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royallyprincesslilly · 1 year

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Title: Pleasing The Duke {6}*

Duke of Hastings/Rege Jean Page x OFC Jemilla “Jemi” Remmington

Warning: Plot, Regency Historical Piece, Angst, SLOW BURN,

Words: 5.3k

Summary: After your four weeks on the marriage mart and the tumultuous way your and the duke’s budding friendship that turned into a faux courtship, then a real crisis that could have tarnished your name forever, you are now married to the duke. Only this is no traditional marriage. The duke has professed to never fall in love, never get married, and never sire an heir, a matter you know nothing of. Furious that his wanton, lustful desires have gotten him to forego one of those vows, he is determined not to break the other two. That would usually be an easy feat. Only with you, it might be more challenging to keep those vows, seeing as no matter what, you are the only thing on his mind.

Note: Inspired by Rege Jean Page’s portrayal of Simon Bassett. This fic will not have any other characters from the series, except Lady Danbury, mainly the portrayal version of her by the incredible Adjoa Andoh and maybe Queen Charlotte portrayed by Golda Rosheuvel. This series will focus on The Duke and an OFC female character and will be a sultry and erotic historical romance. Anyone under 18 is advised not to read.

***Glossary of terms at the end of the chapter for period-specific words/items for greater comprehension.

***Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Julia Quinn’s characters, nor the Characters established by Bridgerton.

I own the rights to the original characters created in this story.

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***NOT Edited/Proofread***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

Chapter Six: A Gentle Hand

Cold air raced up your spine, but a warmth was settled in your gut. The combination sent a shiver through your body. Moaning, you moved closer to the solid frame you felt against you. The warmth you found there was searing—comforting. Again, you moaned and tried to get closer. You wanted to be so close that the warmth was all your own. You draped a leg over the solid frame and settled falling back into a slumber. However, it was not restful. Your mind was plagued with visions of a storm. Raging winds wracked your person sending you this and that way. Thick, cold mud clung to you, almost pulling you deeper into the earth.

When your visions calmed, you were met with hypnotizing eyes, full lips, and strong hands. Those hands touched you so possessively, so urgently. The face that came with those features was Simon’s. You could not make much out, but his words came to you in disorganized speech that was difficult to comprehend. When you thought you could make something out, the images changed. His lips remained and they were pressed to yours.

Slowly, your eyes batted open. It took several moments for your vision to clear and steady. Once it did, you recognized your bedchambers. All was silent, only the soft crackle and pop of a fire could be heard. Early mornings were usually your favorite time of day. Everything was quiet, but you knew that everyone was on the move preparing for the start of the day. You liked to laze around in your bed listening to the birds chirp and watch the sunshine dance across your bed.

You could hear the sounds of the chirping birds but though the sun brightly beamed through the windowpanes, it did not dance across the bed. Instead, you took notice of something else in your bed—or someone. You trailed your eyes up from the midsection of a body up, up, up until the bare chest of a man peeked from under the bed sheets—a very well-defined bare chest. Your breath caught then your throat tightened. Bringing your eyes higher, you found Simon’s glued on you. He did not move or speak, matter of fact, he seemed to be staring through you rather than at you.

It took only a few seconds to realize he hadn’t realized you were awake. You glanced around again trying to understand what in the world had happened. On the floor beside the bed, you saw discarded clothes and your imagination went into hyperactivity. Again, you glanced up into Simon’s eyes. They were bloodshot with dark circles around them. He looked downright exhausted. Had he not slept?

Just then, you recalled the storm and it slowly dawned on you that it had not been a dream, but a memory. Were you ill? Simon sucked in a breath then his body tensed.

“Jamilla,” he breathed reaching over to you to press his hand to your forehead.

The touch felt foreign but familiar. An image of him doing the same before filled your mind. Had he done it before? Simon continued to assess you with concerned eyes.

“Someone come forth! Quickly!”

You caught his eyes and noticed they looked tear filled. Simon avoided your eyes looking every which way. He tucked you tightly, so you now shared deep resemblance to a log in a lake. The doors opened and in came Mrs. Butler with your maids.

“My lady,” Leesil began on a shriek. “Thank heavens we all were so worried.”

Worried, you thought. Had things really been that bad? It was after all, just rain. You’d been caught in plenty of rainstorms. You looked to Simon again, but he still avoided your eyes.

“My lord, the doctor has come,” Bridget announced as a tall man dressed in plain clothes entered the room.

“Good. Come doctor, see to my wife.”

With those words, Simon slipped from the bed whilst grabbing a discarded blanket that rested at the foot of the bed. He used the material to wrap himself from the waist down which told you he was very much nude while he was lying beside you. Oh my, you thought. While the doctor slinked to the side of the bed to tend to you, your eyes roamed Simon’s frame for a few moments taking in every inch of skin that was on display for you. Before long, Simon sprang into motion, excusing himself from the room entirely on some hushed whisper. What in the world was the matter with him?

~~~~~

-Simon-

Blast it!

The anger he felt was leagues past mere anger. He was fuming. This was all his fault. After hearing a detailed account of the events leading up to your disappearance, he’d learned just how at fault he truly was. If only he’d been more attentive, more accommodating rather than avoiding you. If only he’d been warmer perhaps there wouldn’t have been quite so many misunderstandings. Your words from your drunken delirium in the rain came back to him.

“Th—they must all la—laugh at—at—m-me seeing you ca—cann—cannot stand to b—be near m—me.”

Taking the steps two at a time he dashed down them needing to feel the cold morning air whipping against his flesh.

“Do you not. You have said such in every way since I stepped beside you in that church. You have said such in every move you make, every word you speak no matter how nondescript. In every breath you breathe you wish me gone.”

His chest hurt from the rapid beating of his heart and no matter what he did to hold the air in his lungs it never worked. He ended up feeling as if he hadn’t gotten any at all. Seeing the door across the stone lobby, he sped his steps.

“You already hate me so this should be a blessing for you. Wifeless, free to resume your rakish ways.”

Once the ornate metal doorknobs were tightly clasped in his hands, he yanked them open thrusting himself out into the elements. As soon as he stepped out, the crisp morning air slapped him in the face like a welcomed awakening to the new day. Taking gulp after gulp of the air he forced it into his lungs hoping that chased away the panic surging through his body.

It did not take long to realize this would not be enough.

“Horse! F----F--Fe--Fetch—my hor--horse!”

“Yes, my lord.”

He did not know who’d said it, he could hardly focus on breathing let alone whose voice he’d heard. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on the tips of the doctor from his childhood. He had not had a bout of hysteria since he was one and six, He thought he was long past this stage especially having faced his father regarding his abandonment. Apparently not, he thought.

Before long, a footman approached with his horse, Zeus. Not waiting for the horse to stop he took quick steps and leapt up swinging himself onto his trusted steed.

With the reins in hand he shouted, “Hiyah!”

Zeus took off into the open greenery much like a fast-traveling lightning bolt as it split the sky before rainfall. The breeze was now whipping around him sending his banyan flapping behind him. Lightly he flicked Zeus’ reins prompting him to go faster. For as far as he could see it was open land—his land and he had not one worry.

“Then why have you abandoned me? You hate me so much you would rather not eat with me, not sleep beside me, nor see my face. Just admit it.”

He clenched his jaw thinking of that word. Abandoned. He wanted to throw himself off the horse. Never in his plans had he wanted to ever make someone feel the way he’d felt his entire life. Discarded, neglected, repulsed, abandoned. You felt abandoned by him because of his actions.

“Hiyah!”

Turning Zeus toward the dense tree grove, he steered him through the dangerous low hanging branches and broken wood. He only had seconds to make the right decision to keep his head firmly attached to his shoulders and it was what he enjoyed. He had learned long ago that he was somewhat of an adventure seeker. It was evident in his travels to exotic and distant lands and even his interest in boxing, fencing, archery, hunting and a few others. Many of his friends suspected he had a death wish and liked to see which sport would claim his life. Perhaps they were right.

Giving Zeus a heel to the abdomen, he signaled him to jump over the coming fallen branches. Seconds later he had to duck to avoid his cause of death being beheading by wood. No matter the speed he was going or the danger he was thrusting himself into he still was not going fast enough to outrun your voice or the pain he saw in your eyes.

He could not believe you did not know. It was in this moment as he ducked and from doom and leapt into the air from danger that he realized just how innocent you were. He had never entrained an innocent, never bothered, or dared to even attempt to. He knew he was far to damaged to be trusted to not twist and morph another to mirror himself. Horror filled his heart, but it was not from the shattered tree trunk that was in his path fiving him no way to avoid it.

As Zeus’ impulses took hold skidding himself to a stop, he went flying through the air, over the broken wood and flat on his back several feet away. The collision knocked the wind right out of him making him see spots and fog. By the time his vision cleared he was leaned against the tree taking steady breaths.

“Blazing Devils!”

Flinging his head back he groaned as it collided with the tree which sent another torrent of curses from his lips. He deserved the pain; he deserved the agony he was in right now. Your face came to mind as did the memory of your body pressed against his all through the night. The ache coursing through him died down and was replaced with the fire of his desire for you. Gods help him he desired you more than he had ever desired any other woman. It baffled him beyond measure.

Sitting there he slowly went over every detail of the night before, every feeling, every fear and came to terms with them. He was at fault in this situation, and he had to rectify it. He knew his mother would be ashamed of him and how he’s behaved around you. He also knew his father would probably be proud seeing his own coldness and aloofness in him. Perhaps he would finally accept him then.

“Sod it all,” he mumbled.

“You must conquer the past Simon, either you conquer it or it will make a fool of you in your present and all the days of your future.”

Lady Danbury’s words never went too far from his mind. He had heard them echo all through his childhood at the most inconvenient of times. It was as if she knew way back then the struggles he would continue to have well into adulthood. Turning his head upward he caught sight of the sun that was now beaming down on him through the branches of the trees he was surrounded by.

With the intense glare, more of Lady Danbury’s words flitted to his mind. These words she had uttered on the day you had wed.

“She hath a kind and quaint heart, tread carefully and be gentle with her. Do not snuff her light out, let it in.”

She was the closest to a mother he’d had, and he loved her dearly. She had often teased him asking how he could love her but swear to never love anyone. She understood the difference but enjoyed teasing him by pointing out he was capable of the emotion. He still needed proof and if the last few weeks were to be it, only one thing was clear, he was more capable of destruction than love. Something deep inside wished of him to be proven wrong. It was a wish he had never allowed to see the light of day. It lived in the darkest alcoves of his heart.

After returning to the estate, he had a better hold of his emotions and thoughts. The guilt still wracked him, but it was easier to hold it at bay. As he jumped off his horse, his steward informed him of the doctor waiting in the drawing room to discuss your health. With haste he found the man in the midst of a cup of tea admiring the roses.

“My lord.”

“Please, no need for formalities doctor. Thank you for coming with such haste.”

“Tis a pleasure to serve the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.”

“Please continue your tea,” he said as he sat across from the man and allowed him to take another sip of tea.

“To your liking?”

“Very much, my lord.”

“Good. How is she?”

The doctor cleared his throat then set his cup and saucer down before he began.

“The duchess’ breathing is quite labored, quite too labored if you ask me. I am inclined to believe she has some pulmonary infliction, and a minor draft. She has coughing bouts which is slight worrisome for me. If this is left untreated it could lead to more serious conditions.”

“Will she recover?”

“I believe she will. my advice is to keep her warm, ensure she gets plenty of rest, I have written the recipe for an herbal tincture that I wish to be made into tea for her to drink three times a day for sennight. Sun will also do her good. With this there is no reason the duchess will not recover.”

The relief he felt must have been evident. The doctor smiled.

“Tis refreshing to see a man who loves his wife so.”

He nodded but did not reply. “I assure I will bring the duchess back to good health.”

“Happy to hear it, my lord!”

After allowing the doctor to finish his cup of tea he relayed the orders to the house instructing them on the proper way to care for Jamilla. Once that was squared away, he retired to his chambers to clean himself up from his impromptu ride.

~~~~~

-Jamilla-

“My lady.”

Snapping your head to the right you found Brigit and Leesil both standing there with concerned looks on their faces.

“Y—Yes,” you rasped before clearing your throat ignoring the tightness in your chest.

“Do you feel well? You gave us quite a fright,” Bridget added.

“I am sorry to have worried you. But surly it was not that bad.”

Leesil’s eyes widened even further. “Ma’am, it was a horror. You were unconscious, shivering cold one moment, hotter than a flame the next, your lips were quite blue. Mrs. Butler was certain the estate would have claimed another Duchess of Hastings.”

Your curiosity piqued then. “An—,” A cough wracked your body that quickly escalated into a bout lasting longer than you liked. Both Bridget and Leesil approached you attempting to sooth and assist you any way they could. When the coughing finally passed you took the glass of water that Leesil held out for you.

“Goodness.”

You fanned your face and hoped that the burn in your chest would subside sooner rather than later. When it finally dwindled to a slight ache, you looked at Leesil needing to know more.

“What do you mean the estate would have claimed another?”

Leesil looked to Bridget hesitantly before she looked back to you. “Leesil please,” you urged.

“Do you not know of the history of this estate or the Hastings’?”

“I have heard the basics. The Duke and Duchess married and eventually had a child, but the duchess passed away.”

“The previous Duchess did expire—shortly after she delivered the duke, in this estate in a room that has been blocked off for decades.”

You’d heard that his mother passed on, but you did not know it was during childbirth.

“She passed on alone, save for Lady Danbury,” Leesil finished.

Your eyes widened. “Alone? Why? What of the Duke? Where was he?”

Leesil’s face twisted into a scowl of disgust. “Flaunting his long awaited, newborn son to anyone with eyes. He cared not for the wellbeing of the Duchess. Quite shameful! Me mum loved the Duchess and has never forgiven the man for how her last moments went.”

Your heart broke hearing the accounts of the past. The late duke sounded like a heartless man. Part of you wondered if that was who Simon aspired to be. Was the way he treated you the way his father had treated his mother? Suddenly a flash of a memory came to mind. It was a memory of Simon treating you completely different than he had for the last several days.

“Is something the matter?”

“Was—Was I alone while I was ill?”

Again, Leesil and Bridget glanced at each other before they turned back to you.

“No ma’am. The duke accompanied you,” Bridget informed.

“All night,” Leesil added.

Your eyes widened again as another image came to mind. Simon’s arms were wrapped around your body pulling you against his very much nude one.

“The entire night?”

“Yes, my lady,” they answered in unison.

You squinted your eyes trying to press the edges of your mind to give you more memories. The more they came the more you did not understand. None of what you imagined made sense because none of it revealed more than flashes. Hands on your body, chest pressed to yours, your face buried in a neck, lips, fabric, and heat, plenty of heat.

“I would say the duke must possess healing powers to have revived you within one night,” Leesil teased making Bridget giggle.

Before you could reply, the door opened and in walked Simon like a ray of sunshine on a gloomy morning. Your eyes could not help but follow him as he walked in and around the four-post bed to you. Everything and everyone else faded.

“Bridget, Leesil I will take it from here.”

“Yes, my lord,” they replied in unison reminding you that they were there in the first place.

Once the door closed behind them, you looked back to Simon who was now seated on the side of the bed he’d gotten out earlier in the morning. His eyes were on you as he was trying to read every hidden emotion or thought behind your eyes.

“Are you well?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

Simon pressed the back of his hand to your forehead then hummed. “You are not as hot as you were in the night. That is a bit of good news. I have brought your breakfast and medicine. Would you be interested in eating?”

Slowly you nodded. Simon began uncovering the dishes and bowls on the trey that was now on the bed. As he revealed the food your hunger awoke reminding you that you had not eaten since the previous day.

“What shall we begin with? Perhaps a spot of tea?”

Again, you nodded. As you moved for the teacup, Simon beat you to it and lifted the porcelain to your lips. You hesitated for a moment but took a sip from the cup and rejoiced inside as the fruit and floral notes hit your senses.

“I found it a delightful surprise hearing you add rose and mulberries to your tea.”

“It gives it sweetness and turns it--.”

“Delicate,” Simon finished.

Your eyes lingered for a few moments before he lowered the cup back to the trey. A soft scoff escaped him, “It suits you.”

Bit by bit Simon raised fork and spoonfuls of food to your lips, taking care to not give you too much at once and to keep your face clean. You were practically beside yourself seeing this side of him. It was so unlike anything you’d seen from him before. Surly when you’d first met you’d made up your mind of him labeling him as a rake, then it slowly transitioned into him being a libertine. There is where it remained no matter how quickly you found yourself becoming mesmerized by his charm and alluring maleness. He was so unlike any other man you’d met before, so delectably unique. The more you learned of him, the more traits he begrudgingly revealed of himself you found him bearable and quite tortured. Along the way you got it into your mind that perhaps all he needed was a true friend, or someone to heal whatever tortured him so. Was it silly? Perhaps.

Over the last weeks, his distance, aloofness, and complete avoidance of you of course changed your perspective of him entirely. You had begun to see how silly you were during those weeks of the season where you paraded around with him in hopes of steering prospective suitors away from the both of you. It was clear he was suffering from the ghosts he carried with him, and no one could save any man from that torment, he himself would have to best them.

Here he was though, sitting across from you taking care of you with such gentleness it made your heart ache. His actions were not hurried, they were the opposite, it seemed as if he wished this moment to stretch on for as long as possible. Even the way he spoke telling you news from the residents of the acreage, well wishes for your health and the distinction between what the residents did for the land was different.

His tone was softer, there seemed to be a calm melody to his words that relaxed you. It had been weeks since you felt this at ease with him. It was an ease that you did not worry what he was thinking of you or if he disliked you. In this moment you could read him clearly. He was behaving like a man who actually cared about his wife. You would be lying if you said having him there didn’t make you happier.

Once breakfast and your medicine were finished you rang the bell for your maids, wishing for a bath.

“Open water is forbidden while recovering.”

You sighed at Simon’s words dropping your shoulders in disappointment. You’d gained an affinity to regular bathing. There was something peaceful of sitting in scented warm water and being left alone with your thoughts and the sunlight.

“Yes, my lord, my lady?”

“Worry not, Mrs. Butler,” you informed.

“Mrs. Bulter, please begin preparations for the duchess’ evening medicine.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Also, warm a basin of water and bring it here please.”

“Yes, sir.”

You were curious what he needed the water for but did not question him. He held up two books before you with a smile on his face.

“Idealistic poetry or swashbuckling tales of adventure?”

You smiled and leaned against the wooden headboard. “Only if this swashbuckling adventure you speak of is of a heroine and not a hero.”

Simon chuckled. “I dare say I have learned my lesson and have steadfastly filled the library with plenty of tales of heroines thrust into in a variety of adventure, some more lewd that genteel company would not dare speak of.”

Your eyes widened as you gently swat at his arm. “Simon!”

Again, he chuckled. “Forgive me my lady, a swashbuckling adventure it is. Are you comfortable?”

“Quite.”

“Then we begin. “Ahoy, who goes there,” Lady Philomena Vanquest shouted with her sword in hand.”

You sighed watched him as he read to you. Within the first few pages your eyes closed and you envisioned the story playing out before you. His voice serving as the perfect tool to bring everything to life. His voice was easily your favorite thing about him. He had a voice that could work magic on a lady in the dark pressed against a wall--the voice that could seduce even the most unwilling bedfellow. His voice easily conjured feelings of lust and desire and it had been this way from the very beginning.

“Jamilla? Jamilla.”

Your eyes fluttered open and there he was peering at you with concern. The sun that was once beaming in the room was slowly disappearing.

“Are you well?”

You moaned then sat up. “I fell asleep.”

“You did. I did not know my voice bored you so to catapult you into unconsciousness,” Simon teased.

“I promise it does not.”

“No?”

Your eyes met and locked. “No,” you whispered.

Simon smiled then nodded. “Good to hear.”

A knock at the door brought both of your heads to watch Mrs. Butler, Bridget and Leesil walk in, each carrying different things. Mrs. Butler carried a trey of clothes, Bridget a basin, and Leesil a stack of fresh clothing and small glass bottles.

“What is this?”

“While I cannot in good faith allow you to submerge yourself into water, I can offer a compromise,” Simon said motioning for the items to be put down.

The steam from the large basin told you it was freshly heated. Across the surface of the water rose, daisy, peony, lilac, sweet briar petals danced while filling the room with the aroma of the garden you loved to spend your time in.

“My lady, I have also added the honeysuckle and jasmine oils you enjoy,” Bridget added.

A smile spread across your face as your heart warmed. “Thank you.”

“I take it this option is to your liking?”

“Yes, very much so.”

“Good. Thank you everyone, you may leave.”

Alarm rushed through you at the meaning of his words. Did he intend to stay as you did it yourself or would he do it himself?

“Seeing as this terrible predicament is my fault entirely, I offer my services. Tisn’t been a fortnight since we married and already you are battling illness. I fear your mother and brothers would skin me alive.”

“Twas I who--,” you began only for Simon to cut you off, claiming the blame for himself once again. Accepting defeat, you nodded.

“Thank you for your consideration.”

“Bridget you may stay to assist.”

“My lord,” Bridget replied.

You watched Simon roll the sleeves of his half unbuttons white shirt and dip his hand into the basin to swirl the water around. He did it so slowly that your eyes could not look away. When he dipped a clean cloth into the water, the flower petals clung to it. Once he’d wrung the water out, he came closer and brought the cloth to slowly wipe your face with gentle strokes.

Your senses elated from the smells enveloping you. They should have calmed you, made you feel at ease but the way your heart was rapidly thudding in your chest said they were doing the opposite. However, you believed the culprit this time was not the flowers but the nearness of your husband as he for the first time assisted you with something so intimate as a wipe down.

You wondered if he could hear your heart. Could he hear the horse hoofs’ gallops going off inside of you as loudly as you heard them? He dipped the cloth into the water again and repeatedly his actions then brought the cloth to your neck. Everywhere he trailed the cloth, the heat from the water soothed your muscles taking some of the ache of your ordeal away. When you felt him slip to the back of your neck you lowered your head giving him easier access. The feel of his fingertips along the bone at the back of your neck had you gasping and clutching the blankets across your lap.

Simon slowly brought the cloth around and dipped inside the lite material of your shift to your shoulder. As he went over it a few times goosebumps broke out over your flesh.

“Bridget,” Simon uttered, his voice sounded clouded, as if he had to force it out.

You wanted to look at him so badly, wanted to see if his face gave anything away to how he was feeling or what he was thinking, but you could not. Something inside of you prevented it. As Simon busied his hands in the basin again, Bridget came to your side of the bed and began lifting the shift you wore off of your body replacing it with a lite muslin cloth.

It was then your heart beating really took off. You were now nude in front of him for the second time and this time was not any less nerve wracking. Albeit this time you were still covered, even the thin muslin left little to the imagination. suddenly an image of your nude body underneath Simon’s came to mind. His lips were pressed against yours as was every inch of his hard, lean and powerful body. The feel of cool air brought you back to see your lower half exposed to Simon’s sight. The muslin rested atop you, but he brushed it aside revealing one leg. Bringing the heated cloth to your ankle he slowly wiped upward then down only to do it again and again until he wiped all around. Your belly was in flight and your heart was seconds away from bursting. How could one man elicit such a strong reaction?

You watched as the cloth returned to your knee and trail a torturously slow path up your thigh. When Simon’s hand dipped to your inner thigh you noticed a shake. Bringing your eyes to him, you saw the focus on his features. It was as if he were pressing every inch of your skin to memory to revisit later. You could not help but wonder when later he would think of this? In bed perchance?

When his hand made it several inches up your inner thigh he retreated and moved to your other leg. You watched every move he made but not because you did not trust him to respect you, but because you wanted to remember this for your own revisit. You wanted to watch his hands roam across your body as you envisioned the cloth not there.

After Simon finished your lower half a new basin that mirrored the first came. On Bridget’s instruction, you leaned forward revealing your bare back for him to wipe. The chance of his fingers raking down your back made you arch, dipping it inward. A groan escaped Simon then, it was a groan that made a part of you that you’d never knew of awaken. It felt like part of you deep inside your gut had fallen and it ached. Oh, how it ached.

Simon brought the cloth up and again his fingertips made a trail. This time that ache made you moan. Simon sighed out suddenly sending a puff of air across your flesh. Another image came to mind of the same thing happening only along your breast. That made you press your fingertips to your lips. Were these memories? Dreams?

“My lady.”

Looking to your right you met Simon’s eyes, but he did not speak. You saw the action he inquired in his eyes. Consent. Hesitating you took several breaths, none of them worked to slow your heart, none of them helped to calm your nerves. Your governess’ words rang in your head.

“Ones husband is entitled to look upon his wife in any capacity he chooses.”

Before now you’d always wondered just what she meant. Look upon how? Now you understood. Your throat was dryer than barren land in the prime heat of the summer months. You swallowed then slightly cringed hearing a small gulp echo around you. He must think you such a naïve wallflower, you thought. He didn’t budge, he just waited and waited and waited for you to grant him said consent. biting your bottom lip, you chewed at it until you were certine it was raw. Then you released the muslin you grasped so tightly at. The fabric fell to bunch in your lap revealing you in the setting sun’s light to your husband. As it fell you felt his warmed breath brush against your newly exposed breasts.

Before it was candlelight he’d seen you and from a distance. They both afforded you some mystery but now he was inches away from you with ample light. He could look as he willed. You watched Simon’s eyes lower and slowly rake over your bodice. Every second his jaw jumped showing the definition of his jawline. He was handsome from the front but from the side—his profile was a thing of beauty.

As he dipped the cloth into the basin again you heard him mumble a curse, you’d heard plenty a time.

“Blast it.”

When he raised the cloth to your collar you held your breath. It was not intentional but you felt the only way to get through this without leaping off of the bed either into his lap or out the door was to restrict your brain of oxygen so it would decrease its ability to think. It was perfectly logical, you theorized. The folly in your thinking did not occur to you until halfway through when you realized Simon’s movements were so slow, so torturous that he hadn’t even made it past your collar before white spots danced behind your eyes.

“Breathe Jamilla,” Simon whispered.

On command you did just that and that was when you felt the cloth swipe across your breast. Immediately, you felt your nipple pebble as another huff of warm breath skirt across your skin. Simon wiped over, around and under your breast then did the same to the other before dipping the cloth down the center of your body to your stomach.

Alarm rushed through you. Was he really planning on going that far? Your governess had not given you any tips or information about this. Was he going to touch you? The anticipation made you shiver and just when you were certain you would shoot off the bed into the air, Simon’s hand stopped just below your navel. His eyes were squeezed closed, jaw clenched tightly and hand shaking. Seconds later, he pulled away and held the cloth to Bridget.

“You can assist the madam better than I.”

With that, he abruptly stood beside the bed then bowed his head to you.

“I bid you farewell, my lady. I shall return for dinner—if you will have me.”

For far too long the silence stretched in the room when Simon’s eyes met yours and his thick brow shot up you realized you’d been sitting there incapable of speech. A nod was all you could muster. Simon’s eyes dipped to your bare breasts and again his jaw went haywire. He turned then strode to the door leaving you alone with Bridget, a body full of anxious energy and a head full of thoughts definitely not suitable for a woman from genteel society.

One thing was clear, within these images you were having and the current encounter there was one commonality—he had not persisted. He had in fact pulled away from you. He really did not want you at all—in any capacity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glossary:

Term “One and Six”: In Regency Era it was common among some to refer to ages over single digits as both numbers. EX: 16 = one and six. Of course, this isn’t always the case, it would depend on the region and the class of people.

Hysteria: Commonly referenced in Regency time which we in modern times would call panic. Could also be referenced to regency word Vapors which is usually when someone is going through a “panic attack” with the hyperventilating, agitation and or bouts of fainting.

Banyan: A men’s dressing robe usually worn at home. Think of a woman’s robe but for men. Could be elaborately designed, thick, or as thin as preferred.

Sennight: A time lasting one week.

Blazes: Euphemism for hell or the devil.

Blast: Equivalent to the modern terms sh** or damn.

Sod It: Equivalent to the modern statement "F**k it" or "Damn it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged/untagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!***

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TagList:

@shar74nettt @soapjay @ashanti-notthesinger @caramara3 @caplover22 @blackpinup22 @areubeingserved @your-chaotic-neutral @zejess93 @reignandrain @ovohanna24 @ramp-it-up @littlepreciousangel @msblkfire84 @id-do-it-for-free-babe @my-rosegold-soul @sadthotsonlylove @arination99 @wondersofdreaming @veganvampre @ohsoverykeri @mery-be @insanitytreason @mauvecherie @xximpressions @turnthepageandbeburnt @turn-thy-paige @reignandrain @brownsugarcoffy @udeadass

#pleasing the duke fic #bridgerton fanfiction #simon basset #rege jean page #rege jean page fanfiction #simon basset fanfiction #duke of hasting #duke of hastings fanfiction #black fanfiction #regency fanfiction #regency era #regency era fanfiction #black regency fanfiction #historical fanfiction #slow burn fanfic #angst fanfic #historical romance fanfiction #simon basset x reader #the duke of hastings x reader

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trashyswitch · 3 years

Text

Jeremy Meets Helpy

Chapter 2: Helpy Visits Jeremy Again

Jeremy wakes up one day to Helpy being not only alive and well, but even homeless. So Jeremy takes the little bear under his wing and keeps the bear as a child-like friend.

Jeremy waited patiently for Helpy to return. He worked, came home, and grew a little disappointed everyday that Helpy didn’t come. Tonight was another one of those nights. Helpy didn’t return and Jeremy, again, felt hurt by it. It’s been 3 weeks since Helpy left him. And every day felt more and more sad. Jeremy decided to just hop into bed and sleep his sadness away. He wanted Helpy back really badly, but he knew he was probably very busy.

So...he slept the day away...waiting for Helpy to return...

[The next morning]

Jeremy groaned and slowly started to wake up. The sun had woken him more than he expected.

“Mornin’ Jemy!” something said to him.

Wait...Jemy?!

WAIT A SECOND-

“HELPY?!” Jeremy got up, pulled his covers off and ran to the kitchen. But…

The kitchen was empty.

“Mmmmph! Mmm mmmph!” something said all muffled.

Jeremy turned around and immediately noticed that the blankets were moving. The blankets were flopping around and...shaking like a dog?

Jeremy walked up to the pile of blankets that he just threw off himself, and removed the covers.

The purple bear that was standing there, threw his arms up. “JEMY!”

“HELPY!” Jeremy picked up the bear and spun around with the bear up in the air. Helpy let out little cheers and whooos of excitement as the bear flew around in Jeremy’s arms. Then, Jeremy brought Helpy into a BIG bear hug. “I missed you so much!” Jeremy told him. Jeremy removed him from his arms. “Don’t ever leave like that again! I didn’t know when you were gonna come back! I didn’t know what happened to you, or if you were broken, lost, hurt-” Jeremy was tearing up and starting to cry. “Don’t do that again...please.” Jeremy begged.

“Helpy okay. Helpy here.” The bear told him, placing both its hands onto Jeremy’s. “Helpy miss you.” The bear admitted.

Jeremy smiled through his tears. “Jemy missed you too…a lot.” Jeremy admitted back.

“Helpy home. for ever.” Helpy told him.

“Really?” Jeremy asked, not fully believing it.

“Yeah! Helpy stay now for ever!” Helpy declared.

Jeremy looked at him with some hope in his eyes. “Are you sure? Don’t you...have a home?” Jeremy asked.

“Jemy home. Henry friend.” Helpy said.

Henry? As in…

“Henry Emily?” Jeremy asked.

Helpy looked at him with his eyebrows raised in...sadness. Then, the bear looked down. “Henry…”

Jeremy blinked and realized that Helpy was feeling more than just sad...he was distressed!

Jeremy quickly grabbed this week’s newspaper from the table and opened it to look for some clues on the matter. Anything to tell him what he was sad for. But all he could find was an article on...a building fire that killed two people and...roughly 50 animatronics?!

Jeremy gasped and covered his mouth...Henry was one of the deaths…

And Helpy was mourning him!

“Oh Helpy…” Jeremy wrapped his arms around Helpy and hugged him tightly. “I’m so sorry.”

��Henry...Henry dead...Helpy sad…” Helpy told him.

Jeremy held onto him and cuddled him as he mourned for a while. Helpy was holding onto Helpy for a while, looking sad. Jeremy wasn’t sure if Helpy was actually feeling sadness, or whether his sadness was simulated. But that didn’t matter to Jeremy. He knew that Helpy was experiencing sadness and needed time to mourn.

“Okay. Helpy better. Home with Jemy!” Helpy declared.

“I...Really? You’re actually over it now?” Jeremy reacted.

“Helpy better. Play play play!” Helpy declared happily.

“Play?! Already? I need to eat some breakfast first, little man!” He reacted.

“Picky ups?” Helpy asked.

Jeremy giggled and nodded. “Okay.” Jeremy picked up Helpy, carried him to the kitchen and grabbed a banana for breakfast.

“Nana!” Helpy reacted.

“Yup...a banana.” Jeremy replied.

Jeremy carried Helpy around while he ate the banana bit by bit. The banana was a little soft and brown, but it was at its best state: with spotted brown on the yellow peel.

As soon as the spotted peel was thrown into the garbage, Jeremy lifted Helpy up, and cuddled him into his arms like a baby. While being held, Jeremy tickled the animatronics little belly. “Tickle time for Helpy!” Jeremy declared.

“Tihihihihicklehehes fohohor hehehelpyhyhy!” He reacted, covering his mouth with both his hands.

“Kitchy kitchy kitchy kitchy koo!” Jeremy teased him.

Belly giggled and rolled all around like a little panda bear. He looked so happy to be tickled like this! It was evident on Helpy’s little cheeky grin. Helpy looked to Jeremy with appreciation in his eyes.

Then, he got up. “Oh oh oh! Cuddle tickles!” He declared. “Cuddle tickles cuddle tickles!”

“Oookaaay!” Jeremy grabbed Helpy into his arms and started skittering his fingers all over Helpy’s sides and belly. Helpy squealed and giggled loudly. He wiggled and clapped his arms around while kicking his feet like a wild animal.

Oh…wait…he’s supposed to be modeled after a bear.

Riiiiight.

Jeremy booped Helpy’s little nose, and jumped in surprise the moment his little nose made a squeak! Helpy’s nose squeaks too?! What a surprise! Helpy was seriously an entire package of cute created to fit one being! And it was such a joy!

Jeremy resumed tickling Helpy for a little bit longer. He went for his sides like he usually did, and even went for his armpits for a few minutes.

“EEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE! JEHEHEHEMYYY!” Helpy laughed.

“What? Ticklish much?” Jeremy teased.

“YEHEHEHEHES! VEHERY TIHIHICKLIHIHISH!” Helpy laughed.

Jeremy nodded and moved down to Helpy’s rib area. “Here. Is that better?” Helpy asked.

Helpy nodded and leaned his head against Jeremy’s chest. “Yehehehah. Behehetter.” He replied calmly.

Jeremy held onto Helpy for a little while and started singing a little tune he remembered from when he was younger. He was so happy and thankful to have Helpy back with him. It was like a big brick fell right off his shoulders and into the abyss. Any sign of the brick had fallen away. He felt like a feather...He felt like he could maybe even fly with Helpy around him.

Helpy was more than just a companion for him. Helpy was like the best friend he’s been yearning for since he was younger. It was a big blessing to have such a complicated robot as a best friend. You wouldn’t be able to tell if any of the feelings were true or simulated. So, you’d just handle them like you’d handle any human emotion: With love and understanding.

“Hehehehelpy tihihicklehed ohohout nohohow.” Helpy told him.

Jeremy snapped out of his thoughts and very quickly stopped tickling him.

“My turn to tickle!” Helpy moved to Jeremy’s belly, lifted the shirt up, and blew a BIG raspberry onto his belly.

“eeEEEEEK!” Jeremy squealed, falling flat onto his back.

“Tickles tickles tickles!” Helpy fluttered his left hand fingers on Jeremy’s sensitive tummy and squeezed his left side with his right hand.

“OHOHOHO MAHAHAHAN! YOHOHOU GOHOHOT MEHEHEHE!” Jeremy declared.

“I gotcha! You my tickle me Jemy!” Helpy told him.

Jeremy laughed even more at that. Did he just reference those Tickle Me Elmo’s?!

“Oh, I’m your tickle me elmo now?” Jeremy asked.

“Tickle tickle tickle!” Helpy declared, tickling his belly again.

“EEEhehehehehahahahahahaha! Yohohou’re juhuhust mahahakihing uhup for lost tihihime!” Jeremy reacted.

Helpy nodded and took in a deep breath. He blew a big raspberry onto Jeremy’s belly, defying all the laws of animatronic logic in 5 seconds or less.

“EEEEAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HEHEHEHEHEY! HOHOHOW AHAHARE YOHOHOHOU-” Jeremy yelped as he fell to the floor from all the tickles.

“Surprise!” Helpy yelled happily, standing in front of Jeremy’s face. “Lost time tickles! Jemy tickles!” Helpy shoved his hand into Jeremy’s armpit and skittered all over.

Jeremy was a cackling, wiggling mess…

Indeed, Jeremy was a big wig-waggling mess…

And we all know Jeremy was a wabble-jabbling mess of a being then…

[That night:]

Jeremy was groaning and covering his ears. There were so many people honking their horns in the middle of the street that night...

Wait...Where was Helpy?

Jeremy took off his eye cover and looked around for the bear. “Helpy?”

He looked around the room while more beeping sounds went off on the road from the living room window. He groaned and slowly covered his ears again. The beeping sounds were getting louder and closer to his room…

Wait…

Jeremy looked up and noticed the bear standing at the door. “Oh...Hi Helpy.”

Another honk went off from the window.

{HONK HONK} Helpy’s horn went.

Jeremy groaned and covered his eyes. “What are you doing honking this time a night?”

Another honk went off.

{HOOOOOONK!}

Jeremy growled and held his head. “Stop honking at the cars!”

“They honk first!”

“They’re-...They’re honking at the cars to go faster. They’re not honking at you-”

{HONK HOOOONK!}

*Honk!*

Helpy laughed. “Hahahaha! I honk first!”

Jeremy growled and walked up. “Come on Helpy. Off to bed.”

“No!” Helpy honked his horn in his face.

“OOW! MY EARS!” Jeremy yelled, dropping the bear.

Helpy fell onto the ground with a loud crack sound filling the room for only a second…

Jeremy sighed. His neck broke again. “Greeeeat. Come on Helpy...Fix your neck.” Jeremy ordered. “Then let’s sleep for a while. And no more honking.”

Helpy nodded and snapped his neck back in place like he usually did. Then, Helpy walked himself to Jeremy and raised his arms up. “Up up up?”

Jeremy smiled and knelt down, picking up the bear and placing him on his hip like he would for a toddler.

“Ready for beddy bye?” Jeremy asked. “Would you like me to read you a story? I might have some old classic books in my bookshelf to read to you.” Jeremy asked.

Helpy nodded his head. “Story! Story!”

Jeremy grabbed an old fairytale from his bookshelf and dusted it off a little. It was an old copy of the Paddington Bear story.

Jeremy sat his pillow up and sat down with Helpy in his arm. “A Bear Named Paddington...By Michael Bond and Peggy Fortnum.” Jeremy read the cover.

“Bear!” Helpy reacted, pointing to the bear on the cover.

“Yeah, that’s a bear. A brown bear, to be specific. He used to ride a train and would stop at Paddington Station in London, England, in the UK.” Jeremy explained.

Jeremy flipped to the first page. “Mr. and Mrs. Brown first met Paddington on a railway platform. In fact, that was how he came to have such an unusual name for a bear, for Paddington was the name of the station.” Jeremy read.

“Choo choo!” Helpy said as Jeremy paused.

“Yup! Choo choo!” Jeremy imitated before resuming to read. “The Browns were there to meet their daughter Judy, who was coming home from school for the holidays. It was a warm summer day and the station was crowded with people on their way to the seaside…”

Jeremy kept on reading the book for a long while till he finished it up. He had grown quite fond of such an old classic, and had forgotten how nostalgic it made him feel. Jeremy closed the book and found that Helpy had shut himself down halfway through the book. Jeremy smiled and laid the bear down, before placing the book onto the bedside table and laying down. With Helpy being a new roommate of sorts, Jeremy treated him like a special little Paddington bear of his own. Despite the robotic features, Helpy was a little like a toddler in his eyes. And Jeremy wa so glad to have him...forever now.

Also, this is now a series, known as Jeremy Meets!

#Jeremy Meets:#fluff #pre-fnaf 6 #helpy being cute #jeremy fitzgerald bite victim #ticklefic #switch!jeremy #switch!helpy

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indo-mzungu · 5 years

Photo

JESSUP JOURNEY

Reconsidering, the first gathering of team 317 filled me with uncertainty and doubts to begin a 5 intimidating, unpredictable, long-ass month process. I mean previously Asia cup was only 3 months. But for certain reasons, it was quick and sorry-to-say not so memorable.

The first few weeks were more like familiarizing ourselves with the basics of international law before actually getting into this year’s topic. It is a good strategy to at least prepare the fundamentals before diving into the deep so you don’t sink easy. At first, most of us weren’t that compatible with what came upon us. We were attacked with questions we haven’t even learned yet. College classes and sleeping times were difficult to manage at times. Adaptations with each other were in a small stage. But we went through it.

So the topics for this year was about state responsibility for corporate environmental degradation and human rights violations, traditional knowledge, and Yaks. It was time to finally get our roles, either as the applicant, representing the “injured” State or as the respondent, representing the not-so-guilty-but-alleged State. I was the second respondent and had to partner with Dzul, where my counterpart was Jemi, the second applicant. This was important cuz it was where the professionalism as a partner kicked in. So in my perspective, when there is a deadline and you wanna give your best to the work, act like it is a priority. Follow with what there is either you like it or not. This stage was where hard research and legal writing took place. At times of the research, we were stuck in tilt mode, couldn’t find the answers or how to tackle a simple question. At times of legal writing, we just didn’t know what to write. Fr. But we went through it.

Coming in December, winter holiday began. Most of our friends went to their lands and homes to hibernate and socialize. Meanwhile, we continued our task of finally creating the memorials. Between that, we were given time to celebrate Christmas with our families and after return to reality. I went earlier and flew to Serbia as a request from my parents to celebrate their last few weeks there as State representatives. Every so often I would feel like I’m missing out and not helping at all. Where separated by time difference, my friends have already begun to struggle into the days of the memorial submissions, I was still eating steak and surrendering to the winter. But we went through it.

Returning to Tembalang, it was the day of the memorial submission. What we researched, collected and discovered (with intent, sweat, struggle, conflict) for 4 months all compiled into at least 36 pages for each memorial. Reprints happened exactly an hour before the time of the final submission. It was exhausting, but we went through it.

Onto the last month, preparing for the oral pleadings for a month was quite intense. We realized so many of the mistakes we made in the memorials, we realized the lack of research we had when writing the drafts for the pleadings. At this stage, we were hopeless at what we submitted but gave a chance to the oral pleadings. New whole arguments were made. The opponent’s memorials were passed out and even more new arguments were made, be it senseless or powerful.

01/02 - The Preliminary rounds began. The applicant was first in the morning, I sat and watched from behind imagining and preparing myself until the next hour. But like days, weeks and years pass by, an hour was the fastest. It was my turn. I stood on the podium, opened the first page of my binder and placed my hands firmly. Looked and smiled at the judges and said... “Mr. President, Your Excellencies, May it please the Court”. Four preliminary rounds were done. Finally. A lot was going through our minds at that time. We weren’t sure if we were gonna make it to the advanced rounds, but we were glad that we completed our checklist in the competition.

After prayers, it was the first time after 3 years of trial Undip finally passed to the advanced rounds. Our mission and burden expanded to future generations. In this stage, we faced against UI, winners of the national rounds almost every year. We lost but managed to make history. 7th place in the big 8. Not bad. No hard feelings just satisfaction. By His grace, more blessings fell upon us. Team 317 was surprisingly selected as Indonesia’s Exhibition team in the International Rounds. To me, it was a milestone achievement, but at the same time a huge burden that weighed massively. But, we went through it.

Financial issues. Applying for a visa. Campus Bureaucracy. Administrative issues. The large amounts of spare time. Lack of guidance. All of ‘em experienced in 2 months (felt like a year). At that point we were like fuck it, what's the use? Rules broken, sleeping cycle fucked up and effective preparation was of absence. But then again, we went through it.

My belief that we were an exhibition team arose when on the flight to New York, I’d never thought we’d reach this far. The work of His hands was felt since the beginning. The hands of a miracle worker. The love of the Jessup competition appeared following the events we attended each day. Competing and Bailiffing the rounds, learning and observing expert teams present, and watching the finals were great motivations for me and the team. And are still motivations for me to participate again in this complex but beautiful event.

This whole process was in some way crucial to the way I act and react. 212 days of struggle doesn’t seem nice looking from the window. But behind those doors was the development and creation of a better version of myself. No ragrets. Every day is a new day, think of it like that. I mean everyone has their own perspective, I’m just sharing mine. Stick to your choices and hold on to your commitments. And you’ll go through it nice and easy.

One thing I learnt. Many may have knowledge of the law, but not many can speak it.

Thank you, May it please the Court

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deity-of-idgaf · 7 years

Note

can you please do 10-20 for the OC ask meme??? Thank you!

So I'm gonna answer this with my most prominent 8 OCs, which are:-Mizuki-Reine-Tia Erufe-Dia Armando-Sindriana-Budheg-Haiten-Surya10. Introduce an OC with a complicated design?Haiten is the most Complicated one as I have Female and Male design for them.11. Is there any OC of yours you could describe as a "sunshine"?I'd say Sindriana (coincidentally she is probably the most physically and mentally healthy). Budheg too, he's a good boy, and doesn't care what people think of his disability, he just care the wellbeing of his pokemon.12. Name an OC that isn't yours but who you like a lotI like Xeus which belong to reznov53 and Lyra by hymeji-jemy . Xeus is a strong amazing partner and Lyra has a cute design. Despite rarely talking to them, I also love pandapokeys ' s Vivienne.13. Do you have any troublemaker OCs?IM PRETTY SURE ALL OF THEM ARE THO. But the prominent ones are Sindriana (what would you expect from a child of Sinbad honestly), Haiten (it's in her nature to be a prankster) , and Surya (She's a show-off Phantom Thief).14. Introduce an OC with a tragic backstoryALL OF THEM (jk , I should've said Most of them)-Mizuki and Reine are my own original OCs. They worked for an organization where they employ Shamans like them to put judgement to sinners. Mizuki is a level 3 Shaman and accommodates 3 souls as their partners, one of them were their dead brother. They worked as the Excecutioner, mutilating people based on their sins. Reine is a mechanic who developed weapons for Mizuki, the Supporter. He lost both of his left eye and arm during an accident that killed his best friend. Said best friend is now his ghost buddy.-Tia Erufe is a were-fox, or were-youko should be correct. Child of European were-wolf and a Japanese youko. She was shot by a hunter when training to transform into a baby fox. She has a phobia of gunshot noises now.-Dia Armando is my Ace Attorney OC. Fanmade child of Mia Fey and Diego Armando. This child is armless due to congenital problem when Mia was found out pregnant with outsider and the village elders tried to use drug that either give her abortion/made her a female Spirit Channeler. Those medicines affected her fetal development. While the armless issue isn't an issue to her, she is extremely pyrophobic due to an incident in her orphanage and seeing Godot's past in Case 3-5 from the game.-As a deaf-mute child since birth, Budheg is often bullied. But this doesn't concern him, he is more worried about the well-being of his pokemon. Professor Juniper saw his compassion and affectionate towards his partners so she sent him as one of the pokedex owner. Upon meeting N, N accompanied him and will probably defend him cause he know this deaf child is more observant and caring towards his pokemon or any wild pokemon. (Idk if N moved and lived with him in Kalos though. Since Budheg now lives in Dendemille Town)- Haiten was previously my mogeko oc, but I made her my own OC now. She was a child of the angel general and demon general. At first she was raised by the demons, but even then she was bullied. The local God noticed her existence and wanted to summon this half-ling to his side, so he asked his right hand man, the angel general, Haiten's biological (other) Dad (as her other parent is also male), to give options. "Haiten's options are to live with the angels and the demon family is spared or she can live in hell but specifically her biological demon family who loved and cared her will be killed". She chose the former ofc. In angels' side she's bullied even further. The God even physically and emotionally abused her till she have PTSD now, forcing her and abusing her In-between Worlds Jumping ability. She ran away with Xeus and asked Xeus to reset her whole world and make it completely the same only the God and Devil is deleted from existence and history. Now only Haiten and her angel and demon families remember the God and Devil in the whole world.-Surya was kidnapped once when she and her family are travelling out of Sindria and nearly made a slave before running away and now becoming a phantom thief. She has athazagoraphobia (fear of forgotten by people).15. Do you like to talk about your OCs with other people?HELL YEAH I DID ASK ME EVEN THE MOST TRIVIAL THING ABOUT THEM!!!16. Which one of your OCs would be the best at biology (school subject)?-Haiten is, since her job as mercenary and often ate humans.-Mizuki too as well, for the same dark reason as Haiten as their job is to mutilate people based on their sins.-Dia as well since a child prodigy.17. Any OC OTPs?Mizuki and Reine for romantic ones. If it's with another people's OC, I'd say Haiten and Xeus for platonic.18. Any OC crackships?Ummmm Budheg and Dia??? Cause they both have physical disabilities? Budheg cooks real good and Dia can't cook for shit due to her arms and phobia, so they can be a good couple I guess.19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why)Haiten. She means a lot more, even more than prob Surya who is my self-insert Magi OC. I created her about 2 years ago. A lot of people and best friends has made lots of fanarts of them. She meant a lot for me. I always wanted to RP her again but I had nearly more than half a year hiatus RPing her due to last time I was kinda bullied and forced to do a rather gross NSFW RP by a somewhat sexist RP partner. At one point I was afraid and felt guilty that I never touch her blog anymore and despite me in hiatus, my best friend keep making free fanarts of her without my request, it felt like they love her more than I do, despite I was her creator. But really, those fanarts are my sole support that now I treasure her again as my own.20. Do any of your OCs sing? If they sing, care to share more details (headcanon voice, what kind of songs they like etc)?-Mizuki doesn't, but they hummed when they relaxed.-Tia don't but she can play western and Japanese flute.-Dia loves singing when at home, she'd even do these cute step/tap dances with her legs in rhyme.-Sindriana is often complimented by her family for her dancing and singing, she loves doing that during Maharagan festivals. She'd even do that in the middle of the street when she was travelling. Other people would give her money thinking she was a street performer (lol). She's probably the best for this out of all my OCs- if Haiten sings, it's usually a meaningful songs with meaningful lyrics and for meaningful purpose. She have Song Magic, which can be used to directly deliver her emotion to the listener using the song or searching for a certain someone whose personality matches the lyrics of the song. Her voice resemble IROHA (the cat-girl vocaloid).- You know how amazing and bright and show-off Miku Concert are. That's how Surya does her thing when doing heists sometimes. Out of heists, she'd hummed as to not disturb her animal buddies.

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royallyprincesslilly · 3 years

Text

Title: Pleasing The Duke {1}

Duke of Hastings/Rege Jean Page x OFC Jemilla “Jemi” Remmington

Warning: Plot, Regency Period Piece, Slow Burn, LOTS OF WORDS

Words: 5.7k

Summary: After your four weeks on the marriage mart and the tumultuous way yours and the Duke’s budding friendship that turned into a faux courtship, then a real crisis that could have tarnished your name forever, you are now married to the Duke. Only this is no traditional marriage. The Duke has professed to never fall in love, never get married, and never sire an heir, a matter you know nothing of. Furious that his wanton, lustful desires have gotten him to forego one of those vows, he is determined not to break the other two. That would usually be an easy feat. Only with you, it might be more challenging to keep those vows, seeing as no matter what, you are the only thing on his mind.

***Let me know if you guys want me to add like glossary terms at the end of the chapters for period specific words/items.

***Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Julia Quinn’s characters, nor the Characters established by Bridgerton. I own the rights to the original characters created in this story.

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Slightly Interactive***

Chapter One: The Duke & Duchess Of Hastings

“I pronounce you husband and wife.”

You kept your back straight and your limbs stiff though you felt at any moment either or both would give way, sending you tumbling to the ground in a heap of white lace, silk, and tulle. Perhaps you’d even be sucked into the ground for good measure, you thought. No one spoke once those words had been uttered. Almost a full minute passed before the clergyman spoke again.

“Eh-em, I declare you husband and wife.”

You gulped and slowly found your head swiveling toward the man beside you. a man who was practically a stranger, a man you’d now found yourself joined to until you were parted by death. Your husband—The Duke of Hastings. When your eyes met his, you noted a look of strangled fear and disgust. His jaw was clenched, and he looked as if he were seconds away from revealing the contents of his stomach right on the front of your gown.

Long moments seemed to pass with the two of you just gazing into each other’s eyes. This was not the gazing of enamored lovers or even lustful suitors. It was the gaze of a man who’d been forced into a marriage he did not want and a woman riddled with guilt for her part in it.

“Your grace.”

Simon’s head snapped back in front of him to find the clerk holding out the book he was to sign his name into. You watched as he took the quill from the clerk and slowly signed his name. He paused after every word as if he were seriously contemplating scratching his name from the book entirely. An act that was to be seconds took a full minute, and the entire time you wondered if he would turn to you and call the whole thing off, leaving you a ruined and jilted woman.

Simon held the quill to you for your turn. As you took the object, your gloved fingers grazed his. Even though your skin did not touch his, you shivered all the same—that was before Simon snatched his hand away to drop them to his sides. You glanced down at his hand that you’d ever so softly grazed a week or two ago and watched his fist clench tightly.

“Your grace,” the clerk repeated, this time to you.

Bringing your attention back to the book in front of you, you proceeded to sign your name beside Simon’s. Instead of writing the name you’d been accustomed to your entire life—Lady Jamilla Remmington, you signed your new one for the first time—Duchess Jamilla Bassett, The Duchess of Hastings. It looked strange to your eyes, but it did not look terrible.

“Congratulations, your graces.”

The voices began to overlap as each of those in attendance for the small ceremony extended their felicitations to both of you. Neither of you could find your voices or the words to reply to even thank them. There was nothing to be thankful for, you thought. You’d traded one unhappy future for an equally unhappy one, quite possibly more unhappy as you’d just entered the very thing you’d refused to—a loveless marriage.

Thankfully leaving the church, there weren’t people outside ready to shower the newlywed couple with rose petals and cheers. Unfortunately, you had to ride in the same carriage as your new husband. Simon sat across and diagonal from you, peering out the window at the scenery. Holding your bouquet of fresh flowers while fiddling with the blush-colored silk ribbon it was tied with, you watched Simon take a flask out of his coat pocket and knock back something strong from the whiff of it that caught your nostrils. He grimaced, then groaned before he looked at you.

The way he looked at you nearly made you stop breathing, not from him taking your breath away, but from the hostility you saw in his eyes. Simon grumbled before looking from you back out the window. Your stomach fell, realizing just how severe and hopeless your fate was. For the remainder of the carriage ride, you worked to keep your eyes off of Simon. It was a task that seemed more manageable for him than you.

Every so often, your eyes found their way back to him to take in other parts of him. Either it was the way his cravat looked around his neck, and the sly way peeks of his throat could be seen through the tiny slots, or it was the way he tightly gripped the flask he held. A flask he didn’t bother to hide. He was already so unhappy with you that he didn’t care to continue the ruse of propriety for you. It was disheartening.

Simon kept his jaw firmly clenched as he watched the scenery pass, but he didn’t look as if he were looking at the rolling hills or passing farms. He appeared to be looking directly through anything that passed. This was just day one of your “new” life, and if the two of you couldn’t muster any conversation, you didn’t know what hope there was for the future.

The carriage ride from the church to your reception took all of fifteen minutes, give or take a few. You’d tried to plead with your mother to forgo the reception, stating that it was outdated and unnecessary, but your mother wouldn’t hear a word of it.

“The wedding reception is one of the joys of the beginning of a married woman’s life. It is the time she greets the ton as a Mrs. She is no longer a miss. You will get to revel in your new role in front of all the other unmarried women. The reception lets everyone wish you well while being the source of envy in their eyes.”

You sighed, hearing her words in your memory from the night before. You did not fault her. she did not know the true way your nuptials had come about. She thought you and Simon had genuinely fallen head over heels while pretending to have fallen head over heels. She did not know about what had transpired to bring the two of you to this outcome. You didn’t dare tell her.

While a loving and kind one, your mother preferred her children, mainly her daughters, to be the supreme example of propriety. She had groomed you to be nothing but a proper lady. That meant you always had a chaperone when you were going most places. You were never alone with anyone that wasn’t a woman. Your hemline was the exact number of inches deemed appropriate, as was your neckline. It also meant that your education was top of the line—well, most of your education.

You learned to read, write, do arithmetic, play the piano, do needlework, draw, paint, sing, dance, how to catch the eye of a suitor, the propriety of courting, and how to run a household for marriage. Your accomplishments could have been seen as superior, but your mother said you had to be better than average. You had to be perfect. She pushed you further, saying because your skin color was different, expectations for you to be perfect were high. So, you expanded your education to learn two languages, French and Latin. Excelled in piano and learned to play the harp. You were quite accomplished, usually more than those around you.

The part of your education that was lacking was knowledge that went past things others could see. Your mother made sure to keep any discussions of inappropriate topics away from you and your sisters, only giving you the smallest of details. She sure stressed what was inappropriate but skimmed past any other things. It was while learning about science and animals that you grasped procreation at the most basic level.

You had plenty of unmarried friends. There was Tessa Carmichael, your best friend who lived across the road, Abigail Prowler down the road on the left, Edith Bunfeld down the road on the right, and Letecia Grother, whose aunt was on the neighboring street. All of you often spent your afternoons walking around the park and gossiping about many things, including the joys and privileges of married life. None of you really knew what to expect. Of course, many unmarried ladies tried to grill the ones who were married, but they all remained tightlipped. All they did was giggle into their fans, saying, “you will find out on your own.”

Here it was, the evening of your wedding day, and you still had no idea. Your mother had assured you earlier in the day before you left home for the final time as a Miss that “The Duke will take the lead, all you must do is follow it.”

“Your grace?”

You came out of your memories to see the footman holding out his hand to assist you out of the carriage. Once you stepped out, you rearranged your dress until Simon stepped out beside you. You watched him tuck his flask in his jacket before he held his arm out for yours without even sparing you a glance. Sighing, you looped yours with his and let him lead you into the building.

Once you walked in, the first people you saw were your mother and Landy Danbury. They both had bright smiles on their faces.

“Your graces,” Lady Danbury said, dipping her head.

“Oh, you know you never have to bow your head to me—never to me,” Simon said with a fond smile on his face as he looked at Lady Danbury.

You knew his affection for the woman went deep. You weren’t entirely sure about most of it, but you knew that she’d taken care of him helped him become who he was. You’d only known him about five weeks, and that wasn’t nearly enough time to peel back the many layers of The Duke Of Hastings. You suspected you’d need a lifetime for that. A lifetime which you now had.

“Are you all right, dear?”

You plastered a smile on your face and nodded.

“Of course she is mother, she is now a duchess,” your sister Jerrikka piped up as she came over to pull you into an embrace.

“You know very well I am not the type to hold so much weight on a title,” you replied.

“Is that so? Not too long ago, I remember you bragging you were to be a Princess,” Simon dryly shot out.

You glanced at him trying to keep the glare away. You remembered the conversation you’d had where you’d uttered those words and remembered why you’d said them. You’d wanted to pointedly show him that you were desirable though he behaved as if you weren’t. Perhaps part of you wanted to enrage him or garner any reaction from him at all. He’d been so damned stoic. It was next to impossible to know what toiled in his head.

To not draw suspicion of trouble so soon after wedlock, Simon smiled at you. It almost looked like a real smile, a warm one, but his eyes remained cold—detached. He then led you into the ballroom, and as he did, all eyes floated to you. Everyone in the room held broad smiles on their faces as they dipped down into a respectful half curtsey or head bow. You and Simon both returned the gesture before the members of the ton flooded around you, each offering their happiest felicitations for your marital bliss.

You kept your back straight, face neutral, smile stretched, and hoped it shone all the way to your eyes. Your eyes always gave away whatever you were thinking or feeling. It was what you considered your fatal flaw. Your mother could hide everything behind her relaxed expression and only allow others to see what she wanted. Even, your sisters, Jerrikka and Jacinda, could remain relatively stoic, you were the one who was cursed. Your father always called you his little lightning bolt because of how quickly your emotions flashed.

By the time the congratulations finally subsided, it gave you time to take your first ever taste of Ratafia. Your mother had never allowed it. She said it was for married women. You and Jacinda had only been allowed one glass of cordial at any event. Once you’d had your one glass, it was lemonade after that.

You were standing close to the fireplace in the corner of the room. It gave you a good view of all that was happening. Simon was beside you, slightly turned away with one elbow resting on the stone of the fireplace. His stance allowed you to take in his side profile. Even standing leisurely with his other hand on his hop and one leg crossed over the other, he still looked regal. Before you thought it was conceit you sensed in him, but you’d come to see it as pride.

It wasn’t a detrimental pride or one that said he thought himself high over others. It was a different kind of pride entirely. It was one that made him more attractive in your eyes. His slim but masculine frame you’d gazed over tens of times over the last month always set your curiosities running wild. Right now, you found yourself wondering if all of him had the muscles he’d displayed two weeks ago when he rolled up his sleeves.

You hadn’t even seen your brothers in that state before. he was the first. As your eyes traveled the length of his body, you raised your glass to your lips and took a sip of the coveted Ratafia that many ladies seemed to love. Your eyes stopped at his backside, and that was where they remained. The liquid passed your lips and washed over your tongue.

The most unexpected flavor filled your mouth. It was one that was stronger than anything you’d ever tasted. As soon as you swallowed it, you began coughing. Simon’s head spun to you with a worried expression.

“Are you all right?”

Your response was another fit of coughs, which made Simon take a step toward you.

“Jemilla?”

You held up your hand as you cleared your throat once more.

“Good heavens, this is absolutely terrible.”

Simon’s eyes flittered between the glass in your hands, your face, and back to the glass. Slowly a smile spread across his lips before he pressed them together.

“Is this your first time having Ratafia?”

You nodded.

“How? Every lady in London has a Ratafia habit they think no one knows of,” he said with a smirk.

“Is that so?”

“Why yes. Look.”

He stepped to the side then nodded his head to the ladies of the ton. You looked at a few of them, and each of them brought glasses of the horrid tasting drink to their lips, including your mother, older sister, and Lady Danbury. He was right. It would seem the ladies did have a liking for the thing.

“How is it that your mother and sister drink it regularly, but you have not?”

He was facing you again with plenty of curiosity in his eyes. Needing something to do, you nearly raised the glass back to your lips—nearly.

“My mother doesn’t let any of us have this. She says it is for mature married ladies. So I did not qualify.”

Simon nodded and raised his glass of Brandy to his lips.

“I see. So, now that you are in the company of those married but not quite mature ladies, you decided to partake.”

Curiosity nipped at you now. Tilting your head to the side, you took him in.

“Married but not quite mature ladies? Pray tell what you mean by that, your grace?”

Simon didn’t attempt to speak. He just took another mouthful of Brandy and studied you with the utmost scrutiny. A hint of mischief flickered across his face before he scoffed and turned away from you, taking up his same stance from before. You could have tossed the remaining Ratafia in your glass at his back. He’d always had this uncanny ability to wind you up since the day you’d met. It still hadn’t changed. Your mother said that it was a blessing, and it would mean your marriage would not be a bore.

“It figures you would regress into a state of cowardice at the mere spark of a conversation,” you speared, knowing it would rile him up.

As expected, Simon spun around to face you but also took the three steps needed to be only inches from your face.

“Did you call me a coward?”

You fought a smile. “I wouldn’t dare, your grace.”

You knew he heard the sarcasm in your voice.

“All right, your grace, I shall educate you, but only a little. You are married, as sure as that bauble decorates your dainty finger, but just because you are married, it does not make you mature,” Simon reiterated.

You waited for him to continue, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing you anxiously wanted to hear the end of his thought. Your eyes dipped lower than his to his mouth and watched him smile. That smile was something that was growing on you every time you saw it. You realized the dryness of your throat then, and you snaked your tongue out to wet your lips. His eyes dropped to your lips and stayed there for several long moments.

Simon leaned an inch closer. He could almost touch your nose with his. “You are not mature until you have woken the next morning in nothing by the bed sheets, with aches in muscles and places you never knew you could ache, and a road map of marks along your body all made with nothing but lips all from your first night with a man,” he said in the most alluring voice.

A strange feeling washed over you, and you feared you might actually swoon. Clouds seemed to fill your head as your entire body became so heated as if the fire you were standing near had caught on your body. You tried to control your expression, all the while Simon watched you. After a few seconds, Simon’s jaw clenched, making the muscles in his neck jump.

“Maturity, your grace, requires a toll be paid, and it must be paid over and over and over,” he finished. A scowl replaced his clenched jaw, and the thought that he felt disappointment made your stomach sink.

“And how many tolls have you collected, your grace?

Simon looked caught off guard by the question. It wasn’t a dignified question. One does not ask a man, even if he is her husband, such things.

“Plenty, but remember one needn’t make it an all-night occasion. Five minutes or so in a parlor could suffice.”

Jealousy hit you, and you couldn’t hide it. Simon smirked, then scoffed, but the smile slipped and was replaced with a frown.

“Well, my husband, the rake. I am surprised you wed at all.”

Simon looked pained, but you did not focus on it.

“As am I, but I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” He muttered it, but you heard it through. Instead of letting another emotion slip, you raised the glass to your lips and drank it all down in one agonizing and sicking move. Once finished, you walked off, leaving him there.

Mere hours into your marriage and things were already falling apart; you thought as you walked out of the ballroom and outside into the chilly night air. You took a deep breath, held it, and did it again and again. The man made you angry and flustered in under five minutes. You couldn’t help but reminisce about your time casually talking at balls and events around London while you were on the marriage mart. He’d been terse to begin with, but slowly he’d warmed to you.

You’d developed the beginning buds of a friendship that took you by surprise but was welcoming. While every man in London was trying to put their best foot forward to entice you into marriage, Simon was not. He showed plenty of his bad habits, his cynicism and preference to see the worst in people, his inability to see the true heart of those in his company, his stubbornness, his temper, and on some occasions, his rakish ways. It didn’t matter, you never judged him for it, and you could tell he appreciated it.

“My, how things have changed,” you said to yourself once you were under a wide-spanned tree sitting on the stone bench.

You closed your eyes and listened to the night, finding comfort in the chirping crickets, the sound of the wind rustling the leaves, the faint rolling of the wheels from passing carriages, all backed by the orchestral music from the ballroom. Slowly your anger subsided. You didn’t even know why you were angry. You’d known he had no plans to marry. It was one of the very first things he’d told you, and he repeated it on so many occasions it was seared to your brain. The Duke of Hastings was not in want of a wife. Yet, here you were married to him, all because of one night similar to this one.

It was your fault. You felt as if you’d left him with no other choice. You thought back to the night that had changed everything. You didn’t know what you were doing when you allowed him to cross the lines of proper distance between two unwed people. The only thing you could think about when he slowly came closer and closer was how badly you wanted to know what he smelled like underneath his cravat. For weeks the casual way he had it done with the different materials that were so much more vibrant than others always drew your attention.

In your few moments of stupor, Simon had managed to come so close you could see the small flecks of auburn within his eyes. His unexpected closeness made you swoon slightly, and his arms were there to catch you and hold you against him. It was your first time being close to a man that was not either of your brothers. Even then, there was some distance.

Simon’s hand then grazed your cheek and trailed down to your jaw before curving back to where your earlobe hung. You’d lost whatever strength your knees had and slumped against him just as his finger dipped down your neck and coming across your collar, and it was there he stopped. It took several moments for his finger to plunge lower until it dangled right above the rise of your breast. When he dipped his head down while maintaining eye contact, you began to shake in his arms. He took a deep inhale at the swell of your breast.

“You’re trembling like a leaf, are you cold?”

You shook your head slightly.

“Then what are you, Ms. Remmington?”

You could smell the brandy on his breath, but there was something else too, something you couldn’t make out.

“Quite fevered,” you whispered.

Simon took another deep inhale of your skin then moaned.

“Goodness, you smell of roses, night jasmine and--,” he inhaled again. “Orange blossom. You smell like my best dreams, Ms. Remmington.”

Your breath hitched. Simon came closer and closer until his lips hovered over yours. You should have moved and chastised him about impropriety, but you stood there while the hand that was at the middle of your back slid lower and lower until you felt his fingertips pressing into the flesh just above the swell of your bottom. The action brought your lower half firmly against his. You didn’t know what you felt, but it was something. His lips only slightly grazed yours before you’d heard voices approaching you. He’d been the one to pull away from you first and apologize profusely before he’d walked off, leaving you pressed against the wall of roses that was right behind you.

“Already hiding from your husband?”

You opened your eyes and saw your best friend, Tessa, standing there with a teasing smirk.

“Tessa.”

You began to stand, but she stopped you, sitting beside you instead.

“Your grace,” she said.

Scoffing, you bumped her with your shoulder. “Oh, stop it. Do not tease me. I am still Jemilla. I will hear no nonsense of your grace from you.”

“I know you are Jemi, but you are also a Duchess now. It would be faulty to not acknowledge it, especially in public, at least once.”

You sighed and fiddled with the new ring on your finger underneath your white gloves.

“We are not in public now. It is just you, and I so do away with it.”

“Very well.” Tessa remained quiet for a few seconds before she turned to you with an excited smile. “All right, show it to me.”

You pulled off the glove and showed her the wedding ring Simon had placed on your finger earlier in the day. Tessa gasped, grabbed your hand, and brought it closer to her face.

“Oh my. I dare say the Duke has excellent taste. It is quite beautiful. While most husbands give their wives one jewel, yours had bestowed you a bevy.”

You snorted and looked out into the night while she continued to gawk at the bauble.

“So why are you out here and your new husband nowhere in sight?”

You bit your bottom lip then looked at her. You’d told her everything that had happened between you and Simon. You’d told her the reason your engagement was so quick and that there was no love between you and him.

“Oh come, come, Jemi. I know you wanted to marry for love and desire and passion, but just because your marriage did not start that way does not mean it cannot end up there,” Tessa suggested.

“Tessa, be realistic. I have told you the things he has said about marriage. He came to town with no intent on marriage.”

“And look, he is married now, in mere weeks no less. Jemi, a man will say all sorts of things to prevent something, but from this day on, he is yours.”

It was then you thought back to his words by the fireplace.

“And how many tolls have you collected, your grace?

“Plenty, but remember one needn’t make it an all-night occasion. Five minutes or so in a parlor could suffice.”

You could have laughed out loud, but you didn’t. He hadn’t been yours before, and you doubted he was now.

“Tonight is your wedding night. Perhaps you shall feel differently in the morning,” Tessa said, a broad smile spread across her face.

You knew what she was insinuating. You had heard the chatter of a woman’s wedding night but had heard nothing of consequence. All you and Tessa were left with were speculation and plenty of possible theories and fantasies. Tessa stood and held out her arm for yours. After slipping your glove back on, you looped your arm with hers and allowed her to lead you back into the ballroom.

Once you were seen, your mother approached you and swiftly brought you towards your new husband, then enticed him to dance with you for all the ton to see. Simon, of course, complied, and the two of you drew every pair of eyes. Rather than looking directly at him, you kept your eyes somewhere neutral, somewhere that it would appear to others you were staring into his eyes.

“Remember what I said to you the first time we danced like this?”

“We’ve never danced like this, your grace.”

“You are right; our titles, or rather your title, has changed but are we not the same people?”

You fell into the trap and met his eyes.

“Are we, your grace?”

Simon peered deeply into your eyes as if he were looking for that very answer.

“I am told we have our entire lives to figure it out.”

Feeling your face beginning to shift to give away your inner feelings, you looked away, back to his ear.

“Stare into my eyes.”

They were words he’d said before, in the exact manner. You ignored his instruction, though the urge to obey pulled at your willfulness.

“Jemilla,” Simon said in a low, deep voice.

“Stare into my eyes.”

You caved and darted your eyes to his. Simon held it for a few moments.

“If this is to work, we must appear madly in love,” he said.

The words garnered almost the same reaction as it had the first time he’d uttered them. The only difference was you were well aware that appearances were not nearly all that they seemed. It had worked a little too well, and now you were married and so far from madly in love.

By the end of the evening, your feet hurt from all the walking around and dancing, and your head throbbed slightly, probably from the music and being unable to eat even one bite due to the anxiousness that had plagued you all day. After you’d said your goodbyes to your siblings, mother, and friends, you climbed into the carriage with Simon, unsure just where you were heading. You didn’t pay too much attention to the darkness outside the window because your head was too caught up in thoughts of what was to come.

You fiddled with your gloved hands, your bouquet that you’d nearly stroked all buds from all in an effort to take your mind off of things. After thirty minutes in the bumpy carriage, you saw a large tree pass by. You looked around you, trying to figure out where you were.

“Where—where are we?”

“One of my estates, Briarvale, Simon answered.

“Briarvale. I thought we were going to Clyvedon?”

“No, Clyvedon is quite far, much too far to travel tonight. Briarvale is the in-between point. We will stop, rest for the night, then continue on and should reach Clyvedon by late afternoon next.”

You nodded and lowered your eyes. “I should have made you aware of the plans before. I am afraid I am so used to consulting no one I did not stop to realize I now might have to. I apologize.”

He didn’t sound angry about it, just remorseful. Maybe he was being sincere. When the carriage stopped, the jarvey opened the door and helped you out. Some torches lit the entire walk path to the front door, where two servants were standing at either side of the door. Simon stepped out beside you and cleared his throat.

“After you, your grace.”

You walked ahead while taking in the large home before you. It was two times bigger than the one you’d spent half of your life in, and you imagined Cleyvdon would be four times larger than this one. You never imagined marrying this wealthy. Wealth was never one of your concerns at all.

“Welcome, your graces.”

You and Simon walked inside into the foyer.

“I will let you get settled,” Simon said before walking off, leaving you standing there and wondering where he was going.

One of the maids led you through the house to the stairs. As you climbed them, you took in the paintings on the wall and the wood’s shine. It was a well-kept residence. A few minutes later, the maid stopped in front of a door.

“Your room, your grace.”

“Thank you. what is your name?”

She looked surprised by your question, but she still answered. “Ingrid, your grace.”

“Thank you, Ingrid.”

She smiled and bowed her head, and waited for you to walk inside. When you did, the fire was crackling, making the large room very inviting.

“Is everything to your liking, your grace?”

You nodded. “Thank you, yes.”

Ingrid nodded, then walked out of the room, leaving you with your thoughts. You knew he would come, so you waited. You took the time to look around the room at the different paintings and objects and even examining the material of the sheets on the bed. Still, Simon hadn’t appeared. That was when your pacing began and did not stop. After pacing for quite a while, you finally stopped, then took off your shoes and waited some more. When another ten minutes passed with no Simon, you peeled off your stockings but hesitated to remove any more articles of clothing.

When you were sure you’d waited an hour more, you got annoyed and walked to the door. As soon as you opened it you saw one of the maids passing.

“Hello there.”

The young woman turned, startled, then dipped down to a bow.

“Your grace, is something the matter?”

You were embarrassed even to ask her this. “No, nothing is wrong. Have you—do you know where—has his grace retired for the evening?”

The maid gave you a curious look. No doubt she was thinking that you should know better than her. He was your husband, after all.

“Uh—no, ma’am. His grace is still in the study. Would you like me to deliver a message?”

“No! No. Thank you.”

You went back into the room, closed the door, and sighed out. She undoubtedly found it strange, and you worried you’d be the gossip of the house in the morning. You began undressing as you’d done plenty of times before then climbed into bed, leaving your petticoat on. Instead of going to sleep right away, you sat up and waited.

You didn’t know what was going on or what to expect, and that was the part that gave you the most anxiety and distress. After another hour, it was clear to see that Simon was not coming. You didn’t know what to think or feel. The very little you’d been told to expect still made no sense, especially since it hadn’t happened. Or had it? Your mother told you that your husband would take the lead. Had Simon taken the lead by staying away?

After going over it tens of times in your head, you snuffed out the candle that was on its last inch of life and lay down to stare at the upper canopy of the bed.

You were married, but his actions had proven the line was drawn, and you were on opposite sides with chasms between you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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