#adventures in pianoforte

[uglypastels]

Ridlington Park | I | Eddie Munson regency!au

Author's Note: It has been a long, long time, but I am back with another obnoxious AU. I hope you enjoy as we embark on this new adventure in Regency England. This story has been in the works for almost 2 years and is still far from finished, but I am having too much fun with this and have way too many ideas on where to take it, so suggestions are very much appreciated.

Word Count: 10k

Do be warned, Dear Reader, for this story in its entirety may contain:

female!reader. slow burn. forbidden romance. jealousy. pining. smut. alcohol consumption. swearing. OC family. horses. talks of arranged marriage. historical facts as well as trivial inaccuracies.

Due to the adult nature of the story, this author also kindly but sternly requires underage readers to pursue other works. 

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Chapter One: A Game of Perseverance

“I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them.”

– Jane Austen, Letter to her sister Cassandra, 1798

Three stories high, full of balconied windows, the house stood tall and overlooked the entire street. Ridlington Park, they called it, and situated at the centre of life–that is, London–the front door of the building was enveloped in flowers matching the seasons all year long. Currently, it was bright peonies that caught the onlooker’s eye. The perfectly trimmed bushes and trees were planted symmetrically, leading up to the front doors, giving visitors the right impression of what they could await once they stepped inside.

The residing family had spent a good fortune and effort ensuring the house represented them perfectly: clean, fortunate, and grand, but all done so in the utmost respectable and modest fashion as they were never the ones to boast. The walls had a light, warm tone reminiscent of early mornings in Spring, and the interior was decorated with portraits, new and old, beautiful oil sceneries of lands near and far, and busts and vases. 

The evening was slowly approaching, the sun setting over the windows of the drawing room, enwrapping everything in a golden glow. The family sat silently around the room, giving each other the peace and quiet required for an uneventful afternoon followed by a slow night of fortunate sleep. The only sound appreciated was the pianoforte siding against the window, gracefully played by Mother. Four children sat around the separate corners of their world, enjoying the music while focusing on their own activities. Like most nights, these consisted of either reading or needlework, engaging in small conversations with one another occasionally. 

As typical as any evening at Ridlington Park, it was highly unusual for the rest of London– a city which runs on scandals and gossip. Outside, the streets were bustling with lords and ladies of the Ton making their way back home from the markets, gardens and their fellows’ tea parties, gossiping about the latest impropriety to have occurred. After all, such topics, no more than nonsense really, were simply inescapable. And no matter how hard they tried to ignore it all, one way or another, it would always find its way up to the Byrnwick family. Most of the time, you, Gentle Reader, could hold yourself accountable for introducing the rumours proudly, much to your brother’s annoyance, who did his best to turn the pages of his novel as loud as possible as you talked with your mother from across the room. 

‘Have you heard what happened at Lady Faulkner’s ball?’

  ‘Yes, sordid, really.’ Your mother sighed, turning around. ‘I am sure her family is in quite the uproar.’

‘Please,’ Christopher, your brother, shut his book down in frustration, clearly incapable of making any progress amidst the conversation. ‘If she had not wanted to get caught, she should have maybe ought to think twice about being out with a man in the middle of the gardens for everyone to see.’ 

You glared up at him. ‘Well, it is absurd that a woman cannot even stand in a public space with a man without bringing disgrace onto her entire family.’

‘Believe me; she did much more than just standing.’ Christopher scoffed, quickly receiving a cold stare from your mother. 

‘Still, it is unjust.’ You ignored his insinuations. ‘Think of how men are free to go out at any time of day or night with whomever they please.’ You stabbed your needle through the cloth a bit harsher than intended.

‘My, you sure seem to be giving all this much thought. Have you any plans we should know about, sister?’ Your brother smirked.

‘Christopher!’ Your mother scowled. ‘That is quite enough.’

‘I was only joking, Mother,’ Christopher sighed, ‘we all know she is not going anywhere anytime soon.’

You were ready to retort angrily, or at least throw your needle at him, when the doors to the drawing room opened, catching everyone’s attention by storm. Five pairs of identical eyes directly aimed at the door frame, only softening when recognising the intruders. A welcoming of surprised gasps greeted the Lord and his eldest, Nicholas, as they entered the room. Not one foot in the room, and all activities were being put to a halt as the rest of the family gathered around the men—a loving reunion after a months-long journey from the Americas. 

It was a surprising return, for father and son had yet to write of their plans in recent times. The last letter was received at Ridlington Park over three weeks ago, stating that the weather was amiable, if not a bit too humid, and that the family missed each other deeply. The lack of correspondence, therefore, was also an immediate subject. 

‘But why did you not write, dear?’ asked Mother, after embracing her son. Nicholas was too occupied by his youngest sibling to answer; airways tightened in the arms of his 11-year-old sister, Marjorie. His father responded instead:

‘How could we write at sea, my love? The message would not have gotten here any faster than we did,’ the lord chuckled to his wife. He was correct, too, of course. His eyes seemed to surpass the gaze of his present family members in search of the one missing piece. ‘Where is Annabelle? I thought she would be home by now.’ 

‘She is home, with her husband,’ you explained carefully. Your father blinked slowly, coming to terms with this fact he had tried to avoid for so long. Annabelle had married last season and was very well off, to a Duke, no less, but it was still a big adjustment for the family seeing her gone and out of the house. Even with her frequent visits, it was strange to have one head less at the dinner table; one less chair occupied each evening, one less song played on the pianoforte. 

‘Ah, well then,’ Father cleared his throat, ‘then we are complete.’ He looked at his wife and five children. One day, there would be even fewer of them. They will all be leaving the nest one by one. For some, marriage was long overdue, and as a man of high society, he could not wish his children a suitor or a lady soon enough, but as a father, he dreaded the day that the following proposals would take place.

Marjorie, becoming impatient and not as sentimental about her family’s reunion, tugged at Nicholas’ sleeve. ‘Come, you must tell us everything about your journey!’ She kept pulling until the eldest brother had no choice but to follow her and sit on the couch. Soon, everyone else joined on the chaises. 

‘I am afraid there is very little to tell,’ Nicholas said, taking a chocolate biscuit off the tray beside the sofa. ‘It was all rather dull.’ 

‘Do not be ridiculous, brother,’ Fitzwilliam, the second-youngest and still hungry for adventure and the world outside of the Ton, looked at his older brother with high expectations. ‘I do not believe you and Father had been gone this long and did not experience anything worthy of a tale.’ 

You listened on as your siblings bickered, arguing over the value of a story, and its worth of being told and heard. Finally, after listening to it for about a quarter of an hour, you had to agree with Nicholas; it was all rather dull. No wonder neither he nor father did not bother to mention anything but the weather in their correspondence. Their days quickly grew into a pattern one is used to in travel and business. A pattern you might have understood if you cared to pay attention. 

This attention only returned to the room when you heard your name being spoken. The conversation had shifted from the events that had been missed overseas to the town's happenings. Just as dull and irrelevant, some might say, the most interesting thus far was the staff changes at the house, and even these held very little consequence to you, but to this, some may disagree wholeheartedly. 

‘So, the season has begun, has it not, sister?’ Nicholas asked. 

‘Some weeks ago, yes.’ You did your best pretending not to feel an effect from this, occupying yourself with your needlework that was turning out far below the usual standard. ‘But do not worry; you have not missed much. In fact, I think things will finally begin to get a bit interesting with you back home.’ Nicholas had always had a taste for dramatics and had been known for having a very… loving nature. In the past years, you must have witnessed him falling in love at least a dozen times, preparing a proposal to half of these women, going through with it twice now, with one nearly making it to the alter if not for the bride getting caught in quite a compromising position with a footman.

For the next few weeks, Nicholas was known as the heartbroken gentleman, and you would have felt bad for him… if it was not for the fact that women from all over town came around to console him, day after day, of course not knowing that when his bride-to-be had been making arrangements with other men, your brother had been too busy charming ladies himself. It took a month for him to proclaim his love to another woman again.

‘I do not know what you mean,’ Nicholas deflected your comment, quickly looking over to your mother and second oldest brother, Christopher, ‘any fitting suitors I should be aware of?’ As the eldest brother, Nicholas made it his duty to ensure his sisters found good husbands. That meant status and wealth but, above anything else, a good and genteel nature. You remembered how picky he was when Annabelle had been searching for a husband, even more so than your parents. Still, it was something you appreciated about your brother. His protectiveness showed the little heart he still held for you and the rest of your family, as much as he tried to hide it away. 

Your mother bit her cheek, holding in the many thoughts and opinions she must have kept for herself. So did Christopher, who shared a very knowledgeable look of many words with Nicholas, one he understood clearly but you could not decipher just yet. However, you assumed the general message had been sent and received. 

‘If you had seen the choices, brother, you would understand my predicament and situation all too well, believe me.’ Pretending to seem unbothered by the encrypted messages being sent around the room, you preoccupied yourself once more with the needlework. 

‘I believe it is what you believe, sister,’ Nicholas turned back to your mother, ‘do you have a list of names? I shall go through them in the morning, see if it really is as bad as we are being told.’ 

You had wanted to reply, most likely in a dishonourable way, but you held your tongue and fell back in your seat, letting the rest of your family plan out the rest of your life, just like they had always done. 

Unbelievable, Nicholas was home for all of five minutes, and he was already making lists. And knowing him, which you would like to think you did, it was merely a formality for your sake. He would already have a dozen names at the top of his head, ready to send out invitations to men for an audience with you. 

Therefore, you were not surprised when, only a few days later, at the breakfast table, Nicholas told you about all the guests Ridlngton Park would soon be welcoming. 

‘There is Mr Elton, and Mr Brookes will be coming over for tea; I also heard Lord Frankworth is interested in a visit, so is Mr Campbell, and—’ he kept on giving you names, with all of them entering one ear and immediately leaving through your other. You could not care less who wanted to see you, not after spending the last month trying your hardest to escape all of their attempts at promenading, lunching, and chatting of sheer nonsense. 

‘I must ask you to be ready for your first audience before 10; a dress is already prepared in your room.’ Of course, there was a dress. All you could do was smile as you bit into a forkful of egg. 

‘Oh, and there is one gentleman I would particularly like you to meet,’ your father chimed in, almost as if with an afterthought that he recollected at the last minute. You looked up at him apprehensively. ‘I had made a nice acquaintance of his father on our travel. What was his name– Harrolds, no…’  ‘Harrington, father. It was Mr Harrington.’ Nicholas corrected before looking over to you as he shared more. ‘He is a tradesman, quite successful. His only son had joined us on the ship back to England.’ The emphasis on his lineage was made with an apparent inclination. There were no more heirs, meaning the son would inherit the man’s entire wealth. ‘Certainly seems like a reasonable young man, clever too. The two of you will have lots to speak of.’

Well, I certainly cannot wait to meet him,’ you forced out a smile before quickly getting on with your meal despite losing all your appetite. At that moment, your stomach felt like a hollow pit, eating away at you, ironically.

‘You know, if you gave this all a chance, you might find yourself to actually enjoy it in the end,’ your mother commented with a tight lip. 

‘I am sure I shall enjoy it then, as it means that it has all, in fact, ended.’ You sighed deeply, ‘I simply do not understand why this is a must in my life? Why must I marry this instant?’

‘Do not worry, dear. You are still young; you still have plenty of time, ' your father said, missing your point entirely and making you roll your eyes. ‘But your mother is right, too, a more agreeable attitude towards this will make things much easier.’

‘For whom, exactly? Is it for me to enjoy myself, or for everyone else as you will not have to endure me any longer?’

‘Can you really blame us?’ Nicholas mumbled, receiving a kick in the shin in return. He spent the rest of the discussion rubbing the targetted spot on his leg with a pained crease between his brows. You, besides gaining the small victory of maiming your brother, found yourself yet again on the losing side of another family dispute. Like all its predecessors, this battle ended with you pushing back your chair with a harsh scrape of the panelled floor and slugging back to your room where a dress awaited. 

It was beautiful; you could not deny that. Elegant and straightforward, it accented all your finest assets for interested suitors. It was comfortable: not too heavy or too textured in its pattern, it was made of soft material that slipped right on, with the fit of a well-tailored glove. Your hair was pulled up and out of your face, leaving nothing to hide behind. 

‘You look lovely, miss,’ your maid said with a kind smile as she put the final pin in your hair. 

‘Thank you, Claire.’ You muttered, noticing the saddened sympathy enveloping her features as she knew like no other how much you detested everything about what you were about to go through. ‘Have you got any advice? On how to endure it all?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ she shrugged, brushing something off your shoulder. ‘I suppose you could try making them uninterested in you, so they will want to leave sooner.’

‘That thought has crossed my mind,’ you admitted, ‘but I also do not want to put my entire family to shame.’ 

‘Of course, miss.’ Claire nodded. As she finished working on your presentation, you pondered over your possibilities. Indeed, presenting yourself as improper had been your first idea, and its appeal remained, but you were too afraid of the repercussions. If the gentlemen were to think of you as a lady without any manners, all it would do was put your upbringing up for question, something your parents did not deserve whatsoever. 

You also considered spreading gossip about the men coming to introduce themselves, which would scare your mother off them immediately, ensuring they were never to return by your parents’ preference. But it felt cruel to make up such lies. You were sure that in other circumstances, these were perfectly fine men. At this particular moment, you just happened to despise them and everything they stood for.

Perhaps the most appealing option was to simply not attend the audience. To run away and never to return… at least until the afternoon, once all the men had lost all their patience. But that would only cause you more trouble.

The ideas rolled around your head for the rest of the day, even once the suitors sat opposite you in the room. It was all incredibly dull, if not just mortifyingly humiliating, with your mother sitting only across the room, occupying herself with a book, or so it seemed because she most definitely was listening to the conversations attempted on your part.

‘So,’ as most of the dialogues began, the Lord whose name you already forgot spoke, clearing his throat, ‘I hear you read.’

‘Yes, ' you said, blinking to avoid staring too blankly at the wall behind the man, ignoring the balding patch atop his head. 

‘Grand,’ he smiled, somehow satisfied with your response already.

‘Do you… ride?’ you asked, hoping that at the least your mother heard your attempts at making a connection and would release you from this torment soon enough on the principle of your good sportsmanship.

‘No, God no, horses are far too beastly for my liking, unless we are speaking of the track, of course.’ The man scoffed, ‘However, I prefer more dignified activities, such as hunting.’ 

‘Of course, you do,’ you smiled, but the expression never reached your eyes. ‘What about chess? Do you play?’

‘I do not have the patience to commit to such silly games.’

Patience, you thought, or intelligence? And how ironic of him to speak of perseverance. You watched him take another small sandwich from the tea tray provided on a side table, which you were taught to ignore so as not to be observed as “gluttonous”. After all, no one wanted to marry a lady that ate all day. 

Considering that, you grabbed a plate and a piece of cake from the top of the tray and bit into it. The soft sponge melted on your tongue. In the meantime, you were asked a question, but you could not possibly answer with a mouthful of cake, could you? Once you had finished, you considered grabbing a second portion, but you could feel the judgmental look of your mother digging into the back of your head. 

You put the plate back down and your hands on your lap. 

‘I’m sorry, my lord, could you repeat the question, please. I fear I may have lost myself for a moment.’ And so, it continued. Thankfully, the man excused himself not long after, thanking you and your mama for the time, just for his seat to be replaced with someone else almost immediately. This time, the gentleman was significantly younger, with thick hair atop his head and charming eyes, but the second he spoke, you knew this would not reach much further than the comfort of this room. At the least, you did not see this relationship going any further than any of the other acquaintances you had made that day.

By lunchtime, you felt your eyes burning with fatigue, possibly caused by a constant suppression of tears. How much more could you possibly take of this torture?

‘Mr Elton was quite a charmer, was he not?’ Your mother commented as she sipped her tea. 

You suppressed your initial thought, rephrasing it to cause less offence, ‘He is too stubborn and self-centred. He barely let me speak a single word, too occupied by his own achievements to expect me to have any.’ 

‘Well, Lord Frankworth seemed to care very much for what you had to say.’ 

‘Only because he barely managed to string any thoughts together himself,’ you sighed. 

Your mother tightened her grip on the teacup before smiling. ‘Soon enough, we will find you a perfectly fine young man, dear. You just have to remain open-minded.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Speaking of, your next suitor should be here shortly.’ 

You did everything in your power not to groan at the announcement and instead nodded politely. ‘Who is it?’ 

‘Mr Harrington, the one your father was so keen on you meeting.’

‘Ah,’ yes, the American. The only thing that gave you some slight hope in the situation was that Mr Harrington had already spent plenty of time in the company of your father and brother Nicholas and had seemingly gained their blessing. But nothing could help you gain the energy to entertain yet another man with polite conversation. The sun had been beaming into the room since the early morning, only growing warmer and warmer, making the hairs at the small of your neck stick. 

‘Will you just excuse me for a moment, mother.’ You got up. 

‘Is something wrong?’ She looked suspicious but with a glint of worry in her eye. 

‘I am quite fine, just require some fresh air, I think,’ which was not entirely a lie.

‘Alright then, just make haste, child.’ Mr Harrington was on his way, after all. ‘We do not want to keep the man waiting.’ 

‘Of course not,’ you smiled, heading towards the door. When the large panels closed behind you, you picked up your skirt and ran toward the gardens. Your footsteps echoed through the corridors, and you caught several members of the house staff glancing your way with inquisitive looks. 

Ever since you could remember, the grounds around Ridlington Park had a fantastical power about them. It had been the turf on which you would spend countless childhood summer days playing games with your siblings, whether the competitive or imaginary type. But no matter what the six of you could think of, your favourite game would always remain Hide and Go Seek. The gardens were a perfect place for it, with endless nooks and crannies one could disappear into. It was nearly a giant maze, and you had mastered it from a very young age. Whilst most got lost between the shrubbery and flowers, you knew exactly where you had found yourself. 

There were plenty of hiding spots you enjoyed over the years, some that to this day remain a mystery to the rest of your family, but nonetheless, it was the stables you adored the most. It was a safe haven for you on many days, to the point that you had nearly become invisible to the staff working there. 

The stables were located in the far east corner of the grounds, and the walk towards it already cost more time than you had if you had ever planned on returning that quickly. Undeniably, there was a pinch of shame and guilt nipping at your heart towards the strange Mr Harrington, but that soon dissolved when you heard the neighing of Barley Sugar, a golden-brown mare you proudly called yours. A gift and result of a successful business trade made by your father years ago, the horse technically belonged to all of the Byrnwick children, as much as any of the other horses under the family’s possession, but the bond between you and that particular horse just turned out to be that much stronger. 

This was visible as soon as you entered the stable. Barley Sugar went wild at your presence, happily swinging her head from side to side. 

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ you grinned, petting the horse, who leaned into your touch immediately. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’

But your plans were quickly interrupted by a voice. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’ 

❀❀❀

An average sea voyage from the Americas to England should take approximately 16 days, considering the weather corresponds with the sails of the ship. During this journey, passengers would most likely endure days upon days of heavy and tall waves bashing across the ship’s sides, and that is to be expected in favourable conditions.

As Lord Byrnwick and his eldest had boarded the ship headed to London, the sky had been bright blue, and it did not change far beyond that. There was, of course, a risk for the two of them to sail across the world as they did, them being head of the family and its heir. A journey such as this one can go awry in many ways, and if it were not for the dangers of seafaring, there were the Anglo-American tensions to consider. After all, the previous year's war was still fresh in everyone’s mind, and one could not be careful enough when entertaining both sides. Luckily for the Byrnwicks, they were not of the superstitious kind, and good fortune had always seemed to be in the family’s favour up until the very moment they stepped on the boat to return home, many years beyond that. 

Ever the convivial one, the most considerable success of the trip, according to Lord Byrnwick, was not the business or diplomatic aspects of their ventures but the social. The man immensely enjoyed meeting other like-minded spirits from across the pond, and there had been plenty of fine nights at gentleman’s clubs spent over fine spirits and betting games, discussing all sorts of topics and exchanging information on all subjects. Promises were made to keep in touch whilst arrangements were made for more future meetings. It was only the polite thing to do. 

But aside from acquaintances and business partners, an addition to the household had also been made. Of some sort, that is, for it seemed that the two had found a new groom in America.

Now, Gentle Reader, do not conclude of the worst, as the groom we speak of is not the sort one is meant to meet at an altar but the kind who spends his days tending the horses and carriages. The young man, Mr Munson, had been doing precisely that when the Byrnwick heir stumbled upon his conveyance services in town, in dire need of transport for his regular means, which had already been occupied by his father for the day. It was an encounter by utter chance but certainly one with greater consequences. 

Several days later, coincidentally, a letter from London had arrived. Five pages long, each written by a member of the family recounting their most notable memories of the week. The children spoke of the ton's gossip and anecdotes of what occurred at home. Mother, however, took it upon herself to write of more important matters regarding the household. Many topics had to be discussed, but in the middle of her letter, there was mention of the unfortunate passing of the family’s barn manager, Mr Falstipp. It was an unexpected death, leaving the entire house in shock as the man had been working for the family for longer than the children had been alive. But it also resulted in the question of what was to be done now? 

It was likely only because the interaction had been so fresh in his mind that Nicholas suggested finding a replacement for Mr Falstipp here in America. This was an unusual offer, as his father commented, especially since they would not leave for home until another few days, but that was to be resolved by having the footmen take care of the horses for the time being. Besides, Nicholas was sure his siblings would be more than happy to help with the chores. 

The next day, he returned to the public stables and immediately noted how much cleaner they seemed than any other in town. The horses also looked exceptionally well taken care of and content. 

Mr Munson had just been feeding a colt when Nicholas eagerly announced, ‘Mr Munson, may I offer you a proposition?’ 

This, to no surprise, startled the other man for various reasons. ‘Sir?’ 

‘This must be a peculiar request, but you see, as of recently, my family has found itself in need of a new stablehand and from what I have seen you do, you, sir, would be the perfect candidate.’ Nicholas had the smile of a man losing his sanity, but his words could not be more genuine. 

‘Your family—’ Munson blinked, ‘you mean in London.’

‘Yes, and I understand that this might be a problem, but trust me when I say that you will most certainly find England to your liking, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’ 

‘As you wish,’ Nicholas agreed. 

Eddie pondered over the offer for a short moment. It would have taken him no time to decide if it was not for what he was to leave behind, but he knew that his current employer would be able to find his replacement in no time, as jobs in town were hard to come by. 

But what must have been even more challenging to obtain was a ticket out of the wasteland he called home. For years, he had dreamt of an escape, never imagining it to be possible, and suddenly, here comes this stranger offering it to him on a silver platter. 

It would be terrifying to move so far away, he knew that, with many risks, but the further away he could manage to go from where he was now, the better. 

Eventually, after a minute of silence that left Nicholas restless and on the verge of embarrassment, Eddie smiled: ‘It would be my pleasure to work for you, sir.’ And he had meant that wholeheartedly. While it had only been a short few interactions that he had had with the man, the young Mr Byrnwick had already shown Eddie far more kindness than any of his prior employers, or any other man in his life, for a fact. Most importantly, the man knew nothing about Eddie’s past, which must have been the biggest selling point in the life-changing choice. 

‘Marvelous. You will not regret this, Eddie.’ Nicholas leaned in to shake his hand, only to realise that Eddie was still carrying the giant bucket of feed. ‘Well, we shall finalise everything on the boat, shall we?’ And so they did. 

A week later, Eddie found himself still in shock at his circumstances. He could not believe he was really to be leaving for England until the moment he set foot on the boat, and even once the sails had set and the American coast was nothing but a grim line on the horizon, the fact did not seem to settle in his mind just yet. 

Over the next 16 days, he had encountered the Byrnwicks only a handful of times. First, to meet Lord Byrnwick who, as head of the household, wanted a final say on the matter. A bit late, thought  Eddie, as the boat had long departed the harbour by then, but his ticket had already been paid for, and thus, he had little else to complain about. He had quickly made peace with the idea that he could make his new life across the ocean work no matter the circumstances. He had done it before, so what is one more homeless night under a new sky?

But the lord seemed all too happy to have found his staff replacement. Overall, the man was nothing like Eddie had expected a gentleman of English high society to be. From his previous experiences, the type often was rather conceited and arrogant, with a transparent opinion of anyone below their class. His new employer and his son, while undoubtedly lordly, had a modest nature about them. Quickly, Eddie had also gathered that the spontaneity with which Nicholas Byrnwick had called upon him for a job opportunity was not uncharacteristic of him, as the young man was rather energetic in his step and impulsive in his actions. 

But no matter how unassuming the men were, they did belong to a different rank of man and, therefore, stayed on the boat to the upper decks, engaging with the rest of their kind. 

The travel moved on slowly, but in the end, it was also a mere blink of an eye moment, and before he had realised it, Eddie had reached the shores of England. It was another day or two of travel to be done by horse. A carriage had been acquired for Nicholas and his father, but Eddie and the rest of the staff that travelled with the family for their adventure rode on horseback. No matter how much Eddie enjoyed the form of transportation, it was a tiring experience after several hours, but it also allowed him to meet the people he was to work with and, through that, those he would work for. 

‘So, what is the rest of the family like,’ he asked Mr Trowbridge, the lord’s valet. If there was anyone who could tell Eddie something, it would be this man. 

‘Well,’ Mr Trowbridge had a particularly nasal tone about his voice that especially came forward at the beginning of his sentences, ‘I do not believe there is much to tell. They are as any other family, really.’ 

‘My good man, you can hardly expect me to believe there is nothing worth telling about these people,’ Eddie laughed. ‘If it puts your mind at ease, I am only asking for the simplest facts—nothing to interest my fancy.’

The valet pondered over this for a moment. ‘Very well. You have, of course, met the Viscount and his eldest.’ He took a moment for Eddie to respond with a nod in agreement. He then took another moment to consider his following words. The longer he took, the more keen Eddie felt to suggest what to speak of. 

‘What about Lady Byrnwick?’

‘Lady Byrnwick is most amiable and has a very caring character, but you will not find her in the stables often unless she is searching for her children.’

‘Not fond of horses, is she?’

‘Rather the outside—-’ Trowbridge cleared his hair vigorously. ‘In the sense that the sun and pollen often leave her poorly. But the children…’ he punctuated his half-sentence with a heavy sigh. 

‘They are a handful?’ Eddie assumed. To this, Trowbridge searched for another description but found himself lacking the vocabulary, leading to a confirmation. 

‘I have worked for this family for nearly three decades, and I will assure you that each member is as proper a member of society as the next. While boisterous, they have been taught to be independent individuals.’ The valet's tone made Eddie consider how much of their good decorum was in gratitude for the man’s own intervention and guidance. 

‘At 27 years, Nicholas is the eldest, and the responsibilities of this role are one of the few aspects of his life which he takes seriously, I cannot put any doubt behind that.’ Indeed, whilst extremely impetuous, the heir’s son also understood the duties of his position and towards his family. 

‘Then there is Christopher. The boy has immense athletic abilities but not much beyond that. For a young man of his age of five and twenty, one would assume he would be able to compose himself with a bit more propriety, but it is very difficult for him. He is adventurous and rarely can sit still for an extended period of time, including his mouth. It is suggested that people be careful of what they say around the man.

‘The eldest daughter, Annabelle, married just before we had departed for America, thus is now the lady of her own house.’ Something in his tone suggested he was sad to see the young woman leave home. This possibly has to do with the fact that Miss Annabelle (Now known as Duchess Annabelle Ramsbury) was the most dutiful and respectful of the six children. ‘The marriage had been long overdue as she had just turned 22 on the day of the ceremony, but a love match was found nonetheless.’ The valet guffawed with pride. It was clear to Eddie that, while considering them a nuisance, the man cared deeply for the family he served.

‘I must admit, Trowbridge,’ Eddie chuckled in this horse’s trot pattern over the uneven paths. ‘When you began speaking of the family, I had imagined the children to be… well, children.’

‘How old are you, Munson?’ Trowbridge asked, somewhat bluntly. 

‘Twenty, sir.’ Perhaps closer to his next birthday than the last.

‘Ah, just the age of the second daughter then,’ he nodded in agreement. ‘She may perhaps be the most… rebellious of the kin. It is all in good spirit, as you must imagine, and I am sure the interest in such nonsense will dwindle as she matures. She is also the most fond of the family horses; thus, you will see her quite often, I expect. But as her sibling, she has mastered the care for the animals as well as the equipment.’ 

As he spoke of your skills, something about Trowbridge's expression communicated particular dismay to Eddie. ‘Is that bad? For a young woman to know how to carry herself around a horse?’ He, for one, certainly did not see a problem in it. On the contrary, it was an instrumental skill to develop for anyone. 

‘It is not exactly lady-like, is it?’ Trowbridge spoke as if that was the only relevant argument on the matter. Eddie had learned from a very young age that some opinions were better left unsaid, and seeing him as the senior in age and position, Eddie thought it unwise to argue with the valet on his first official day of employment. He instead simply nodded in understanding. Instead, he opted to continue the civil interrogation—

‘What of the youngest two? What are they like?’

‘Fitzwilliam is a dapper fellow. He is but seventeen, but very accomplished, though I cannot say he knows how to put his acquired skills to good use. He has ambitions that cannot be denied; it is just a question of whether these ambitions can ever be met. 

‘And lastly, we have Miss Marjorie. A darling girl, I assure you,’ Trowbridge stated. I can only suggest not letting her size fool you, Munson. She has managed to wrap her family around her little fingers the moment she learned to mumble a word, leaving her to cause quite the ruckus for the past eleven years.’ 

‘I do not see how that involves me, Sir,’ Eddie said. By this time, the sun had begun to set over the fields they passed, and soon, the company would break for their overnight travels at a nearby inn. 

‘It had come to my attention over the years that Mr Falstipp–the previous groom, that is— had been quite lenient on the children and their usage of the horses. This has caused a number of incidents that I would rather not see a repetition of.’

‘Understood.’ 

‘I am unaware of your er– American customs,’ the valet began his lecture, ‘but you must also know that here, ladies are not to ride unaccompanied—something that has been protested in the family to no avail, but it is simply the procedure. There must always be a chaperone nearby to supervise, whether that is a senior member of the family or an entrusted member of the household.’ 

‘I do not expect to have gained that trust just yet,’ Eddie said earnestly.

‘But let us hope you will.’ The smile Trowbridge gave Eddie was kind at first glance, but the movement of his eyes that inspected him told an entirely different story. He knew he still had much to learn about navigating himself around the kinds of people that were the Byrnwicks, even those who worked for them. The moment he set foot on English soil, he knew it would be challenging to fit in if he ever planned to do so. 

The truth is that he did not plan such a change. For you see, Dear Reader, Mr Eddie Munson was also a radical. He did not believe in adapting to society, which was visible in his entire being. One can also imagine the struggle he had to endure when given a uniform to wear. Frankly, the ensemble did not differ much from how the man dressed himself before, but the simple fact that he was told to wear this particular set of clothing upset him severely. 

On the first day after his arrival at Ridlington Park, he had managed to justify himself out of dressing in the required clothing by claiming that the trousers were a smidgen too tight. Without another size available, he was told to wear the clothes on his back until the new, fitted attire arrived.

But the clothes did not even begin to reach the problem of the horses he was meant to care for. 

Turned out, while he had been given all sorts of warnings against the family, what Eddie should have been preparing for was the beasts that homed the stables. The stubborn animals would not let him touch them, and any attempts were met with angry stares and stomping of the hooves. 

‘Easy, there,’ Eddie spoke as softly as he could, taking small steps in any direction that would not enrage the stallion whom he was currently attempting to feed. White Liquorice, a white Arabian, was undoubtedly an animal worthy of a viscount, and from the moment he had stepped into the Ridlington Park stables, Eddie knew that the Kentucky Saddlers and Quarter Horses he grew up with were no match for these and he would quickly have to learn to get on with them if he was to stay here. 

Yes, the first days were hard, but not even one week later, he had gotten used to the rhythm of operations. It helped that, working as the barn manager, he was the one in charge and mostly left alone. Mr Trowbridge had visited him to ensure he was adjusting to the new working conditions, which was kind, but besides that, Eddie rarely saw anyone but footmen requesting the carriage to be prepared for the family. 

That is until one afternoon when he heard the doors open and someone walking inside. He had been around the corner of the stables, cleaning some grooming tools. 

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ he heard the intruder speak. It was soft and gentle, most likely referring to one of the horses. Immediately, Eddie was reminded of one of the conversations shared with Lord Byrnwick’s valet. He swiftly got up from his seat and immediately found the culprit. 

He watched you pet one of the horses—Barley Sugar, was it—-petting her in a way he had not yet managed to do confidently. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’ These words triggered him to jump into action. 

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’ He stepped forward, but his words startled you, causing you to turn around. As you did so, your foot got caught in an old set of bridles Eddie had still planned on detangling and putting away. The surprise coming with the unexpected presence of someone else, combined with the awkward position of your foot, led you to fall over with a shriek. 

Eddie cursed under his breath as he watched you huff on the ground. ‘Let me help you,’ he extended his hand to you, ‘and my apologies, it was not my intent to—’ 

‘Who are you?’ you said in a tone that could only be deemed skittish, if not directly fearful, but not enough to deny his offer to help you stand. Your reaction was validated as you had never met the man standing before you. You eyed him up and down, and the more details you noticed, the more you were sure that you had just stumbled upon a robbery, nay, a kidnapping. 

The man's presentation spoke for itself, truly. His long hair was dark and unkept, well over his shoulders. His clothes were nothing like the workers around your house were meant to dress like, making him stick out like a very sore thumb. The trousers were old and worn, and the shirt was loose over his upper body, revealing—oh god, was that a tattoo?

It was clear this is how you were to die.

‘Are you here to steal my horses?’ you blurted out before you could think. 

‘What?’ He blinked. ‘No, please, listen—’ but you did no such thing. Instead, you did the only thing a lady in distress could do. 

You screamed bloody murder. 

‘Help! Anyone! Help—’  you would have kept on going, shouting over his attempt at reason until he finally shut you up by placing his hand over your mouth, his other hand sturdily over your upper arm. The two of you stood there for a moment, chests both heaving in all forms of panic, listening for footsteps or any other presence, but the only sound was the soft breathing of the animals around you. 

‘I will let go now, miss,’ Eddie said slowly. Both your eyes were wide from the uncultivated situation that had just occurred. ‘And I will explain everything to you, just, please—and I beg you— do not scream.’ You nodded your head beneath his palm in agreement. Eddie counted to three as he stepped back and finally let go of you. Despite him never blocking your airways, you inhaled deeply. 

‘There is absolutely no reason to panic, ma’am.’ His accent was distant, one you had never had the pleasure of hearing before. His eyes, large and dark, locked you in, almost making you lose count of the lingering feeling of his hands on your body. He had given you a moment before he continued speaking, ensuring that you would not resume your screaming or make a run for it.

‘What is your reason of being here?’ You inquired. 

‘I work here. Have been, for the past week. I think it was your brother, in fact, that gave me the position. We met on his travels.’ 

Now, come to think of it, you remembered your family's conversation on the day your father and brother returned. There had been talk of new staff—a young man they had brought along with them from America as an official replacement for the late Mr Falstipp. But that did not explain his attire. 

‘You could be fired for breaking the dress code alone, you know. Not to mention for the, uhm, actions you had just performed.’ You commented.

‘Well, you can always report me, miss.’ Eddie, against all his better judgement, smiled. 

‘Maybe I should.’ Your heart was still pounding, and you felt so disoriented that even a simple smile made your head spin. ‘What is your name?’

‘Eddie.’

‘Well, Mr Eddie—’ you began, just to be quickly interrupted.

‘No, just Eddie.’ Eddie shook his head.

‘What do you mean? Do you have no family name?’ You had heard of men bringing in street urchins to work for them, but surely, this man was too old for such charity. And you could not imagine your brother to perform such acts of kindness anyway.

‘I do.’ His smile only widened in amusement at the conversation. ‘Eddie Munson.’

‘My, is it usual in America to introduce oneself like that?’ Never had you heard of a man introducing himself by only his first name, let alone a byname. 

‘It is usual to me,’ he quipped, ‘And it is more common than not introducing yourself at all.’ The way in which he looked up at you from under his lashes felt accusatory, but you could not find it within you to be upset at the critique, so you gave him your name instead. 

‘Pleasure to meet you, Miss Byrnwick.’ He gave you a small, polite bow that reminded you more of how children play Lord and Lady rather than a gentlemanly act. Next thing you knew, a smile was pulling at the corner of your lips, and a small giggle was ready to escape. 

For some reason, you hesitated to say your following words: ‘It is a pleasure, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’ While always respecting the titles of others, Eddie never saw himself as one to follow such formalities. 

‘That is most improper.’ You held back the urge to scoff. 

‘But I insist.’ There was something in the corner of his eye that you managed to catch a glimpse of—this spark that no sunlight or fire could match. It was pure mischief, a spirit of chaos. But still, to call a man you barely knew by his first name was simply not right. Your family may jest as they please about your rebelling attitude to primitive customs, but you had to admit that some things ought to be done in a proper manner. And this was certainly not it. 

However, Mr Munson saw it in another light but did not find enough of an interest in the subject enough to argue it further. Rather, he cleared his throat briefly and observed you for a moment. 

How silly you must look in your fancy dress! Your hair was done up to match, and your shoes were most likely covered in mud. There was also no doubt that he had overheard you talking to your horse about running away. You had good faith that he could connect the pieces to form the complete picture. 

A bird flew past a window, making you glance past Eddie’s shoulder in haste. 

‘I hope I am not keeping you from any other plans, miss?’ He finally asked. Could you be so bold as to admit that he was saving you from other commitments by conversing with you?

‘No, of course, not Mr Munson,’ you persisted. ‘I am simply cautious.’ Come to think of it, your screams must have been heard all around the grounds. If those who heard, in turn, had an ounce of common sense amongst them, they would have called for someone in the house. If that was the case, your mother would be here momentarily, and then it was back to the house for you. All you could do now was hide. 

‘May I ask what are you being cautious of?’ Eddie followed you with his eyes as you walked through the stables, looking for a hiding spot. 

‘If you must know, I am currently on the run,’ you stated while looking over a haystack in the far corner. 

‘Ah, so whilst you had accused me of being a criminal, it was you who had been committing the crimes then? Should I now scream for help?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t, ' you said, attempting to climb the hay to get past it. ‘I have already brought much too much attention to myself.’ Your foot slipped, making you tumble back down to the ground. The accident made you stop for a moment before attempting to climb again, looking over your shoulder at the man. ‘Are you not going to even try and stop me?’ 

‘Oh,’ it was as if he had awakened from a deep thought or had just realised that what you suggested was exactly what he ought to do. ‘Well, would you listen if I told you not to climb up there?’ 

You pondered his question for a short moment. ‘No, I highly doubt it.’ Thus, you resumed your climbing. As you did, you heard the shuffling of his feet behind you. The next time you slipped up, this time from a far higher distance, he had been in precisely the right place to catch you in his arms. 

‘I cannot assure you I will be able to catch you once more, so it is in good conscience that I suggest you stop, ma’am,’ he said as you got back to your feet. 

‘You are right,’ you admitted. Then you realised just how close the two of you stood and quickly occupied yourself by looking for another hiding place. That is when you noticed it. You had spent years in this stable and knew every inch of the space, yet… ‘Have you moved things around?’ You looked back at Eddie. 

‘Only a little. I’m afraid my predecessor did not have a flair for organisation,’ he explained.

‘That may be so, but I would prefer you would put things back as they were.’ 

‘Excuse me?’ Eddie could not help but laugh at the demand.

‘Your new floor plan has completely disoriented me, ' you admitted. ‘It is unbecoming.’

‘My apologies. I will be sure to put things back as they were, then.’ His laugh still echoed his words.

You had not expected him to actually agree to this request. ‘You will?’ But quickly, you regained your composure and tried to hide the surprise in your voice. ‘Very well, thank you. Then, since you have discarded all of my possible hiding locations, what do you suggest I should do?’ 

‘I suggest you run.’ But it was not Eddie who had answered you. 

‘Mother, ' you gasped. What was it, in God’s good name, with everyone sneaking up on you today? Lady Byrnwick stood at the threshold of the stables with her arms crossed. Her lips tightened into a thin line as she took a step inside. You prepared yourself for a disciplinary outburst, but instead, your mother focused on the man standing next to you. 

‘You must be Mr Munson.’ The kindness in her voice was laughable. The overcompensation of her kindness threw both you and Eddie off. 

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ You noticed that he bowed his head in a much more orderly fashion than he had done to you. 

‘I hope my daughter has not been too much of a nuisance.’ 

‘Not at all.’ Eddie politely replied. 

‘Good, good. Well, I can already see that my son did a good job in finding you,’ she stated as she looked around the retouched interior. ‘And I hope that you will grow to enjoy England.’

‘I’ve had nothing to complain of yet.’ Eddie proudly said with that smile of his, and for a moment, you thought to have caught his eyes on you for just a second. Your mother nodded along with his words in satisfaction, but this cheeriness dissipated as soon as she directed herself to you. 

‘Has your headache cleared, dear?’ Her eyes were spitting fire. 

‘Yes, mother.’ 

‘Then we will be on our way.’ She stepped aside, giving you room to walk outside. ‘Goodbye, Mr Munson.’ Eddie had become the unintentional victim of the venom that perferred your mother's words. 

He was polite enough to look away as you made your shameful walk through the aisle between the horses’ stalls, but you couldn’t help but look behind you one final time as you left and catch his favourable grin. What a peculiar man he was, indeed—one whose presence you immediately began to miss. 

Perhaps that was because of the company you were in at the time. 

‘Have you gone completely mad?’ Your mother scowled. ‘Mr Harrington has been waiting for well over half an hour.’

‘He is still here?’ You stopped in your tracks. This day could not have gone any worse. It seemed like everything you had been doing was working in your favour.

‘Yes, so you better come up with a clever excuse for your tardiness as I will not be embarrassed any longer. I swear, have you no shame?’

‘I am truly sorry mother, I had lost track of the time.’

‘Doing what exactly? What were you doing in the stables, exactly? Considering you had told me you were going out for some fresh air.’ Yes, the air around the horses was not exactly to be called “fresh.” 

Unfortunately, you had no satisfying answer to any of your mother’s questions. Come to it, you yourself were unsure what exactly had brought you there in the first place, not to mention what made you stay. It must have been a sense of child-like naivete to think you could hide from your problems the way you attempted. 

Problems that were coming closer as Mr Harrington walked towards you through the aisle of hyacinths that grew all around you in various colours. 

‘What is he doing here?’ you mumbled towards your mother.

‘Considering the lovely weather, I had offered for us to sit out in the gardens.’ Your mother spoke out loud. That is when you noticed the set table and chairs under a large parasol on the patio. 

‘I hope you do not mind. I took the initiative of taking a stroll in your absence.’ Mr Harrington spoke in a cadence that would have been new to you if not for the fact that you had spent the last hour in the presence of a very similar tone. 

‘Of course, not,’ your mother had regained her ability to smile. ‘May I introduce my daughter.’ And so she did. 

‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting, sir. I completely lost track of time.’ You apologised and were ready to offer your hand to Mr Harrington when you noticed how filthy your gloves had become. In a panic, you pushed both your hands behind your back, trying to distract the man with a wide grin.

‘The important thing is that we are all here now,’ he manoeuvred, which you could not help but agree with, then led you to the patio. 

The next hour went by faster than you had ever imagined it would. Mr Steve Harrington turned out to be not only a great conversationalist but a rather fascinating one at that. It was only a fault of your own that you were distracted for a larger part of the conversation. There was simply something about the man’s brown eyes that constantly reminded you of somewhere else. He was very charming and, abiding by your brother’s promises, had a great, though perhaps somewhat awkward, wit. It seemed that his confidence, once clearly overt, had been lowered, causing him to stumble over his words at times and laugh at his own mistakes in a deprecating manner, but never enough to make it a bother in your eyes. Truly, it was all rather endearing.

But you could not, for the life of you, figure out what exactly caused these fumblings in his character, as nothing seemed to be particularly wrong with the man. Though you did not see him as an academic or scholar of any sort, from the way he spoke, you could tell he was one of the more clever men you had the fortune of meeting. And his looks were certainly no topic of discussion either. He was tall and lean, with a wonderful smile and soft brown hair that apparently was more common than imagined, as were those dark eyes and the way he held you in his arms—

You took a sip of the cold water as Mr Harrington expressed his gratitude to your mother for the audience and made sure the message would be conveyed to Lord Byrnwick, too. You nodded and smiled along. Even when he bid you farewell and bowed his head, your mind was elsewhere. As if expecting something to emerge from behind the hyacinths, you could not help but glance in the Eastern direction of the gardens. 

‘See, it was not all that bad, was it?’ your mother immediately said, pulling you back to the patio. By then, Mr Harrington had excused himself and was crossing the patio to the exit from the grounds but had turned briefly for a final goodbye, which you met with a polite wave. 

‘No, I suppose you are right, mother.’ You had persevered against all odds. As you watched the gentleman leave, you felt quite content with the meeting—happy, some would even say. The only problem was that you could not make quite clear what, or rather, who brought on this particular mood.

To be continued...

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[peachpitfics]

Delicate

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Colin Bridgerton has finally admitted his feelings, to himself and to his future wife, Penelope Featherington. After a wild ride in the carriage on the way home from the Ball, Colin invites his love inside.

Length: 2.8k

Pairing: Penelope Featherington x Colin Bridgerton

Content Warnings: unprotected sex, penetrative sex, sneaking around.

Bridgerton master list

The carriage door swung open - her heart sunk lower than she thought possible. Was he going to leave her here in this carriage? After what had just happened between them? Penelope’s lashes fluttered anxiously as she watched Colin Bridgerton turn, outstretching his hand to her. Astonishment washed over her. She had contemplated pinching her own arm to ensure this was not a dream.

“Are you coming with me?”

“What?” She paused, “Your - - Your family will see me” Penelope stuttered briefly, looking up at the Bridgerton house. Nervous energy filled her belly, Colin’s smile slight with the sweetest upturn of his right dimple, he leaned in.

“For God’s sake, Penelope Featherington. Are you going to marry me or not?”. Colin’s words rolled smoothly over his lips, cocky and filled with certainty, as he watched her breath quicken.

There wasn’t a second thought had for either of them, her hand was thrust into his and he was pulling her from the carriage in teenage excitement. The coachman atop the carriage gave an unsurprised smile to his footman, whistling to the horses to carry on. Colin bustled down the path, right up to the door, his fingers intertwined with Penelope’s; finally, he had found what was missing. That little piece of himself he’d spent months searching for all over the world, had been sitting across the square, nose in a book at the sitting room window. Too often had he forced Penelope out of his mind, but not tonight and no longer would he dare try.

“Wait,” Penelope pulled his hand back in hesitation while he was reaching for the handle, “What if someone stops us?” She asked gingerly. Colin grinned wide, “No one, not even my mother, is going to stop me from getting you up those stairs and into bed” Colin’s hand found its way into her red curls, pulling her into his lips, kissing her once, deep, and long. Each time, Penelope felt as if he was stealing the very air in her lungs. She was dizzy with passion and drunk on her love for him. Colins hand pushed the doors open, the house was lowly lit for the evening. Not every Bridgerton child had made it home yet from this evening’s ball.

There was no noise about the house, and not yet a service person in sight. Colin closed the door gently behind them, and scurried up the stairs, Penelope grasping her dress up to follow his pace. “Where is everyone?” Penelope asked as they reached the first landing. Colin had a pensive look about him, placing his pointer finger over her lips and then moving to tap his ears. Pen closed her eyes for a moment, and in the distance, heard the softest pianoforte tinkling. “Francesca” Colin whispered, “Mother will be about”. His hand closed around hers again and they were off and up the stairs yet again. On the fourth floor Colin stopped, allowing both to catch their breath. Colins door swung open, revealing a well-kept, neat bedroom. Penelope waited at the door, it was so dark, and she was feeling so uncertain. Colin lit candles around the room, unveiling maps and journals covering a desk in the corner. There was a globe, golden pins stuck into little black dots all over Europe. Penelope had wanted to travel herself; she was always envious of Colin’s adventures. She had wished they had shared them together - maybe they would in the future.

Colin shrugged his blazer from his shoulders and laid it gracefully over the chair.

“Are you going to come inside?” Colin asked softly.

“I’ve never been in your room…” Pen said pensively, looking down toward the hem of her dress. Colin could understand why she was feeling a little unsure.

“Penelope” Colin approached her slowly, removing his cufflinks as he walked, “I would be honoured and frankly, besotted, if you were to join me in here. I know that I have spent much of your time denying the way I feel, but I will not be any more” Colin admitted. Their hands tangled together in gentleness and calm, comfortable. Penelope took one step forward, what felt like the greatest of leaps, and Colin closed the door behind her.

They shuffled sweet, meandering steps deeper into the bedchamber, Colin pressing his warm lips to Pen’s forehead with each sway. Breath caught in her throat, Penelope closed her eyes in the serenity of the moment, remembering how many times she had fantasised over this scenario. Perhaps a thousand times before, since she could remember, visions of Colin Bridgerton’s lips crashing into hers plagued her mind. Now, they were swaying, dancing closer than they ever had at any ball. They each were taking note of every detail they had missed in their arrogance.

Colin admired the way Penelope’s back dipped into her luscious hips, her behind. His hands rode low, resting at the base of her spine, pulling her right to his broad chest. Penelope, faced now with peeks through Colin’s undershirt, the tassels hanging down to glide over the swell of her breast, tickling her skin. When had he grown such chest hair? She pondered, peering down his shirt in an unsubtle manner. Colin moved back from her, a potentially embarrassed smile gracing his face, he pulled his long sleeve off over his head.

“Is this what you wanted?” Colin began to turn on the spot, arms wide open as if on display. Penelope let out a little laugh, but she did not look away.

“You are incredible” She mumbled, almost turning away from him but not without him darting forward, hands on her bare shoulders to keep her faced toward him.

“Pen, if you would like to wait until we are married - I would understand” Colin said quickly, fretting Penelope had changed her mind, “We can simply talk, or sit together on the floor here. Nothing you’re not ready for needs to happen tonight” Colin assured her.

Penelope gave a demure smile, gliding her thumb across his cheek. There was a long pause before Penelope had pieced together what she had wanted to say.

“I never considered the possibility of you returning my affections, Colin. I did not expect to be here tonight, or at all, really. I have dreamt of this night nearly my whole life and I am afraid that you will be left dissatisfied and disappointed” Penelope admitted, head hung low and avoiding Colin’s eye.

Colins fingers danced over her chin, faintly at first, but when she wouldn’t look at him, he persuaded her chin higher to meet his eye. Crystal blue eyes, staring at Penelope with such a sureness she had never seen in him before. Every blink told a story, one of lust and passion and wanting but also of love. Penelope could feel this, it was real this time.

Their lips smashed together, a symphony of cymbals crashing together a the crescendo of an opera. Hands moved frantically back and forth over each body, everything new and explorative. Colin’s hands kneaded at her breasts through her dress, every gasp and moan she elicited started a new fire somewhere in his body until his whole world was on fire.

“Can I help you out of that dress?” Colin asked, his eyes never leaving hers. Penelope nodded slowly, turning around so that Colin may attempt to undo the corset entrapping her. It started softly, filled with longing touch and excited hurrying until –

“Damn” Colin laughed, pulling and pulling on the laces of this corset, unable to loosen what the ladies’ maids had done to secure Penelope on the most important night of her life, or so they had thought, with Lord Debling. Penelope covered her mouth as she giggled along with him, waiting for him to at least get a start in so that he would be less frustrated. But as time went on, Colin became more and more impatient, eventually witling him down enough that he stormed over to his writing desk and retrieved a pocket knife from his drawer.

“You do trust me?” He asked cheekily, he tongue playfully poking his inner cheek.

“Of course,” Penelope nodded. Colin slid the knife in one fell swoop, straight up Penelope’s back, cutting away the corset. “I would have ripped it, had it not been made of iron” Colin pulled Pen around, arms wrapping around her, laughing along with her throughout needy kisses. Her dress fell away and after a moment, she didn’t find herself caring as much as she did before.

Colins hands found their way up under her under clothes, his skin meeting hers for the very first time. He groaned with lasciviousness, “Your skin is like velvet, the softest thing I have ever felt in my life”. Colin ran his hands over every curvature of Penelope’s body, it was the beginning of his greatest adventure – mapping every valley, dip and crevice of his future wife’s body. Their eyes met again, Colin asking for permission again to remove another layer of clothing, this time, the final layer. Penelope’s chest constricted as she nodded, her breath trembling as the material inched slowly upside her body, his hands gliding over her hips, lifting her arms into the air finally.

Colin dropped the long undergarment to the ground, stepping back, mouth agape, stunned. Penelope felt compelled to cover herself, she had always felt that way, but she held strong and managed to keep her arms by her sides while Colin took in her naked body for the first time.

He shook his head, transfixed, entranced, entrapped, as if he was trying to break a spell. His eyes hovered over every inch. His hands reached out but did not touch. He remembered to swallow, only to stop himself from drooling onto the floor. And then he came to his knees in front of her, hands placed on her upper thighs. “You are heavenly” Colin managed to say. A light, abashed smile planted itself upon her face as she gazed down at him. He was simply undone by her.

Penelope held out her hands, watching Colin place kisses about her thighs and lower belly, eventually he took hold of them, and they moved toward his bed. Colin hovered over her, taking her breast in his hand, her nipples into his mouth, swirling his warm tongue around each of them. Penelope gasped underneath him, wondering if it could get any better than this. His hands coasted her body, massaging and pulling her into him, finding the best places to hold her. Fingers looming over the edge of her belly, Penelope felt the hottest burning from her lower stomach, the wanton need for more, every touch feeling electric between them.

“Please” Penelope whimpered, Colins hand gliding lower, slipping between her thighs and finding the warmth it was seeking. His light, well-placed fingers traced tiny circles over the most sensitive part of her body, compelling harmonious moans from her lips, seeming to drive Colin to absolute desperation. His pace quickened again and again, placing pressure down on just the right spot until he had her panting in his ear, begging for more.

“My God, I want you” Colin panted, exasperated, not letting up, “I want to sink into you, and never leave this room again”. Their lips collided in messy, wet kisses. Teeth nipping and pulling on each other’s lips, Penelope on the verge of teetering over the edge. She had never known such pleasure, and relished the idea that this was just the beginning of her experience with his talents. Whist thinking about all the things she was going to let Colin do to her body, a rush of ecstasy flooded her being, her legs convulsing and clenching tightly around his hand, trying desperately to make him stop moving. She writhed underneath him, trying to stifle her moans in his deep kisses. Penelope had never been bombarded with such a feeling as that, so much pleasure she could hardly open her eyes to come back to the real world. Colin smiled charmingly above her, brushing her red curls from her face, kissing her with fervour and moving between her legs.

Penelope looked up at Colin, his broad chest and strong arms made her knees weak on any given day where he was clothed. Butterflies surged into her stomach again, as she realised what they were about to do, together. It was an excitement she would never be able to gage on a scale.

His hands rubbed up and down her thighs, devilish desire deep set in his blue eyes as he positioned himself. Penelope held one hand to her face, where she feverishly chewed on her nail, the other holding onto Colin’s arm for support.

“I love you” She admitted aloud, looking up with intimate fondness.

“You’re my best friend. I love you” Colin whispered down to her. He placed himself at her entrance and began to move forward. “Oh, the wicked things I shall do to you”, He moaned, throwing his head back as he sunk into her for the very first time.

Penelope squealed with revelry, moans of pleasure quickly following as Colin began showing her what married life held in store for them. His movements were sure and strong, however reserved for his loves first time. In the few moments it took for Penelope to become accustomed to love making, she was enjoying it thoroughly, moving up onto her elbows, kissing Colin as he thrust into her.

“Oh Colin, please don’t stop” Pen moaned a little louder than she thought.

A frenzy began in Colins body, grasping her legs and thrusting them into the air with force, holding them up onto his shoulders and pushing himself further into her now.

Of all the sex he had had in the last couple of years, nothing compared to this. The way she felt around him, the sound of her voice, the softness of her skin and the comfort of her body. There was nothing as hedonistic as this. He took his future wife by her thighs and rolled her onto her front, grasping her voluptuous hips and reefing her back towards him, thrusting forward and burying himself deep inside her.

Her fingers grasped handfuls of bed linen, screaming out in delight as she found there was another way to accomplish this. This had been her favourite thus far. She loved the way his hands sunk into her flesh, how he held her and pulled at her with such a need. Colins thrust became faster, more uneven than before and she knew the same thing was about to happen to him. Penelope arched her back to meet him, kissing his chin as he pounded into her.

“Please” She moaned into the side of his cheek, begging him for his release was all it took for Colin Bridgerton to let go and fill Penelope. His hands remained tight on her waist, squeezing and pulling her back onto him repeatedly until he had finished. “That’s my good girl. My sweet Penelope” He hushed into her ear, kissing the side of her head before pulling back and laying down next to her.

They lay together in content silence for a few moments, processing what had happened tonight. Penelope let out a short giggle, meaning for it to stay in her head.

“Happy?” Colin asked, shuffling over closer to her side, resting his hand on her belly.

“Unbelievably so” Penelope whispered sweetly.

Until the early hours of the morning, they sat together, nestled against the bedhead of Colin’s bed, talking about it all. Reminiscing about all the signs Colin had missed along the way, and everything in between. Neither of them had ever felt such comfort in the presence of someone else. It was clear to them, that this was a love match and that they wanted to be married as soon as possible.

At five o’clock, Colin helped Pen dress as sensibly as she could have and arranged the carriage to discreetly drive her to her home. She would say she spent the night with Eloise or Francesca, repairing friendships or whatnot, if someone asked or noticed. But she was sure they would not. Colin escorted her quietly to the front door, gingerly making their way down the flights of stairs, hoping no one would be awake yet.

They stood at the front door, embracing, lips slowly and sleepily pulling at each other, relegated to pretending as soon as the door opened. But the door opened of its own volition and the pair flew apart like magnets of the same pole.

“Colin” Benedict stood, shoes nowhere to be found, cummerbund half undone, and his buttons mismatched on his shirt. He swayed wearily, and looked to Penelope, “Hi Penelope” He gave a little bow, and moved out of the way as she hurried down the cobblestone and into the carriage.

Benedict walked into the Bridgerton house without so much as a word. That was until halfway up the steps, he stopped short, turned on the spot and pointed at Colin with the most dumbfounded look upon his face.

“Penelope” He whispered, the cogs visibly turning in his eyes as Colin watched the puzzle pieces shifting into place. Benedict’s eyes widened with a sobering, dramatic flair and he began sprinting up the stairs, Colin bolting after him in a nervous flurry.

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

If you'd like to be tagged in any upcoming Bridgerton fanfiction, comment below and I'll add you to a taglist!

[xyoonx]

Hi hi! Could I request a lovebrush chronicles request with all five of the boys +MC in modern world? I want it to be a cute polyamorous thing between the six of them! If you're comfortable with that of course ^-^

Something cute and fluffy and like, cafe date with them all already as cute partners or they're all just figuring out that they like each other via all liking MC first but then going like "oh wow this other guy MC knows is super handsome and cute and sweet. OH WAIT All of them are so hot and sweet and cute!!!(internal screaming because of pretty people)"

Or you can do it with them individually if this is too uncomfy!

Thanks so much for just considering this tho!! Hope you're having a great rest of your day!

Enamoured of All

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Alkaid, Clarence, Ayn, Lars, Cael . . . ♡

Summary: everyone likes everyone. Yes, this one is completely silly and for the fluff only.

a/n: ANON THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS ASK. I LOVED WRITING IT. have a nice day <333

Alkaid

He was the first to pursue her. Of course, how could the painter girl ever refuse this polite man's invitations? It didn't take her long to fall for Alkaid's charming and gentle personality; she felt her love grow with each and every gift he bought for her, even noting the smallest hints – which brand of chocolate she liked, which brand of paint she preferred to draw with, everything. And the silly adventures they went on together was enough to convince the painter to make her first move.

One day, after class, she planned to go on a bike ride across Harp Island with Alkaid. A good idea, and an even better opportunity to propose. And before the scene of a setting sun, the painter girl asked him out – and Alkaid reciprocated with a smile.

"Sure," Alkaid replied, looking at the girl, "I don't mind as long as you're okay with it."

And of course, they snapped cute pictures together, went to a café (only because the painter girl pleaded), and returned home safely. With that, the first date came to a fruitful end.

Ayn

The next day, students bombarded the painter girl with questions. Where did they go, what did they do, why did she choose him out of all people – and many other trivial questions they had better not even bothered their silly minds about.

And trying to evade the prying questions, she fled to the practice room. It was quiet almost all the time, thanks to the men in black outside, and the painter girl easily sneaked into the room – not before blowing a raspberry at one of the guards just to flex her friendship privileges with the music prodigy, Ayn.

As expected, she found Ayn on the pianoforte – practicing; honing his skills even further as his fingers expertly glided across the keys. Melodies of the piano calmed her down, and she stood nearby, listening to him play. After about two minutes, Ayn played the final note and turned back, greeting the girl with the familiar unceremonious glare. He didn't say much as usual, he'd briefly share greetings, but he was a bit too quiet today, and the painter girl saw it as the perfect opportunity to tease him.

The painter had to probe him with teasing remarks, which weren't so effective as she thought, at one point, she almost thought Ayn was about to end their friendship seeing how grumpy he was acting. That was until he finally slipped out a sentence about Alkaid, and that's exactly when she let out a squeal loud enough to make the guards outside double check on them.

"So, you do agree that he is cute, right?" MC teased, leaning towards Ayn.

"N-No, I don't!" Ayn stammered, turning away to hide the blush that was inevitably creeping up on his face. "Stop saying that. You're being so childish..."

After proceeding to refuse for about 20 minutes, Ayn did prefer to leave a very subtle hint that they looked cute together. Now, anyone would mistake that as envy, but seeing that blush on his face, the painter girl knew that was something else.

"Uh-huh, sure," she said, pursing her lips. "You know, we can add you to the grou–"

"WHAT?!" that has to be the loudest thing Ayn has ever said. "Are you serious? This is between you and Alkaid, I can't come between you two."

"Well, I can ask him and see if he agrees."

And Alkaid did. Of course, he responded that he'd be okay with it as long as the painter girl was – what else could be expected?

And Ayn still refused to believe that this was all happening.

The next date that happened with Ayn and Alkaid took place in the painter girl's house. The main reason behind this date was to make those two get acquainted with eachother and perhaps set some boundaries. And it went alright. Alkaid was like a big brother to Ayn, acknowledging what Ayn had to say, and also listening to him complain about the Music Hall. On the other hand, Ayn even taught Alkaid how to play some of his favourite video games and gave him tips to win. Seemed like a cool match, and the painter girl hoped this to sail smoothly as anticipated.

Clarence

The rumours ran amongst the students again. Pursuing both the handsome astronomy senior and the musician? Painter girl must have some serious charm for this! And the students were left baffled once more when she webbed the straightlaced student council president into this.

And the story behind this was somewhat complicated. Clarence got the information about little painter's dating incidents from William. Clarence, who thought these rumours were fake, continued to ignore the vice-president's rambling. That is until one day, when going back to his apartment after a long day, Clarence spotted Ayn, Alkaid and the little painter at a café together. Poor Clarence felt his dreams get crushed for the first time in his life.

Little painter had a lot to explain the next day...

She willingly went to the student council office, and after almost an hour of explaining, Clarence finally gave in with a sigh.

"I don't mind what you do with them," Clarence stared, fixing his glasses, "just to make you clear, I do not wish to get into this. But..."

Aha! An opportunity to tease him. "But what?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"But I would be glad if you just leave and let me work."

... Ouch.

She gave a displeased look. That was kinda unconvincing though, even the oblivious William could tell Clarence was hiding something.

"Clarence, what is it?" William asked, interrupting the conversation.

"It's none of your concern, William. Go back to wo–"

"You're blushing!" William exclaimed, almost jumping out of his seat and knocking over a pile of papers.

"....." Yep. Clarence will definitely strangle William after this.

Deciding not to accelerate the situation, painter girl only typed a message to Clarence and pressed the sent button. If Clarence wasn't mad at her for that, he would definitely accept the invitation.

Next weekend, she called Alkaid and Ayn over, for their usual hangout. Alkaid brought sparkles this time, and sparkles happily bonded with beanie – seeing that, Ayn couldn't but frown.

"What's wrong, Ayn?" Alkaid asked.

"Nothing it's just..." Ayn sneered. "I don't like animals. I don't want to be near any living creature."

Well, that's quite welcoming...

"Uh-huh, well Ayn you do have Nekko–" the doorbell cut off the painter girl, and judging from the apparent grin of her face, something definitely is about to go down. Leaping to her feet, she practically rushed to the door to get it. Lo and behold, there stood Clarence, in his blue coat. He wasn't entirely surprised to see Ayn and Alkaid there either, he did anticipate this afterall.

Though, it took a while for the painter girl to break the ice between them, they were almost natural when the aspect of playing games, especially board-games, came up: Ayn pretended to be uninterested, but eventually gave in; Clarence, being the master of all kinds of board-games, gave in without hesitation; Alkaid on the other hand preferred to watch them play, but the little painter had to drag him in as well.

Well, I suppose you can convince the Student Council President to join the chaos by bringing up board games.

Lars

Well, at this point, the students weren't surprised to see the little painter hanging out with them three. At some point, she might even tag in someone who they could never imagine. And that's exactly what she did.

On the cruise ship dinner, Lars was invited. And there, the little painter didn't even have to do anything – Lars came up and started to chat with her, making light-hearted jokes, and even treating ber ice-cream as a dessert before dinner.

"Actually, it would be better to have ice-cream after dinner." Their conversation was interrupted by Clarence, who was fixing his glasses as he spoke. Lars and the painter had to blink confusedly before speaking.

"Alright..." Lars said awkwardly. "And you are?"

"Clarence," he said. "The Student Council President."

"Oh, yeah." Lars beamed. "I saw your pictures on our little painter's socials here! She also told me you're quite the smart fella."

Clarence tried his best to look professional and not sigh in disappointment upon seeing the CEO's optimistic behaviour. The little painter really wondered where Alkaid and Ayn were – maybe they're somewhere on the deck, talking about either photography or music.

And honestly, it didn't take her much effort to tie Lars into this. He was a busy man; he couldn't visit them every weekend, but he did come by once or twice a month – and the other boys started to get used to his personality as well.

Cael

Well, this started to feel more like a found family rather than a love group. And they liked to keep it that way. They'd come by if anyone needed help of any kind, and they treated each other like their family members almost. So, when the painter told Cael about this, his primary reaction was somewhere between "that's ridiculous" and "what the fuck".

Just to prove that little painter wasn't lying, and they treated her like a little sister compared to a lover, she planned a little café date with all of them. And they all agreed, meeting up at the small yet popular café near the campus.

At first, the boys were continuing their usual talk, asking about their days, and what had been going on and all, but they all fell quiet the moment Cael walked in. Alkaid averted his gaze, remembering that Cael was the person who saw him at the mountain on the day of the accident. Ayn didn't even bother talking because he didn't know Cael much. Clarence, who didn't expect the special guest to be a professor, immediately felt a great amount of embarrassment and refrained from talking. Lars, on the other hand, happily continued the chat – starting with the formalities and asking about Cael's whereabouts. And Cael replied to the invitation just out of politeness.

After the little date, the little painter was kind of confused. Cael didn't accept to join their group, but he didn't say anything negative either. Well, suppose there's a chance. It might take a while to get him down...

[henry-etta]

[ ruby cruz, she/her, cis woman ] — was that HENRIETTA ETTA EATON? the TWENTY THREE year old is the DUCHESS of KNIGHTON, how exciting to see them this season! rumors have it they are TALENTED and CHARISMATIC, but i’ve heard they are OVERCONFIDENT and FLASHY as well — maybe that’s why they’ve been called the HOYDEN. I have even heard that SHE MUST FIND A SUITOR THIS SEASON TO SECURE HER LATE FATHER'S LINE — only time will tell.

name: Henrietta Etta Eaton

age: 23

birthday: March 31st

sign: aries

orientation: bisexual

family: Michael Eaton (father, deceased), Tamsin Eaton (mother)

title: Duchess of Knighton

label: The Hoyden

DUCHESS OF KNIGHTON — hoyden: a bold, and carefree girl; a tomboy

Henrietta was a peculiar girl from a very young age, as it was apparent to anyone who met her. It was, and continues to be, much to her mother’s dismay, but she tolerated it because it always made her father smile.

She was always loud and rambunctious, eager for play and adventure, happiest when she made others laugh. Still, she did as her mother instructed and stuck to her lessons, learning how to walk and talk properly, how to play the pianoforte, read the history of the nation, sew the perfect cross stitch. As the only child of the Duke of Knighton— much as they did try to have another— it was what was expected of her, to become the perfect, beautiful, well-rounded heir to be sought after. It should go rather smoothly by the time of her debut, considering how much status and money their family had, as long as Henrietta didn’t screw it up.

In her adolescence, she began to grow jealous of her male friends who would boast about fencing lessons, horseback riding, sailing, and the like. She knew she wouldn’t grow jealous for long, however, because as daddy’s little girl, all she had to do was smile just right, and her father convinced her mother to let her add those lessons into her curriculum. It would only make her more well-rounded and talented, right?

She had no problem in the dresses and corsets, or the speech lessons and etiquette, she liked it all half of the week. But the other half, she found herself enjoying walking out in trousers and learning how to shoot a rifle with her father just as much. It was a balance, and even if others might have thought it strange, it was what made her her. However, her mother’s last straw came at about fourteen.

One of the most beloved people in her world, her housekeeper Gabriela— who had been there the day she was born— often liked to go by Gabe, and Henrietta couldn’t stop turning over the feeling of envy and longing every time she heard that name. Sometime around this age, she went to her parents and asked to be called Henry. Her mother told her to stop being a fool at once, or the oddity would surely put her poor mother in an early grave. She rolled her eyes and conceded, but not before a compromise. From that day forward she requested to always be called Etta, and dared anyone else to try different. The name caught on, and she could leave the dreadful business of Henrietta behind.

Etta debuted two years ago, but without much pressure to secure a match and mostly just to get herself acquainted with the scene. She was already pretty familiar with the ton, but found it even more exciting to mingle and dance and socialize with everyone in their fanciest suits and most glittering jewelry. She reveled in the drama of it all, happy to get a smile and waltz out of anyone.

(tw: death) At the end of the last year, however, the fun halted to a stop when the Duke of Knighton suddenly passed. It must have been a stroke, the doctors said, but he passed in his sleep next to his beloved wife, leaving her behind and their only heir to the name and estate.

Etta has compartmentalized a fair chunk of her grief after wasting away in empty somberness for a month or two. She's tucked it away and returned to the bright and bold girl she was, though now with heavier shoulders as she learns all she can about her family's businesses and accounts. She and her mother know that much as she likes to mess around and make fun and smile at any pretty girl or guy, at the end of the season, Etta must grow up and find the husband that will take care of her family and the Knighton estate.

—

hello this is strud and my head is so empty by the time i get to connections so pls know i am up for anything and excited to figure out how everyone vibes!! i hope i didn't forget anything and i should post a plotting call soon ok goodnight

[margarettelizha]

Prompt #2: Bark

“Bastion, darling, we must figure this out before Papa gets home, he won’t appreciate such a lack of decorum.”

Bastion - who was entirely unconcerned with decorum, lack of it, or otherwise - was doing his level best to lick every square ilm of Maggie’s face he could reach.

Olivier, despite the hesitation he had displayed in Lord Angelique’s study, had indeed prepared an entire room for Bastion’s nursery. It was a much smaller room, perhaps once dedicated to housing a pianoforte or similar large instrument for practice. Any remaining furniture had been removed, sans a small well-locking cupboard that held the supplies one would require for puppy rearing. Large windows and mostly unadorned drapes filtered a rare sunny sky in beams of golden light to where their little party was assembled on the floor.

The normal operations of the household had been put on hold, Maggie and Edith entirely devoting their time to Bastion’s acclimation. He had gone for little adventures around the estate, encountering all manner of mysterious and interesting things — he was not particularly fond of the suits of armor on display. They had toured the grounds, met the staff, and spent lazy afternoons in the greenhouse for naps when his energy had been expended.

The books Maggie had requested on puppy rearing had been quite adamant about exposing puppies to as many sights, sounds, and smells as possible to produce an even temperament in adult dogs, and she was entirely committed to the education of her new charge. Cosette, one of the laundry maids, had been asked to invite her sister’s family for tea and cakes and playtime. Having no children of her own yet, Maggie was grateful for the borrowed little ones, and it had been hard to tell who enjoyed the experience more — pup or toddlers.

The cheerful chatting with Cosette’s sister as they carefully supervised little hands and little teeth had lifted Maggie’s spirits tremendously. She was grateful to have such a grand distraction. If she had been without mothering duties, she might have started a long lasting feud with their cook with the number of dishes she would need to prepare to keep her mind occupied while Olivier… while he…

“My lady, would you like to take lunch here, or in the greenhouse today?”

Edith’s warm voice found her through the fog, Bastion having fallen asleep in her lap again where she was mindlessly petting him.

“Greenhouse, if you please. He’ll sleep like the dead now, it won’t hurt to move him, and when he wakes we’ll have a nice walk.”

She followed Edith out, little collar and leash in hand, Bastion tucked sweetly into her arms. Her progress through the house meandered, trying and failing to keep her mind from wandering with her steps. The intrusive thoughts of what Olivier could be doing at that very moment lurked in the back of her mind, a thing with half-hidden eyes that waited relentlessly to strike.

“When Papa gets home,” she said to the dust motes in the corridor, to Bation’s soft ear with softer curls, to herself, “We shall have a lovely time, just the three of us. We have to get you all fit to travel if you’re to come with us. Airships can be quite scary the first couple of times, but I think you’ll take to it quite well.”

‘Papa’ was something she kept trying on like a hat, undecided whether to bring it home. She supposed that with their own children, it would be a choice Olivier would have to make for himself, but every time she spoke the word it curled into the corner of her mouth. It felt warm, as though she had just pulled it from the hearth, soft on her tongue, quiet and steadfast just like him.

She was letting the idea of motherhood in as a cautious acquaintance - unfamiliar, and full of possibility.

”You know what they say… puppies are good practice for children.”

The door to the greenhouse swung easily open, and Maggie pressed a small kiss to the top of Bastion’s sleeping head. Her little world was changing so quickly, with the season, with the times, with every sun — best not to rush.

[loveseternla]

name:    seraphina adele newcombe    monikers:    phia.    titles:    lady seraphina    age:    twenty three    birthdate:    november one.    orientations:    demisexual  &  demiromantic.   gender:    woman.    pronouns:    she    +    her.    place    of    birth:    london , england.    location:    mayfair,    england.    faceclaim:    milly alcock.    height:    five foot.    hair    colour:    blonde.    eye    colour:    blue.    family:   charles newcombe & tabitha newcombe nee fitch , three older brothers ( two twins )

the   newcombe   duchy   of   albany   is   a   sea   of   perfection   ,   each   child   no   doubt   a   product   of   their   parents   ,   &   it   was   no   difference   for   their   youngest   .   seraphina   newcombe   was   born   on   a   warm   day   ,   unusually   warm   for   that   time   of   year   ,   but   with   a   piercing   cry   ,   &   hair   whiter   than   imaginable   the   newcombe   family   was   complete.   

the   girl   was   born   the   youngest   &   only   girl   of   a   family   of   boys   ,   &   in   turn   was   raised   by   men   more   than   her   mother   ,   escaping   lessons   &   pianoforte   lessons   in   favor   of   chasing   after   older   brothers   &   riding   horses   ,   practically   anything   that   avoided   the   responsibility   of   being   a   lady   ,   the   daughter   of   a   duke   &   of   course   ,   while   scolded   by   her   mother   ,   the   inconspicuous   wink   from   her   father   told   her   it   was   all   okay.

the   marriage   season   hold   no   interest   ,   in   younger   years   she   would   watch   the   girls   in   their   pretty   dresses   parade   around   ,   but   now   ,   having   to   be   in   those   horrid   dresses   ,   the   lady   has   no   desire   to   participate   &   is   often   adventuring   around   the   manors   ,   escaping   her   parents   &   brothers   chaperones.

[guyclement]

[URBEX] THE ABANDONED HOUSE OF THE PIANIST | LA MAISON AU PIANO VIDEO - N'hésites pas à t'abonner à ma chaîne et activer les notifications 🔔pour être informé de mes prochaines explorations et découvertes! Feel free to subscribe my channel and activate notifications 🔔to be aware about my next explorations and discoveries! Une exploration aux portes de Paris. Cette aventure dans une maison avec un piano et ses meubles reste exceptionnelle au regard de sa situation. An exploration at the gates of Paris. This adventure in a house with a piano and its furniture remains exceptional given its location. Eine Erkundung vor den Toren von Paris. Dieses Abenteuer in einem Haus mit einem Klavier und seinen Möbeln bleibt in seiner Lage außergewöhnlich. Una exploración a las puertas de París. Esta aventura en una casa con un piano y sus muebles sigue siendo excepcional dada su ubicación. Un'esplorazione alle porte di Parigi. Quest'avventura in una casa con un pianoforte e i suoi mobili rimane eccezionale rispetto alla sua situazione. Eksploracja u bram Paryża. Ta przygoda w domu z fortepianem i meblami pozostaje wyjątkowa, biorąc pod uwagę jego lokalizację. Исследование у ворот Парижа. Это приключение в доме с фортепиано и его мебель остается исключительным, учитывая его расположение. Retrouvez-moi sur les réseaux / Follow me for daily content: 👍 Facebook:  Urbex Guy Clement  https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?.. . 👉 Youtube  URBEX Guy Clément  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCNhQ... 📸 Instagram:  @abandoned.urbex.world    / abandoned.u.   .     🎵TikTok: @urbexguyclement   / urbexguycleme.   .     🐦Twitter: @GuyPellegrin   / guypellegrin     #abandoned #lostplace #urbex

[yohancrifeofficial]

WordPress Development: Everything You Need to Know?

What is WordPress? What is WordPress used for?

WordPress is a widely-used open-source platform that is the simplest and most popular way for businesses to create quality websites. Developing and maintaining a WordPress site is known as WordPress development. 

Currently, WordPress powers more than 43.2 percent of websites on the internet, and more than 500 websites are created with WordPress every single day. 

The possibilities for what you can create with WordPress development are endless. Businesses gain from having a wide range of themes and plugins with lots of extra features and design choices.

Before you start building your WordPress website, here are 5 things to keep in mind:

1.Purpose and function: Set your purpose, the features you need, and your goals for your website. Whether it’s a blog, online store, business website, portfolio site, or whatever, the goal should always be to sell products, share knowledge, and build a community.

Your WordPress site is the ultimate playground. It’s more than just an online presence; it’s your virtual superhero.

Being a smooth operator isn’t just about looking good. Every element, from the interactive forms to the easy navigation, has a purpose and helps you establish your site as the go-to source for all things amazing.

With its sleek design and robust plugins, your WordPress site is your platform for engaging, impacting, and expressing yourself. Whether you’re creating a blog, an e-commerce store, or a portfolio site, your WordPress website is the perfect combination of style and functionality.

2.Content Planning & Images: Content planning and images are key to the success of a WordPress website. The right images, combined with well written, engaging content, will draw people in and enhance their experience on your site.

A satisfactory user experience increases the likelihood that users will stay, explore more pages, and return later.

Building a WordPress website is like building a gallery online.

Your masterpiece is enhanced by the images that serve as its brushes. With eye-catching images, carefully organized content, your website is like the stage for your digital narrative.

In the world of WordPress development, content planning is like taking lines of code and turning them into pictures.

It's not just about functionality. It's about creating a user experience that's like flipping through a well-illustrated story book.

Welcome to the coding adventure, where every image tells a story.

3.Theme and customization: Customizable themes allow you to customize the user experience to meet the specific needs and preferences of your target audience. You can match your website's visual identity, logo and brand colors to the design of your website.

A custom theme will help set your site apart from the competition.

Your WordPress website is more than just a website. It is a digital runway for your fashion sense.

Style is your power to personalize and themes are your clothes. You can customize your color schemes and layouts to make your site stand out from the competition. It is more than a website; it is an online hare couture.

If customization is the most important toolkit for your WordPress development, then the theme is the fashion of code! It is important to style your code to match the look and feel and utility of your project.

With the flexibility of customization, you can create a masterpiece of your code style.

4.Execution and Hosting: Hosting is an essential component of WordPress development because it has a direct impact on your website's performance, security and overall success.

Your website's speed and responsiveness are directly related to your hosting server's CPU, RAM and storage capacity.

When it comes to WordPress development, hosting and implementation are like the conductor's and pianoforte's of the digital orchestra. The notes (or the code) are defined by the implementation and are guaranteed to be executed flawlessly by hosting.

Creating a work of art online requires more than development. Consider hosting and implementation the backend employees of your WordPress website.

They take care of the daily operations while implementation sets the stage. They are the secret heroes of your online audience and ensure that your digital show runs smoothly.

5.The Importance of Search Engine Optimization (SEO):Search engine optimization (SEO) is an integral part of WordPress development for a variety of reasons. SEO enhances the visibility, usability and overall performance of your website.

When SEO best practices are followed, SERPs rank your site higher. Your website gains organic traffic through SEO tactics that are effective.

Additionally, SEO improves the user experience by optimizing the content and structure of your website. Think of SEO as a magic wand that will make your WordPress website an overnight success on the internet!

Being the Queen of the Internet is not only about ranking high, but also about the final touch that will make your site shine in the wide world of the internet.

Who is a WordPress Developer?

What is a WordPress developer? WordPress development is the process of creating and maintaining a WordPress website for a business.

A WordPress developer is a person who knows a lot about the WordPress platform and its infrastructure.

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[ebook-2]

The Enchanted Isle https://ebook-2.com/ebooks/the-enchanted-isle When an unexpected storm hit their ship, a group of adventurers found themselves stranded on a remote island. With no sign of rescue, they had to rely on their survival skills to endure the harsh conditions.

Among the group was Emily, a fearless leader and experienced survivalist. She took control of the situation, using her knowledge to guide the team on how to find fresh water, build shelter, and set up traps to catch food.

Over time, the group noticed strange happenings on the island. Mysterious lights flickered at night, strange artifacts appeared in the sand, and distorting whispers seeped through the dense trees.

#theenchantedisle #enchanted #enchantedisle #theenchantedisle:australianpianomusic #theenchantedisle:melodiesforamillenium #isles

the enchanted isle,enchanted,the enchanted isle: australian piano music,the enchanted isle: melodies for a millenium,l.: symphony no. 2 / the enchanted isle the enchanted isle,isles,character,isle of man,frank hutchens,isle,thecakecrafted,the emerald isle,sleep,chabot,solent,island,isle of man folklore,crafted,arpa e pianoforte duo,sheeran),davenant,tan lee ean,ethangamer,ethan gamer,scottish country dancing,pianoforte,cakecrafted

[bella-daonna]

Rivals Au 2.0 - Character Backgrounds / Prologue

in the discord i was wildin a lil about my cool pride and prejudice inspired au [LOOSELY inspired]

i was asked to elaborate and totally intended to do this by giving a summary of the plot points and such but... well, that didn't happen and this happened instead. here u are!

Once upon a time, Siobhan Doherty, a noblewoman of good name but meagre fortune, found herself attending the theatre. There, she happened to meet a young man by the name of Akinyemi Adedayo. He was tall, strong, charming and handsome, and he had fortune aplenty due to the business he had inherited and continued to build. Unfortunately, his name was not one that would spur expressions of recognition in the circles that young Siobhan’s family preferred to keep. His charm and generosity captivated Siobhan, and her fiery nature and rebellious streak drew Yemi in like a moth to a flame. Their love was strong enough to defy their families’ thoughts on the matter, and they wed. Yemi took the Doherty name in order to appease his beloved’s family, and considered it a small thing if it allowed him to be with the love of his life. In any case, the Adedayo name lived on in the name of his mercantile company. The couple were deliriously happy together, and in time, they had a beloved daughter named Callan.

Cal had her father’s taste for adventure, and her mother’s stubbornness. It is not altogether clear from where exactly she got her impulsiveness, but Siobhan insists that it is nothing to do with her. Having grown up with rather more freedom than her peers would be accustomed to, Cal would grow up to be something of an anomaly amongst other children their age. They would insist upon accompanying their daddy to visit his ships, and it was not an uncommon sight to see her hitching up her dress to scramble up the rigging or climbing over barrels while her father conducted meetings and laughed heartily at her antics. She learned to embroider (poorly), to sing (passably) and to dance (very well). Unfortunately, she was also subjected to lessons in etiquette from her governess, although these became fewer and further between as she learned how to better evade them. The final nail in the coffin, however, was on the eve of her fourteenth birthday, when the young Lady Doherty learned what a marvellous thing it is to kiss someone. She was never the same again.

Meanwhile, somewhere not so very far away in time or space, a gardener and his wife had a little boy. They were not rich, but they were happy, and they had what they needed. The boy’s name was Keagan, and he grew up bathed not in luxury, but at least in happiness. He supposed that he would follow in his parents’ footsteps, and so that is what he learned to do. But simultaneously, he taught himself the art of charm and persuasion, he studied business and mathematics and history and anything else he could get his hands on. He was a very bright child, and even as a boy he had great ambitions.

The gardener worked for a powerful noble family, and served well, and was trusted and liked by the man of the house, who also had a boy Keagan’s age. The young heir to the family name and fortune was called Damán. He learned to hunt and to shoot and to ride, and (begrudgingly) to do sums. Occasionally he would spend time with Keagan, but the boy was far too serious and – to be quite frank – far too boring for him. Keagan was, however, the only boy Damán’s age who was less than a carriage ride away, so despite the wishes of both, Damán and Keagan spent rather a lot of time together as they grew.

Yet another household welcomed a little bundle of joy of their own. She was born with a golden spoon in her mouth, surrounded by maids and servants and attendants, and grew to have long locks of beautiful golden hair. Her parents named her Penelope, and raised her to be the epitome of a woman of society. She learned to embroider, and to dance, and to play the pianoforte and the harp and to sing. She learned etiquette and manners and feminine wisdom, and she was raised to be the perfect wife to a man of good name, breeding and fortune. Perhaps even a Duke! The possibilities were endless.

There were, of course, a great many other children born to rich and poor alike, but if we listed every one of those then we would be here all day, would we not?

[pastelvampyre]

if you follow me for music (which you probably aren’t but who knows) i’m going to be doing a 2ish hour piano livestream sometime this week on my instagram! i’ll be practicing my classical exam repertoire, probably playing some modern stuff as well, and chatting about music.

my instagram is @pastelvampyre if you’re interested!

[altrusimsworld]

If you are finding best piano lessons this is a great way to learn piano click learn to more

[jesslockwood]

rakes | chapter two

pairing: regency!Harrison Osterfield x regency!reader

words: 2.1k 

warnings:  bridgerton s1 spoilers, swearing, mentions of sex

a/n: this took me forever to write because i wrote the ending ish and I have even the whole end part planned out lmao. now I just need to write up to it lmao. 

Please Reblog and Like if you enjoy!

series masterlist

You awoke startled, sweaty, and with tears streaming down your face. It had been from a nightmare, of your first season’s debut. You knew that things could not go as horribly wrong that night did, yet, you were afraid deep down it might. 

You could never forget the piercing scream that rang through your body as you watched helplessly, your worst unknown nightmare becoming real in front of you, and being able to do nothing for your parents. 

After sitting in your bed for what seemed like hours, you decided to get dressed at the start making a list of what you had to do in haste to get ready for the season’s rush.

There was so much to do and so little time, so you knew one worry could be put at ease if you planned it all out. At least then your mind would hopefully quiet down the thoughts in your head. 

Sitting near the window with it open, you watched the sunrise, wondering how your dear William was doing. You had left hastily, not even with a goodbye to him. It was too painful to be in Grosvenor square where all your fondest memories had been with your deceased parents. He was of course in those fond memories, yet it was too painful as you saw your father in him, and the man he became because of your father being a parental figure to him.

You wondered how he was handling being the earl, especially without the guidance or help of anyone. Especially since your presence is missing. You wrote to him all the time, yet he had no return address to send it to so you knew not much of how your dearest sibling was doing.

You knew not much of duty of being a man and running an estate and the burden weighed on society of being an earl, yet you knew the pressures and gossip and betrayal all too much so you knew it could not have been easy. 

You only wished as much that you could have stayed for William, yet you knew your body would not let you stay as the fear would crawl into your bones, rotting you into some sort of insane spinster. 

You stretched your body out after sitting for too long on the uncomfortable chair, deciding it was time to head on out- “the earlier the better”- you thought.

As soon as you stepped out into the hall you had turned, and collided with a strong torso, almost falling to the ground. Strong arms had caught you before you took a nasty spill. 

“Pardon me-” you whispered quietly, as you then realized the close proximity of you and the man that had caught you, his face very close to your own. 

He looked disheveled slightly, with his golden locks out of place slightly, and a small amount of dusting of freckles that adorned his face. His icy blue eyes had been staring into yours, almost too cold to even look into, yet you felt a sense of curiosity to capture the color of them in your mind. You also had noticed the closeness of your bodies in this very moment, almost too scandalous to even think of in society’s ton. 

“Apologies, Miss.,” he said with a slightly crooked smile that could make any woman melt at this moment. 

He helped you regain your balance on your own two feet, before heading towards the stairs, giving you a lopsided smile again, nodding at you, and went downstairs.

You were almost too stunned to move from the interaction. You had never been as close as that to a man in your life. It gave you a small chill down your spine, even thinking about him, the mystery man. 

You were pulled out of your thoughts when your maid, Lucy, was walking out of the adjacent room to yours. 

“Madam, shall I fetch the carriage?” she asks you politely, suddenly snapping you out of your entranced state. 

“Yes, we should get going.”

Arriving at the Bridgeton home was, interesting to say the least, in a good way. It had been around noon, after your stop at the modiste, picking up dresses for the most -well- dreaded season, and you had been welcomed by most of the Bridgerton ladies in the drawing-room, embraced by Violet, asking for your time heading to their home. It was quite a shock as the chaos yet love could be felt in the room, as whom you were assuming the two youngest were arguing of some hair ribbon, and two of the other elder brothers of Daphne’s were in some heated debate about god knows what, and one sister was writing in a journal of some sort as the other played the pianoforte. 

“Welcome dear, to our home. I apologize in advance for the chaos, we are getting ready for Elosie’s first season, and our masquerade ball.”

“No need to apologize, Lady Bridgerton. Thank you for letting me stay until William gets in tomorrow. I just couldn’t stay in the house alone.”

“Please call me Violet! And any friend of my family is welcome here. Children, This is Lady Y/L/N.”

“If I am to call you Violet I insist you all call me Y/n” she smiles warmly towards you, “Eloise, could you please show Y/n to her room, I’m sure she is but tired from her journey.”

She comes out of her trance of writing responding to her mother, “Of course Mama.”

As you walk out of the drawing-room with her she looks as if she’s in deep thought. 

“I have so many questions to ask of you! How were you able to travel? I only thought men such as my brother could do so, yet here you are!”

“Well when my parents passed, I just- well, couldn’t stay here, so I ventured off with what my bro- erm, cousin, William had given to me. I went to visit some other cousins in France and had gone off to other parts of Europe. It was better than I had ever imagined. But now my duty is to my family, and the adventure has stopped, for now at least.”

You had stopped walking when you reached a door, that you assumed was your room.  

“That is incredible, I shall wait to ask more of you, later on of course.”

“Why don’t you show me the grounds and I shall tell you more, right now, and you can tell me about yourself, Eloise.”

Her face lit up.

“I would quite enjoy that!”

After walking around their grounds, you had sat on the swings on a tree, telling her all about your adventures, and she told you about herself and even told you quite a bit about Lady Whistledown and her venture in trying to find the writer behind the pen. It had been a few hours, probably nearing dinner time, but you felt at ease with Eloise. At least, you knew you had a friend in her, that hated society almost as much as you,

“I cannot believe you went in the ocean on the beach! Most ladies here would assume it unlady-like!”

“Well, I am especially not one for lady-like behavior! Especially structured by vicious mamas!” you both laugh together at that comment. Oh how you both knew of the shocking behavior of the ton’s mamas. 

“I believe we should head in now, Dinner will soon be ready, and I can only assume you are starving since we only had biscuits earlier.”

You both get up stretching your legs lightly, before heading indoors. 

You felt warmth sitting at the dinner table, though not typical, it felt like they truly loved each other, and actually enjoyed each other as a family, something you had longed for from your own family, especially for William’s sake.

William had never felt like he belonged in your family, at least not fully. The warmth you and your parents tried to give to him almost did not get through his thick skull, that you had accepted him as an esteemed member of the family. You had always wondered if it was because his true father never accepted him until he needed him to fulfill his wants. 

“So, Y/n are you excited for the season?” Anthony cuts through his current conversation, to include you. 

“Probably something of the sort. I am quite intrigued to see how people have changed.”

“Well, most have not, especially the men.” 

You laughed slightly at that. 

“Well do tell whom to stay away from.” you joke.

“If you have not read the most recent lady Whistledown I assume you don’t know.”

“I’m not quite sure I’ve ever heard of a Lady Whistledown?” you question, curiosity getting to the best of you. 

“Lady Whistledown is a gossip writer, under a pen name, whom, however, mentions people in the ton in name, by name in full.” Eloise cuts in.

You raise a brow quizzically. That was unheard of. 

“She mentions you in her most recent edition” Hyacinth mentions, before going back to throwing peas strategically when her mother wasn’t looking at her brother Gregory.  

“I’m sure Eloise has it if she hasn’t already shown you.” now you were fully intrigued. There was truly only one main thing you thought the writer could write about.

“She wrote about Lord Holland today, and might I say he is pretty dreamy.” Francesca pipes up, before earnings glare from Anthony and a kick from Eloise.

“Ow!” 

“If I didn’t do it, Anthony would have and he kicks harder.” 

You giggle at the family’s interactions. You only hoped you could have one as close as the Bridgertons.

“I see we are quite the entertainment for our guest tonight. I guess there’s no need for Eloise to get on the pianoforte. God knows I’m in motion for that.” Benedict adds before earning a kick from Eloise as well. 

“Ow!”

“Back to the topic at hand, I’d stay away from Benedict for certain.” Eloise says, which erupts you five into a fit of giggles, before getting your end of the table gets a hard stare-down from Violet, almost as if to say ‘behave’.

“So I'm assuming other than Daphne missing, the letter C, Colin, must be the one travelling? Daph did mention he would be writing me asking about the best places to travel.”

“Yes, Colin is the one travelling, but was the letter system too obvious of whom is which?” Benedict asks in an amused manner. 

“I think it’s adorable, and if you must know I find it orderly.”

“Don’t tell my mother that, or she won’t stop talking about how ‘Lady Y/n complimented her naming system’.” Benedict jokes.

You laugh before you see Eloise bringing out what you assumed was the gossip sheet. She hands it to you before you read it over, turning slightly pale at the mentions of your family so intimately.

Harrison had made it into town earlier that afternoon, only to be wondering why Mama’s, and Ladies alike- married or not- had been whispering and pointing at him. On the other hand, he had been met with a warm embrace from his wonderful sister Charlotte, and loving Mother, Phil, only to be dragged by Charlotte for her to tell him to read the latest Lady Whistledown, a woman he knew he hadn’t heard of, nevertheless thought he’d fucked. 

He however listened to his sister and her worry, before being shell-shocked by what was on the page. 

“Charlotte what the hell is this? And who the hell wrote it?"

“Lady Whistledown is but the biggest anonymous gossip columnist, and everyone reads it. Haz what am I to do if no suitors show interest when I am eligible for marriage? What if I end up a spinster?!”

“Char, I won’t let that happen I promise you.”

Harrison was determined to make sure charlotte never had to worry. She was the most lovely of any woman on the market and he would make sure she had a shot. 

“Wait Osterfield, you’re saying, you’ll Woo whoever is the most desired by the queen and marry her?” Tom askes very confusedly as to what sparked this in his bestfriend.

“Yes Tom, That is my plan,” Harrison replies before taking a sip of his drink again.

The two men had reunited at the Bridgerton’s gentleman club, talking over Harrison’s not so genius plan, according to Tom.

“Do you know how many mamas loathe even the sight of you right now? Especially because of Lady Whistledown.” Harrison’s face scrunches up, cringing at that. 

“Yes, I know already. But if I can just get in the good graces of Lady Whistledown, then I know any mama will turn around! maybe if I form an attachment with someone she might see that I’m serious about marrying. Don’t you have that cousin? Zendaya?”

“That’s a terrible idea, Harrison. Also, Zendaya is now going to be under my care according to my mother. She told her father, who is ill,  I’d watch out for her during the season to find her a suitable husband.”

Harrison gets a mischievous, conniving look on his face as the gears turn in his brain. “I said suitable Haz! Her father would have a heart attack if you came near her!”

“Fine, but can you at least convince her to show interest in me to the other ladies? So I can find a wife?”

Tom rolls his eyes before downing his drink mentally hating the idea, but agreeing to try for his almost brother,  even if he didn’t think he’d find a wife.

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[auradonian]

meet priya !!

THE HONOURABLE MOWGLI RAMA OF THE JUNGLE IS PROUD TO PRESENT THEIR CHILD, THE HONOURABLE PRIYA RAMA, FOR THE UPCOMING SOCIAL SEASON. WE HEAR THEY’RE TENACIOUS AND SHARP, BUT CAN ALSO BE ALOOF AND MISTRUSTING.

name: P. M. Priya (Priya Rama)

age: 26 years old

parents: Mowgli

homeland: The Jungle

gender: Cis Woman

sexuality: Bisexual, Aromantic

PINTEREST HERE.

Miss Priya Rama was never meant to have a social season.

It had never been customary for the young ladies (or gentlemen) from The Jungle to learn the ways of society. Some might go so far as to say it was unnecessary when so few found their way out of The Jungle and into the ‘Ton in the first place. Dancing the quadrille, playing the pianoforte, and learning to host elaborate dinner parties were frivolous matters, part of a different world. And for Priya, any knowledge of that other world had begun to fade the minute her mother, Shanti, left.

Miss Shanti, a young woman who was a proper Member of Society, met Mowgli when they were but children. Her family had taken a voyage together when their ship lost its way. They were quickly taken in by the village on the outskirts of The Jungle, and they lived there for weeks until their rescue ship was able to reach them.

The second time Shanti’s family came to the village, two years later, it was on purpose. A short stop, only for a few days, and with a few gifts in tow - parasols, fine silks, unique foods from elsewhere, and book after book served as tokens of gratitude.

Shanti’s third visit was six years later, for just under a year.

It was a purposeful escape, with villainy still afoot across several lands. It was also purposeful in that Shanti was soon expected to find a husband. Her parents had not noticed her escape until it was too late for anything to be done.

Shanti and Mowgli were childhood loves who never married.

By the time Priya was born, eleven months after Shanti’s final arrival in the village, her parents had finally managed to track her down.

She was there. And then she wasn’t.

Priya was raised by her father, other members of the village, and the animals in the nearby Jungle. She grew up with a deep appreciation for the nature that surrounded her and never felt that her life was at all lacking. And she had been fully prepared to live out the rest of her days as a perfectly content villager.

But then a letter arrived.

Twenty-six years of life, and it was the first letter she had ever received from her grandparents.

It had been an invitation to spend the summer with them, to get to know both them and her mother (and her husband and children) on their estate. And with it came the offer, if her schooling was sufficient enough for “their standards,” to function as a governess for the youngest of her half-siblings.

She said no.

Her father insisted she say yes.

Back and forth they went until Mowgli’s urging towards adventure finally pushed Priya over the edge.

That was a month ago. Since then she has been shoved into more sparkly dresses than she can fathom, questioned about every book she has ever read and every language she has ever even somewhat attempted to learn. As a governess, it has been determined that she will suit. As a member of the family?

To the public, Priya has been presented as a distant relative of the family. Her status as Shanti’s child, as it turns out, is a secret even to the other members of her immediate family (the husband and children line in the letter had been misleading, to say the least). And truthfully, her season is more of a formality than anything else.

Priya wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting when she boarded the ship that brought her into Auradon Proper, but nothing that has transpired thus far has lived up to expectations.

She has not gotten to know her mother, has not gotten an answer for why she left and never returned, and has not felt like a member of the family for one moment. Add on top of that the fact that it feels as though she is floundering in the public eye and Priya has had just about enough of her life in Auradon. She is on the precipice of turning seven and twenty - it is far too late for her to change her ways or her thinking about her family.

But if there is one thing that Priya is not, it is a quitter. Stubborn to a fault, Priya is determined to make it to the end of the social season with her head held high before she promptly returns to The Jungle. And nothing, neither the snickers of those that are well seasoned in Society nor the suspicious eyes of the eldest of her half-siblings, the continued parental distance nor the extreme homesickness, can deter her.

[magesmiths]

let your heart be your guide

Regency AU // Nat Sewell x Lottie Fitzwilliam // part one

Rating: General (will go up)

Word count: 3,495

Read on AO3

The first time she sees her, it’s from across a busy dance hall, mid turn, whilst in the arms of someone else. All evening, the music has been too loud, overwhelming as she tries to enjoy the dancing, a feat now rendered impossible by the presence of one unknown woman. Her smile is what she notices first; open, genuine as she converses with the gentleman standing next to her.

And then she’s looking right back at her, Lottie is sure of it, the wide smile falling slightly as big brown eyes watch her. It’s as if the world narrows, focusing on only her in a moment of pure, blinding clarity.

(She will, months later, whisper between breathless kisses how difficult it was to remember the steps, to keep turning her head away from the beauty that had ensnared her.)

The dance finally comes to an end and she barely remembers to thank her partner for the dance, his request for another fails to reach her as she scours the crowd for her again. It doesn’t take long, for the tall woman is easy to find even amongst all these people; standing near the edge of the room amongst instruments more valuable than Lottie has ever seen. A small smile pulls at her lips as the relief washes over her. Her pulse quickens as she takes the figure in, both anchored by her presence and set adrift by the fluttering need to know her bursting from within.

If this is what the poets speak of, their words are not enough to capture the truth of it.

She edges slightly closer, breath catching in her throat as she notes a loose curl of hair falling into her soft, serene face - tries to banish the accompanying need to tuck it back behind her ear - and elegant fingers skirting over the pianoforte. Silver rings glint in the light, holding her focus as she watches the gentle caress of the keys. She doesn’t press down, the instrument makes no sound, but her fingers ghost over the ivory as if playing a song from memory. Lottie wishes she could hear her music.

Tearing herself away, she searches the room for someone - anyone - who might be a mutual acquaintance, attempting to maintain an air of calm through the urgent hammering of her heart.

She needn’t have worried. Salvation finds her.

“Miss Fitzwilliam?”

Lottie spins on the spot at the sound of her name, skirts swirling around her, and finds herself facing her. Tina Poname, an old friend, who had spoken Lottie’s name is stood beside her and Lottie tries to control the smile from taking over her entire face.

Lottie tears her eyes from the woman’s face, from the quirk of a smile on her lips - beautiful is not a good enough word, she thinks - and desperately tries to remember her manners. “Miss Poname!” She gives a curtsey. “I did not know you were in Bath, I am delighted to see you.” Her eyes, unbidden, flick back to the deep brown ones behind him to find they are watching her.

“And I you.” Lottie doesn’t miss the smile on Miss Poname’s face as she begins her next sentence, “May I introduce you to Miss Natalie Sewell? Miss Charlotte Fitzwilliam.”

She curtseys again as she looks back to Miss Sewell, her name - Natalie - running through her mind, wondering how it would feel to say, how it would sound. “I’m honoured to make your acquaintance, Miss Sewell.”

“The honour is all mine, Miss Fitzwilliam.” The deep voice, saying her name so softly, sends a flutter through her. “I have not seen you in Bath before, are you often here for the season?”

“Never. It is my first time.”

The smile on Miss Sewell’s lips - oh those lips, she could stare all day - grows at her words. “Well, I hope we’ve made a good impression so far?”

“It’s a beautiful city, I have yet to see much of it though.”

“Indeed, it is.” Tina’s voice forces Lottie’s gaze away from Miss Sewell. She had almost forgotten she was there. “My apologies, you will have to excuse me,” She leans in close to Lottie as she passes, “I have just seen Mr Verda dancing of all things and you know I can’t bear missing a chance to tease him.”

She gives a brief bow to them both and walks off, skirts rustling. Lottie turns back to Miss Sewell, has a moment to take her in as she watches Tina reunite with their friend. Lottie has to crane her neck a little to look at her face. Her skin looks impossibly soft, warm brown almost glowing in the candle light.

Miss Sewell turns back to her and she feels herself grow warm at being caught staring, but can’t bring herself to look away. “Is there anywhere in Bath you would recommend going whilst I’m here?”

It’s been mere minutes, but Lottie is already accustomed to seeing the smile on Miss Sewell’s lips; hopes it’s a result of her company, though she suspects it’s more of a permanent fixture. “I would always recommend the library, I spend much of my time there. I suppose there’s the obvious: the Roman Baths. They are quite beautiful, though the city has become more of a resort in recent years, they are certainly worth seeing. The history of the hot springs is fascinating, formed from water fallen thousands of years ago.”

Her brown eyes, wide and bright, are enchanting. Lottie feels as though she could fall into their depths as she listens to her explain the intricacies of rainwater reacting with limestone, her soothing tones like a sweet wine.

“I apologise,” She looks bashful for a moment and looks away. “You don’t want to hear the history of how rainwater turned into hot springs -”

“On the contrary.” Miss Sewell raises an eyebrow as her eyes flicker back and forth between Lottie’s. “I would happily listen.”

One side of Miss Sewell’s mouth quirks up, and she nods at Lottie. “I’m grateful for your kind words, however a tour guide may be better equipped to explain the science behind it if you are interested.”

“Perhaps you could be my tour guide.” Lottie watches as Miss Sewell rolls her lips together and avoids her gaze.

There’s a moment where she wonders if she’s been too bold, too forthcoming with what burns inside her. The suggestion was light, hopeful even, but it’s a dangerous thing. A risk worth taking, she thinks. Lottie has rarely been one to hold back from temptation, no amount of admonishment could quit her from chasing her desires. And this, this is no fleeting want.

She feels a twinge of regret bubble up inside her, hopes to rectify what she has done, almost prays that she has not ruined the chance of even friendship between the pair, when Miss Sewell looks up.

When they make eye contact again, those brown eyes seem darker. “Perhaps I could be.”

That night, when Lottie is home and under her covers, replaying the evening in her mind, watching it play out on the ornate ceiling above her bed, she lets her mouth form her name. Just once in a whisper barely audible even to her.

“Natalie.”

---

The Assembly rooms are busy again. It is by far the most popular place for a social occasion in Bath, or so Lottie’s aunt is wont to tell her. She would roll her eyes if it wouldn’t earn her a reprimand.

Though, in this instance, she probably wouldn’t complain at being brought here again. The possibility of seeing one Miss Sewell set her heart aflutter.

She had never been a fan of romance novels, though she was always expected to have read the latest by those around her. She preferred an adventure, something thrilling. The feeling of anticipation, the possibility of something exciting with every turn of a page, it was like no other.

But even that feeling was nothing to this.  

They are barely in the door when Lottie is craning her neck to see over crowds. She should be thankful her brother and aunt are too consumed by each other’s conversation to notice her distraction.

“Are you looking for someone?” A soft voice comes from behind her and she closes her eyes briefly to savour it.

“Miss Sewell,” Lottie turns and inclines her head at the taller woman, more beautiful than her memory could do credit.

“Miss Fitzwilliam.” She bows her head in return, her smile widening. “So, were you looking for someone?’

“No, I was merely looking around.” Matching grins tell another story.

“Have you met my brother and aunt?” The two step forward beside her to be introduced. “Mr John Fitzwilliam, Mrs Anne Fitzwilliam. May I present Miss Natalie Sewell.”

Lottie watches as Miss Sewell curtsies and begins easy conversation with them. She struggles to look away as her new friend charms her infamously hard to please aunt, her endearing countenance putting all at ease. Her soft laughter pulls at Lottie’s lips, and she should try and compose herself lest someone catch her looking like a lovesick teenager, but it’s too hard to care at this moment.

When the Fitzwilliams eventually excuse themselves, Lottie lingers for a moment, looking up at the taller woman, heart beating so loudly it drowns out the music in the next room.

“I hope to see more of you this evening, Miss Sewell.”

“And I you, Miss Fitzwilliam.”

There’s a moment of silence between them. They both refuse to be the first to break eye contact and it is not just the corset that’s making it hard for Lottie to breathe.

“Your aunt is waiting for you.” Miss Sewell eventually breaks it and nods towards the doorway.

“Yes. Of course.” Feeling herself flush, she finally steps away. Sparing one last look, she smiles to see she is still being watched.

---

Lottie finds her near the pianoforte again on their third meeting, can’t stop the words that slip from her lips in her eagerness, foregoing any formal greeting. “It’s a beautiful instrument.”

An easy smile graces Miss Sewell’s lips. “Indeed. Do you play?” Her eyes are still on the instrument. It’s a grand thing, though it seems untouched in this corner of the hall.

“Not as well as I should like.”

“I’m sure you’re far better than you care to admit.” Miss Sewell turns to look at her then and the crinkle of her eyes tells Lottie that she relishes the blush blossoming on her pale cheeks.

The younger woman lowers her eyes, a small smile appearing on her face “I would hate for you to be disappointed, Miss Sewell. So I shall venture never to play in front of you and prove you wrong.”

“Oh, but that should surely break my heart.”  

“You leave me in an unfortunate position, Miss Sewell. I must either disappoint you, or break your heart, neither of which is remotely desirable to me.” They’re both smiling now, and Miss Sewell’s eyes flash with something , darkening as Lottie continues. “Perhaps you could help me improve.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Lottie barely contains the shiver that courses through her at the words.

---

The pair have formed a ritual of sorts by their fourth meeting, unspoken - though the words need not leave their lips for them both to agree, each seeking only the other on nights like these.

They spend the first few hours fulfilling their duties, dancing and mingling. Lottie can barely stop herself from looking Miss Sewell’s way, though she feels her gaze oft pulled. Round and round she goes, dancing with men who may as well be faceless for all the draw they have.

Balls and dances tend to last upwards of six hours, and it’s remarkable to find someone able to dance the whole night. It is even more unlikely to find someone willing to do so. Miss Sewell, a lover of dancing, would happily spend the entire time on the dance floor were it for the right partner. As it was, the right partner was occupied and, regretfully, off limits.

Although it isn’t unheard of for two women to dance together, she dared not ask the Master of Ceremonies for permission. Want as she might, Miss Sewell was of the belief that even the opportunity to touch Miss Fitzwilliam, in the tender way that dancing requires and not merely in an accidental brush of fingers in a busy room, would render her incapable of letting go.

The company they find when obligation is finally fulfilled is easier than any Lottie has ever known. She can’t help but feel a lightness in Miss Sewell’s company, a happiness founded on merely the others’ presence.

Lottie closes her eyes, a smile growing on her face as she hears the opening notes of her favourite piece. Dancers gather on the floor and she watches as the pairs bow to each other before taking up the first position.

“Are you to abandon me for another dance?”

“Well, I know few others here, save for my brother and aunt, and otherwise preoccupied friends.” Her gaze flickers towards Miss Sewell who is still watching the dance floor, a small quirk to her lips. “I think you can be safe in the knowledge that I will remain in your company.”

“Now that is a wonderful reassurance.”

They watch a little longer and Lottie can’t help but wish she was watching her companion on the floor instead.

“Will you not dance, Miss Sewell?”

Dark eyes meet hers, smile fully blossoming on curved lips. She can’t help but watch them as her friend speaks. “Are you asking, Miss Fitzwilliam?”

She feels herself redden, and the smile on Miss Sewell’s face grows wider. She leans close, and Lottie can feel the heat of the whisper on her skin. “Don’t tell me either way, I couldn’t bear to know if not.”

She turns away again, leaving Lottie to stare.

Two women who find comfort and fulfilment, not in the attentions of those around them, but in each other, have more power than any man in their presence could hope to wield. For what is man if his attentions are unneeded? Undesired? Unwelcomed? He is nothing.

It is, however, another matter entirely for man to know that.

“Good evening, Miss Sewell.”

Her head turns slowly to face the voice.

“Mr Marks.”

A handsome man with blond hair and brown eyes stands before them, his approach gone entirely unnoticed by the women before him.

“I trust you are well this evening? Is the Miss du Mortain here in Bath too?”

“I’m afraid not, she preferred to remain in London for the season. And you, Mr Marks? Have you been in Bath long?”

“Only a fortnight, I’m due to be here for the rest of the season.”

Miss Sewell only smiles in response, leaving the man looking between the two women. Lottie wonders for a moment why she doesn’t introduce them when Mr Marks’ smooth voice interrupts her.

“I should rather like to ask your friend here to dance.” He gestures to Lottie, inclining his head slightly, and she blinks, taken aback. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a cool mask wash over Miss Sewell’s usually friendly features.

“Is it not presumptuous that you should ask a lady to dance without having first made her acquaintance? Some may consider that rather bold, sir.”

“Fortune favours—”

Lottie lifts her hand to her mouth so as to cover the smile growing there as Miss Sewell cuts him off. “Oh, you can do better than recite an old proverb, Mr Marks. A learned man such as yourself must have a plethora of words at your disposal. I’m sure you can enchant my dear friend here with a few of your own.” She folds her hands in her lap, long brown fingers sitting neatly against the dusky green of her gown and holds his gaze, a smile firmly set on her lips.

They both watch as the man before them reddens, opening his mouth and then closing it abruptly. He looks away.

“No? Perhaps your time will be better spent with women already in your acquaintance, Mr Marks.” Lottie has never heard her speak like this, still all politeness in her words, but there’s something underneath, a finality in her tone that sends Mr Marks on his way. “It was a pleasure to see you, I will pass on your regards to Miss du Mortain.”

Mr Marks finally finds his voice, “Forgive me, Miss Sewell,” He nods first at her companion, then at Lottie, “I forgot I already promised this next dance to another.” His eyes linger for a moment on the latter, offering a tight smile, before he turns away, coat tails swishing behind him.

Silence falls over the friends as they watch him depart, neither needing to look at the other to know they have matching smiles on their faces.

“Do you have a history with Mr Marks, Miss Sewell?”

Her smile falters slightly. “I suppose you could call it that.”

“A scorned lover, perhaps? One of many of yours, I’m sure.”

“Scorned -” She turns quickly to look at her, mouth open and brow furrowed in protestation when she sees Lottie’s smirk. “Oh, you’re teasing me.” She purses her lips and shakes her head, narrowed eyes not leaving Lottie’s. “Ironic, as you should be thanking me.”

“Oh? You didn’t want the two of us to have an acquaintance? I couldn’t tell.”

She scoffs. “I would not deign to introduce you to the likes of Robert Marks. I only wish I had been afforded the same privilege, then we might have avoided the altercation altogether.”

“Don’t say that, I rather enjoyed the altercation , as you call it.”

Miss Sewell watches her, brown eyes flickering between hazel ones, the smile that Lottie is beginning to associate with her own happiness working its way onto her face. “Have you plans this week?”

Lottie only shakes her head in response to the sudden topic change and looks toward the dance floor, cheeks still tinted pink from Miss Sewell’s previous attentions.

“I will be going to the Circulating Library tomorrow. Would you like to join me?”

“Only if you do not laugh at how few great works of literature I have read. You will have to give me recommendations.”

“Do I ever laugh at you, Miss Fitzwilliam?”

“Frequently.” Lottie forces her lips in a frown that refuses to hold.

“How can I ever earn your forgiveness?”

The smile is inescapable now, the corners of her lips pull up on their own accord, and Lottie turns to face Miss Sewell, not expecting her dark eyes to already be focused on her.

Before Lottie can think of anything to say, they are interrupted once again. Her brother approaches with a man whose name she pays no attention to, requesting a dance. There is no escaping this time.

Lottie stands, sparing a wistful, apologetic glance at Miss Sewell and she takes the arm of her partner. She watches as Miss Sewell, never alone for long, is approached by someone.

Lottie can see her from the other side of the wide circle as her eyes look up under those dark lashes. Miss Sewell watches her instead of her partner, inclines her head and curtsies, a smile pulling at her lips that makes the butterflies in Lottie’s stomach take flight. Barely remembering to bow herself, Lottie’s eyes finally find her own partner, who doesn’t appear to have noticed her distraction.

They dance in circles, stepping in, and around their partners. At one point Lottie finds her fingers barely brushing against Miss Sewell’s as they pass each other, in a moment too quick to hold onto, though her mere presence warms her through.

It’s a slow, measured dance; one focused on maintained eye contact between partners and hands held up, close to their partner, but never quite meeting.

Lottie later remarks, in a rare, treasured moment of privacy whilst waiting for their respective carriages, that the dance is needlessly complicated and Miss Sewell smiles at her, drawing close.

She whispers, careful to not quite touch — lips so close that Lottie can feel her breath on her skin, “It’s about the anticipation, Miss Fitzwilliam, the build up to that moment you are allowed to touch.” She reaches a hand up, brushing a loose curl back from Lottie’s face. She feels her eyes flutter closed as fingers just barely ghost over the back of her neck. “And then,” her lips are so close, she knows if she turned her head she could feel them, soft against her skin, “it’s about relinquishing it,” Miss Sewell moves away, and Lottie’s body moves of its own accord, attempting to follow, “just when you’re eager for more.”

She does not need to open her eyes to know the smirk on Natalie’s face.

Once again interrupted, their carriages pull up. “Tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow.” The word is sweet on her lips, a promise of something more .

[endlessly-cursed]

Happy FFWF! Any headcanons for Blyle and their children? 🥺❤️

Blyle and their children

Blanche spoiled Lyle during their first morning as a married couple: brought him breakfast to bed, covered him in kisses, etc

Tbf her father told her to conceive a child during the honeymoon and that worried Blanche because Lyle seemed excited to be a father

And Lyle ofc knows his wife and asked her what ailed her, and she told him

He told her that nothing would make him happier, but he didn't want to force her to anything and that all she should worry about is enjoy her married life and that her father had no longer control over her

Thorough it, they only left the bed to eat and have a walk

A week after returning, Blanche spotted that her period hadn't come since that private dinner the night before leaving the inn

She of course went to see her doctor and confirmed it: she was pregnant.

Lyle was then swarmed with work and she took it as a chance to create her own announcement. She wrote to her brother and sister in law and started knitting the socks that were white.

One night, after Lyle finished his work, Blanche took him to their garden and gave him a small box where he found the socks “Blanche... are you sure?” he asked

“Why, dearest, I am nobody to doubt a doctor's judgement!” She teased, her eyes full of emotion.

He then placed his hand on her belly and chuckled, small tears pricking in his eyes.

He of course had a whole speech of how she had made him the happiest man alive

Nine months later, their first son was born, and he favoured Blanche, with his same eyes and golden hair whom they called Vincent Robert. He grew to be as mischievous and adventurous as his mother and as responsible and dutiful as his father, being the apple of his mother's eye

A year and eight months later she found herself pregnant of her second child, who'd result on another boy, Richard Florian, who was Lyle's personification, though he had some of Blanche's features.

Two years later they had their daughter Melissa Charlotte, who Lyle became besotted with and seemed to be also her favourite parent.

Despite their age difference, there was never any rivalry and Blanche and Lyle raised their children the same.

Missy was amazing at languages and numbers, meanwhile Richie excelled at history and arithmetic and Vince excelled at duelling and fencing.

The kids were their parent's pride and Blanche raised them mostly during ten years.

When she went to study abroad once she turned thirty-three and her children were 10, 8 and 6 she begged her sister in law and her brother to help Lyle with the kids and during years she tried her best to visit during the holidays and Lyle and her wrote often, always sending each other love letters despite their long marriage.

When she returned, they vowed to never part from the other and Blanche started working with the Staggs.

Vincent was sorted into Ravenclaw while Richard was sorted into Slytherin and Melissa was sorted in Gryffindor.

Blanche always sang to her children before bed and read them books in French and Greek to help them learn.

Lyle taught all of his children about the family business, not caring that it wasn't proper and it was a task only for the firstborn son.

Lyle never took important decisions without Blanche and when his children got old he always regarded their decisions on business

Blanche made sure that all of her children knew how to play an instrument: Vincent played the violin, Richard mastered the flute and Melissa played the pianoforte