (c. 1735) observed that many of the elegant lacked proper manners and could scarcely conceal their crudity with their fine clothes.”

- Benet Davetian, “England and the Victorian Ethic.” in Civility: A Cultural History