#oc: ivy bonnet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fleet-of-fiction · 5 months

Text

Jake Kiszka // OC

Summary: The year is 1820. Jacob Thomas is the second born son of the Polish-American Kiszka family who have recently bought property in England. The affluent family have caused a stir in the old aristocratic London social circles after purchasing Belvoir Hall. A country estate which once belonged to the Hanover family. After the death of Sir Oliver Hanover, his debts too many to count, ashamed and disgraced his widow and two daughters move to live with their Aunt at nearby Ivy Grange, a small manor on the Kent border. After returning to recover some personal items, Eleanor Hanover catches the eye of the flirtatious second son. (All locations are fictional)

Warnings: Loss of virginity. All the usual foreplay shenanigans and sexual descriptions you have come to expect from the erotic corners of my mind. Nothing too nefarious. Just delicious regency era raunch.

Jacob was ascending the stairs when the bell began to chime. He turned, curiously, as the chamber maid appeared at the foot of the staircase to greet whomever stood on the other side of the door.

"Who is it, Kitty?" He asked, his boots making low thrums on the stone floored lobby of Belvoir Hall.

"It's Lady Eleanor, Sir." Kitty replied, standing aside so that Jacob could get a good look at her.

Immediately, he was amused by her. As was his nature. To stand there with an egregious grin that was neither comfort nor welcome. His long, dark hair surpassing his shoulders against a white linen shirt that was unseasonably open to his bare chest.

He liked the way her eyes were immediately drawn to his flesh. A small flush appearing in the apples of her cheeks as she lifted her gloved hand to cover her astonished mouth.

"Lady Eleanor." He said curtly, in the American drawl that had been talked about at great length between Eleanor and her friends. "What can I do for you?"

She was a bold thing, he noticed. Clearing her throat before gathering a stand-offish demeanour about her. Turning, ever so slightly, to ensure that her escort was still standing by the waiting carriage behind her.

"Would it be possible to speak with..." She faltered on the correct title,"...Mrs.Kiszka, please?"

Jacob's lips parted as he continued to smile. Enjoying the way she fiddled with her tiny little clutch bag, flustered and pained by his arrogance.

"My apologies Lady Eleanor, but my Mother is currently indisposed. May I be of service to you?" He said it with an edge of insincerity, as if the service he wished to provide her might not be the one she so desired.

Straightening up, she placed a hand to the edge of her bonnet. Careful to ensure her pretty, dark curls were still in place. His eyes followed the movement of her fingers.

"As I understand it, your Mother and Father procured much of our substantial library in the sale of our house." She managed to say, keeping her voice plain and steady, not wanting to give him any indication that she was completely intimidated. "There are a few titles which are dear to my heart and I have come to appeal to their good nature and ask that I may reclaim those books."

He was young and foolish. Never too enamoured with a girl to ask for her hand in marriage, but often interested enough to play with her heart until he was bored of it. Since arriving in England, the rogue in him had been left untamed.

The way he leaned against the door frame, his shirt unbuttoned, was making her uncomfortable. But still, he did not move to properly attire himself. He did not cease in his relentlessness to bribe a coarse word from her lips.

"I see no reason as to why you may not have what you desire." He said sardonically, opening the door a little wider. "Kitty, please show Lady Eleanor to the library."

There was a little hesitation as she approached the door. His arm slowly moving out of her way, his smile never once leaving his face as he watched her enter. Knowing her way to the library but following the servant obediently, she dared to glance back at him standing there as she turned the corner.

Kitty had also been part of the house sale. Similar in age to Eleanor, she had grown up playing in the endless corridors and secret rooms which littered the top floors of the manor. Taking her position as chamber maid on her fourteenth birthday. No longer Eleanor's playmate. It had made little difference, the two of them remaining friends in the convening years.

As the library door closed, Eleanor fell into her friend's excitement. Kitty, unable to retain her sense of propriety, embraced her old friend tightly, giggling as they both enjoyed a sweet reunion.

"Oh, Kitty! I have missed you!" She exclaimed, looking around the old room to happily notice that nothing had changed. "I feel as if I have come home."

Kitty smiled bittersweetly. "Oh, my Lady... the place hasn't been the same since you left. I dare say everything looks as it once did, but it's a different Belvoir Hall these days."

Grasping her hands tightly, Eleanor lead her friend over to the leather couch that centred the walls of book shelves. A table and a lamp that had once belonged to her Father sitting idly at the side. This room had been her absolute favourite. A quiet place to contemplate.

"You must tell me everything, Kitty! Mother has been dying for news over at Ivy Grange. She mulls over it day and night, how we lost Belvoir and everything within it. She's melancholy, I tell you. Simply ghastly. Aunt Helen has been at her wits end. Give me something I may take back for her that may make her smile, wont you?"

Kitty's eyes moved towards the door, afraid to speak ill of her new masters. Leaning in so that her whispers did not travel beyond her dear friend's ear.

"It's their children, my Lady!" Kitty said spritely, cupping a hand around her mouth. "The master and his wife, they are nice enough people. Came here because of a population boom, as they explained it, returning to their European roots. Although I was lead to believe they are Polish? I don't think they speak Polish. Anyway, their children are a different matter. The eldest one, Joshua, he is an odd creature if ever I saw one. Keeps to himself mainly. Rather studious and contemplative. He likes a drink though, and to converse with any who will listen after a few sips. The one who greeted you at the door, that's his younger twin. By five minutes as I understand it. He and their younger brother are tyrants. Jacob and Samuel. I have seen the youngest one with his hand up a few skirts, many a time. You remember Bessy? Your Father took her on just before he died. She did not stand a chance. He's had her up against the wall almost every night since they arrived. And Jacob? His tastes seem a little more sophisticated. But I've heard tale that he has refused to marry. The young girl, Veronica, she's been sent to a school somewhere up north. She was here all of a week before she was gone."

Their conspiring was etched all over their faces as the door clicked and opened. Kitty unceremoniously jumped up from the couch, flattening out her pinafore and hair as Jacob strode in with all the confidence of a man who knew his place.

"Leave us." He said, lowering his voice and his gaze.

Eleanor raised a protesting hand. "If it is all the same to you, good Sir, my escort is waiting outside and as a guest I am certain you must provide me with one whilst I am within."

The corner of his mouth turned upward. "As you wish."

Kitty stood with her back to the door. Her eyes firmly set on the window, overlooking the gardens outside. Fingers knotted together at her front, as she had been taught to stand whenever attending a room. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jacob take a seat on the opposite end of the couch. Certain he was being far too bold.

"You are welcome here any time, Lady Eleanor." He said smoothly, crossing his leg across his lap. "It must still feel like your home."

The kindness with which he spoke took her by surprise. His insincerity and arrogance were still bubbling beneath a veneer of charm, his arm outstretched towards her on the back of the couch. She noted the way he looked at her, without a hint of propriety.

The flush within her cheeks began to resonate between her thighs. The fabric of her petticoat becoming uncomfortable. Her corset feeling as if it might constrict her chest into breaths she could barely take in. The sensation washing over her completely unwanted, leaving her desperate to flee.

"You're very kind, Sir..." She began, trying to remain composed.

"Call me Jacob, I insist." He replied before she could finish, a subtle waves of his hand revealing the silver lines of an old scar running up his forearm.

"Jacob." She uttered, the name spilling out of her mouth like spun silk.

He liked the way it sounded on her lips. Admiring her budded peaks and poised demeanour as she sat bolt upright with her hands within her lap. Her attempt to hide her rosy cheeks beneath the rim of her bonnet made him eager to cup her chin within his hand and lift her gaze to meet him.

"You are not yet married, Lady Eleanor?" He asked, shooting a disparaging look towards Kitty, "May I be so bold as to ask why a beautiful woman such as yourself has not yet accepted the many proposals I am sure you have received?"

Kitty could feel his eyes burning into her. Her mouth was set in a thin line, biting back the urge to speak ill of her masters son.

"You may not." Eleanor replied, " I am here to collect my books, nothing more."

He noted the thin line transform into a triumphant smile on Kitty's face.

"Very well." He allowed, swiftly moving away from the couch. "Pick out your beloved books and I will have them sent to you as I'm certain there will be many."

There was a hint of reproach as he took his leave. Eleanor felt the wind leave her lungs as he closed the door behind him. The interaction so brief, so inconsequential. Had she imagined the way he had looked at her?

"Careful there, my Lady." Kitty warned, "He's a tyrant, remember?"

Ivy Grange was much smaller, less grandiose than Belvoir. It had taken Eleanor several weeks to acclimatise herself to the surroundings. Where once there had been a full service staff of housekeepers and groundsmen, stable hands and game keepers there was now only a handful of people to keep the land and rooms. It still felt somewhat shameful. To have lost everything so suddenly and to see another in the place where you once stood.

For days after returning from Belvoir, Eleanor did not feel quite herself. Taking air in the garden and keeping herself occupied with the piano in the day parlour. It had felt strange to be a guest when it still felt like her home. But it wasn't that which kept her unsettled.

As she strolled around the rose bushes, taking in their scent and admiring their soft, round pink petals she was reminded of that symbiotic stare. His arrogance and his kindness at war with one another. He was an enigma, she had decided, as she studied the rose stems.

Why did he come into her mind so vividly and so uninvited? She found herself irritated with all the thoughts which had plagued her. Wondering if he had meant to steal from her the emotions she had felt that day. Is this what tyrants did?

"Ellie?! Oh, Ellie... where are you?! Must you always be where I can't find you?!"

The voice chimed over the mid spring breeze. The child like call of Elizabeth Hanover, Eleanor's younger sister.

"I am here!" Eleanor called back, lifting her head to be seen over the pink and green. "What has got you all excited?!"

At fifteen years old, she was entirely the opposite of her sister. Eleanor was only bold because she feared the interrogation of being asked why she had not yet married. Elizabeth was still young enough to enjoy not being asked that question. Still full of hope and wonder. Eleanor had no desire to marry a man who would no doubt drink himself into a stupor every night and gamble away their wealth. Sir Oliver Hanover had much to answer for when it came to his eldest daughter.

"Oh, Ellie! There's a Gentleman come to call for you. He's ever so handsome! He's American, with that long hair. And he has asked to speak with your directly. Ellie...is he one of those Kiszka's that moved into Belvoir?"

Eleanor could see that her sister had been instantly charmed. She placed a loving hand on the cool, flushed cheek of her little sister. Her eyes looking up expectantly.

"I expect so, yes." She replied, looking up over the lawn towards the house. "He greeted me when I visited the other day."

Elizabeth clasped her hands together. "Which one? The youngest one? I have heard he is terribly handsome. And the man at the door was terribly handsome..."

"Lilibet, please." Eleanor said, stroking the cheek slowly. "Calm yourself down. They're just silly boys."

"You always say that." Elizabeth replied, feeling the excitement drain from her, "He's speaking with Mother. And I don't think he's a silly boy at all. I think I would be greatly flattered if one of them were to call for me."

Of course, it was Jacob. Under the guise of returning the books she had chosen from the library. A chest full of them stood at the foot of the door, a look of absolute satisfaction on his face.

Eleanor's Mother, Lady Anne Hanover, had already agreed to Jacob escorting her eldest daughter on a stroll around the gardens whilst the books were placed in the smaller library at Ivy Grange. A look of consternation was exchanged between Mother and daughter before Eleanor invited him out into the warm spring sunshine.

"I did not mean to cause offence to you the other day, Lady Eleanor." He began, following her lead down the path which meandered down from the back of the house. "I'm sure you are aware that I, too, am as yet unmarried and grow weary at being questioned."

Eleanor politely nodded. "There was no offence, caused. Sir...I beg your pardon, Jacob."

There it was again. That smile as she spoke his name. His entire body turned to face her. Still amused by her. Still charmingly arrogant.

"I dare say our parents were hoping a change of location would bring about some changes in our marital statuses. As yet, none of my siblings are betrothed. Although they hope that my sister will return from her schooling up north with news of a proposal."

Eleanor could feel that tightness in her corset again, that familiar ache in her stomach. She stopped to admire the flowers.

"May I ask why you have called upon me like this, Jacob? It seems to me that you have no desire to marry and courtship would be far too much of a commitment for you. Because, as you can see, I have no desire to be courted."

"Is that so?" He replied earnestly, gesturing for her to lead them further down the path. "I had wondered if Kitty had filled your head with nonsense about me and it appears that I was right."

She dared to look at him directly. The sun beating down behind him, forcing her to raise a hand against her eyes. She noted the details of his face for the first time. The sensual way his mouth moved, the tip of his tongue moistening his lips. A tiny mole on his cheek and a little upturn of his nose at the tip.

"Where did you get that scar on your arm?" She asked, deciding that she was going to humour him.

He was quite taken aback, but did not hesitate in his response.

"When I was a child my brother and I were having a disagreement. He thought it could be resolved with fists and so we fought. I ended up with my fist cutting through a glass cabinet that had belong to my Grandfather and the result was the opening of my arm." He traced the silver line with a curious fingertip. "Joshua saw the blood and immediately ran to fetch our Mother, who promptly fainted at the sight of it. I don't think either of us can remember what the disagreement was about."

Eleanor nodded and proceeded to guide him into the seclusion of the pond which sat behind a row of beeches. The lily pads were in full bloom and the fish scuttled up to the surface as their reflections appeared on the rippled surface.

"Am I to believe that you are not the tyrant I have been informed of?" She asked pertinently. "Is that why you have come here? To ensure that the stories which proceed you are not to be believed?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I would be interested to hear which stories are circulating. My Father intends to host a party in the coming weeks. To formally greet everyone and make their proper acquaintance. I'm sure you will receive your invitation shortly, but I would hate to be stuck in a room full of people who think me a tyrant."

The wind picked up. Pulling a curl from Eleanor's head. He took note of it immediately, reaching to push it back from her face. She did not flinch from the touch as he thought she might. There, at the side of the pond, they were completely alone and unescorted. Jacob sensed a shift in her manner with him.

"Only that you and your younger brother have had your fill of the women around here in such a short space of time. With no regard for their honour." She said curtly, with no regard for his feelings, eager to see if he would respond graciously.

He was no longer amused. No longer arrogant, even.

"I cannot speak for Samuel. He is younger than I am. Likely his behaviour will catch up to him if he is not careful." He sighed then, almost as if it grieved him. "My only wish is to find a girl who will run free with me."

Yes, he was a rogue. But he was no tyrant. She peered into his soft eyes and saw all the promise of a man who couldn't exist within the walls expected of him. Walls that had kept her, too, caged like a wild animal for others to spectate.

"Why is it that you carry yourself so arrogantly?" She dared to ask. "You do yourself no favours."

There was an errant smirk there on that beautiful mouth.

"Better to be thought of as something that I am not, than something I am failing at being."

Eleanor could not deny that she was intrigued by him. If she had ever been intimidated, it fell by the wayside as she watched him gently fan away a bee that came to buzz around their heads. Ordinarily, she would have panicked and swatted it away herself. But she could not keep her eyes off him.

"What, precisely, might you be failing at being?" She probed further.

"Romantic." He replied stoically.

There was a change in direction of the breeze. It brought about that curl from behind her ear. He would have trespassed a kiss, but the hour was growing late. Instead, he positioned that curl back behind her ear, his hand lingering a little longer at her face.

"I think it would be remiss of me to say that you are not without romance, Jacob." She said, almost breathlessly. "But I fail to see how any of that has anything to do with me."

He almost laughed. A low, breathy mocking sound that hurt her feelings.

"You are not blind, Lady Eleanor. Nor are you stupid." He said then, all the laughter fading. "You do well to be careful with me, I am but a man. And though I strive to do better, it is true that I have known my share of women."

"Perhaps you are tyrant after all." She said quietly, her eyes falling listlessly to his lips. "Perhaps I have need of one."

As the carriage pulled up outside Belvoir Hall, Eleanor Hanover smoothed out her emerald green dress. Adorned with lace at the neck and wrists, she checked her reflection in the carriage door window and admired the warm, welcoming lights resonating from her former home.

London society was buzzing with excitement for the first formal occasion hosted by the mysterious new American family. There was no mistaking that they were new money. Mr. and Mrs. Kiszka, without any further titles, welcomed Lords and Ladies to their sprawling home with all the uncertainty that came with being new money. But money they had, in abundance.

It was clear to see as Eleanor stepped into the ballroom. Adorned with silk flowers which hung ostentatiously from the ceiling and climbed in vines down the staircase. A string quartet were playing lively music in the corner while the waiting staff mingled with silver trays of champagne.

Aunt Helen was the first to make a comment on the choice of flowers. Lady Ann agreeing with her most excitedly as they tried to pick the place apart and make it appear that they were happy to attend a party in the place they had once called home.

"Where do you suppose the sons are?" Elizabeth asked, scanning the room for handsome young men.

Aunt Helen, although old and dithering, placed a firm hand on the young girls shoulder. "Now, now, Lilibet. Have a care for your reputation."

The young girl rolled her eyes. "It's a party, Aunt Helen. Am I not allowed a little fun?"

"Fun you may have." The old woman replied sourly, "Dance if you wish. But stay away from those Kiszka boys, I have heard... things."

It didn't take long for their arrival to make heads turn. People gathering to ask how they felt in their old home, being hosted as guests. Eleanor took her opportunity to step back from the fray, smiling and nodding as she took a glass of champagne.

Parties had never sat well with her. The meaningless cycle of mind numbing chat and gossip. The judgements of those attending, pretending to like their neighbours whilst talking ill of them behind their backs. People getting far too drunk for their senses. The music and the joy which came from that was the only reason she attended. But tonight there had been another reason.

"That's Joshua Kiszka on the fiddle." Elizabeth announced, inexplicably coming forth with information she couldn't possibly have procured so quickly. "Look at him, Ellie! Isn't he dreamy?!"

Eleanor looked over the where the quartet were playing. A small, curly haired man playing a wistful tune.

"That man is twenty six years old, Lilibet. There is to be no more say on how he is dreamy." She scolded, watching her sister skulk off with her excitement yet again dulled.

Jacob was sitting quietly in the darkest corner of the room, beneath the staircase where he could watch the party unfold without engaging himself within it. He watched Eleanor arrive, keeping a close eye as she looked for him. Distracted by her sister's incessant wants, he found himself intrigued by the way she took herself to the edge of the room to spectate, in much the same manner he was.

His desire to make his presence known was quelled by the eyes he knew would be watching. To approach her in this room would have drawn unwanted attention. As he rose from his seat, he slowly made his way through the crowd. Nodding his head in greeting to those who raised their glasses. His eyes firmly set on Eleanor.

When she reciprocated his gaze, it was as if the music had stopped. She understood completely what was expected of her. The room fell silent to him, her shape was all he could see. He silently begged her to leave with him. From across the room.

"Lilibet." She said, leaning in to her crestfallen sister. "Do you think our rooms have been slept in by one of the boys?"

Oh, she was evil. To use her sister to such an end. But as Jacob ascended the stairs, his eyes reaching back to call her to him, she knew there was no other way to slip out unnoticed.

Elizabeth, predictably excited by the prospect of going to investigate, knew that she was being watched.

"Why don't you keep Mother and Aunt Helen occupied whilst I go and have a look? I can report back."

The idea was not without it's rewards. Elizabeth mulled it over for the briefest of moments before sidling off to keep her Mother and Aunt's attention.

Whatever madness was coursing through her veins in that moment, she heeded it. The candlelit corridor at the top of the stairs was where he waited for her. His shirt unbuttoned in the way it had been that first day she had returned to Belvoir. His hair cascading over his shoulders.

He picked up a candlestick and began walking down the corridor, Eleanor following his silent instruction. He halted at the door of her old room.

"This was yours, wasn't it?" He correctly predicted.

She nodded prophetically. "I suppose it is yours now."

His smile danced in the light of the candle. He opened the door and allowed her to slip beneath his arm, the light of the moon outside flooding in through the open window. He watched her run to the glass, placing her palm flat against it as she looked out over the gardens.

"You look exceptionally beautiful tonight, Lady Eleanor." He said, placing the candle down on the dresser by the door.

She watched him in the reflection of the window. Standing there like a ghost. Her heart fluttering wildly against her corset strings. He looked dangerous standing there like that.

"Thankyou." She swallowed, "You look rather dapper yourself, Sir."

She thought he might correct her, but to her surprise he didn't. He liked being called Sir. He had been called it more often of late. Drawing from it a need to hear it outside the realms of propriety.

"Why did you come up here, my Lady?" He asked, taking the buckle of his belt firmly into his hand. "I do not plan on being an honourable man."

"I know." She breathed, turning to face him in the flickering light of the candle flame. "I did not follow you to be honoured."

His breath ceased. If his expectation had been to steal a kiss, he began to wonder if she would allow him more.

The four poster bed was unchanged. Eleanor had spent many nights in those sheets alone, wondering what it might feel like to have a man at her side. As she glanced over at the bed frame, a flash of something emerged in Jacob's eyes.

"I must confess that I have been completely at your mercy since the moment I laid eyes upon you." His confession came unbound, unlooping the belt savagely from his waist.

Eleanor thought back to that day far more often than she cared to admit. He had ignited within her something which had been dormant. Perhaps opening an answer as to why she was yet to marry. In truth, all the men who had ever asked her had bored her to tears. Not once having elicited from her the visceral reaction in her core that Jacob had with one, fleeting glance.

"Would I be right in thinking that whatever may transpire here tonight, you have thought about it often?" She asked, noticing in the dull light the way his jaw was clenched tight.

"A fair warning to you, Lady Eleanor. If you have yet to know a man's touch. Let it be known before I lose control of myself."

He placed his belt down on the dresser slowly. Never breaking the way he stared at her.

There was a real sense of fear permeating from her in that moment. A kiss or two had been stolen by former suitors. One of them had even managed to draw her into a moment of feverish petting that had been interrupted at the precise moment Eleanor had come to her senses about the stupid boy. But nothing more.

"What kind of woman do you take me for?" She asked, knowing full well the sort of woman she was. " You are well aware that I am unmarried."

"Unmarried women do not always walk through life without carnal knowledge." He surmised, taking a step towards her.

He would have taken strides to cross the room and taken her into his arms without further question were it not for the door opening behind him.

The candlestick that entered first causing Lady Eleanor to retreat back towards the window. The hand which gripped it tightly belonging to her friend, Lady Jane Corbett.

Jacob, in his haste to remove her, caught her in a delirious grip. The hand that reached out to strike him landing in an iron grip around her wrist that would surely leave a mark.

"You brute!!!" She screamed, throwing the candlestick down onto the wooden panelled floor. "I knew you were a fiend!"

He stomped the flame out. Eleanor stood watching in horror as the poor girl was tackled on to the bed. His hand pressed firmly against her mouth lest her screams alert others to the predicament.

"Have you lost your damn mind, girl?!"

It appeared that she had. Eleanor had known Lady Jane all her life. The two of them navigating the same social circles that their Fathers expected them to find suitable husbands within. Coming of age in the same month. Confiding in each other their distaste for all the eligible men who had come forward.

"Release her, immediately!" Eleanor flared, coming to her senses as she realised how harshly he had dealt with her.

He did as he was bade. Stepping away from the crying girl with his palms in the air. Defeat etched across his distraught face.

"I only meant to calm her, Lady Eleanor. You see how distressed she is."

"Indeed I do." Eleanor agreed, helping her friend to rise. "And what is the cause of this distress?"

"I am." He replied solemnly.

"Be more specific." She added, wiping the tears that fell down Lady Janes cheeks.

Jane, certain she had behaved foolishly as she began to sober, looked up at the kindness being shown to her and regretted her decision to follow them.

Jacob had been all that she could think of. Consumed entirely by him. She had been his first conquest after arriving at Belvoir a month ago. Inconsequential to him. A mere plaything. Regretfully rebuffing her repeated advances thereafter.

Lady Jane was a creature of habit. And he had drawn from her a habit she ached to have more of. But she was not pretty in the way that Eleanor was. Nor as interesting. Jacobs desire towards her waning almost the instant he had kissed her.

For that was all it had been. One kiss. In the day parlour downstairs after the Corbett family had been the first to win the race to welcome the new owners of the largest estate in the county. And it had driven the poor girl mad.

"Lady Jane, I meant you no harm." Jacob said softly, with the most kindness Eleanor had seen him muster. "But this has to stop. I have no intention towards you."

She was limp in Eleanor's arms. "There was an intention towards me the day you kissed me..."

It was all to much for her. The champagne and the music and the crushing realisation that Jacob had never wanted her. Turning to Eleanor, sinking her head into her open arms, she was lead back out into the corridor.

"Come along, Janey... let's find your Mammar and Pappar and see that you get yourself home." Eleanor coddled, striking Jacob with the most venomous stare.

He was still catching his breath. "I mean to have you, one way or another."

She caught his scent as she escorted her friend out. His words echoing as she left him stood there. Returning to the party felt like an unfinished symphony. The evening playing out much as she had imagined it would.

Lord Corbett bundled his daughter into their carriage and apologised for her demeanour. There was much talk of her drunkenness in whispers thereafter. For Eleanor it felt as if she had embarked on a journey she'd had no desire to travel. Her eyes moving towards the staircase as Jacob watched her from his elevated position.

Perhaps he was both charming tyrant and the man she had always needed. Her attention was solely transfixed on him. It didn't even matter that her friend had been broken by him. She knew she was willing to enter into whatever this was by any means necessary. What was disturbed that night would remain alight until the next opportunity, she was sure of it.

Midnight was fast approaching when he finally descended. Passing through the remaining guests, ever watchful of her. Greeting his younger brother, who was decidedly drunk enough to have abandoned his shoes somewhere. Elizabeth was asking far too many questions, the inane babble of the older women forcing Eleanor to address them just so that she didn't have to listen to it any longer.

"Yes, Lilibet. I think that one of them has taken over the use of my old room." She sighed, "How strange to think what was once ours is now theirs."

"I'm tired." The young girl complained, "You were gone for so long I got terribly bored and haven't stopped dancing all night. My feet hurt."

"Well, perhaps we should do as our hosts do and remove our shoes." She suggested, "And then I will suggest to Mother that we go home, how does that sound?"

"Yes." She agreed, resting her head diligently on her sister's shoulders. "I've had quite enough for one evening."

"As have I." Eleanor whispered. "As have I..."

When Samuel Kiszka had come calling for Elizabeth she had pouted for days that she had not been allowed to receive him. The rebuff had been taken personally with the Kiszka's making a hasty visit to Ivy Grange to enquire as to why their son was not good enough for the young Lady.

Elizabeth's 16th birthday was fast approaching. All her romantic notions seemed to burn a wildfire once she realised Samuel was interested in her. Insufferable, almost. Amongst the chaos of it all there was was no Gentleman callers at the door for Eleanor, and she began to feel as if she should have trusted her initial instinct about Jacob.

Mr. and Mrs. Kiszka were homely people. They had known struggle. Their position was not yet secured in society simply because they had purchased Belvoir Hall. They seemed to understand this as they sat, nervously, in the day parlour with Aunt Helen and Lady Anne.

"You understand our position, do you not?" Aunt Helen asked, offering them some more tea, even though they had already drunk more than one cup. "Elizabeth is not yet sixteen until the week after next and we cannot have suitors arriving before that time."

It was a fair excuse. One that made little sense. Eleanor had been forced to receive suitors well before she had turned sixteen and now that she was closer to twenty it appeared that there was one person she wished would call for her, after all.

"Well now, we had hoped that our son would pick wisely." Mrs. Kiszka explained, her accent slightly off-putting to the older women. "Lord knows, he needs himself a good wife. And I can assure you, if she picks Samuel, she will be able to return to Belvoir and will want for nothing."

"Be that as it may." Aunt Helen interjected, "Wealth and power are all very good but what is any of that without a title?"

Mr. Kiszka shuffled in his seat. "It seems to me that young Lady Elizabeth is sweet on our boy. And he seems to feel the same, should we not let the young ones decide?"

Aunt Helen was not perturbed in the slightest. "She's a flighty young thing. In love with love. It shall pass, I dare say."

Eleanor was seated by the piano, her nose in a book. Trying to keep herself from entering into the debate as she raged inwardly at Jacob's absence.

"In any case, he's the only one of our sons that has shown an interest in marriage. Our eldest boys are perpetual bachelors." Mrs.Kisza revealed, causing Eleanor to look up from her book. "They have both returned to Michigan to complete some business on behalf of their Father. We don't expect miracles, but if one of them should bring a wife back that would be one less worry."

Aunt Helen raised her cup for more tea to be poured. "And when do you expect them to return?"

"Next month." Mrs.Kiszka replied, her words ripping through Eleanor with such force, she audibly whined.

It drew their attention.

"Whatever is the matter, girl?" Aunt Helen asked, visibly troubled by the sound.

Eleanor put her book down and made her excuses.

"Forgive me, I do not feel quite well..."

It transpired that a month felt unrelenting when the heart was longing for something. He was her twin flame. A scoundrel that was on the same footing as she. She wanted him to ruin her, to love her so passionately that there would never be a parting such as this between them ever again. As the days rolled by, Eleanor found herself in a state of constant melancholy. Frustrated with herself for allowing such a thing to happen.

Elizabeth's birthday arrived with such fanfare that it felt to Eleanor as if she had been asleep for a very long time and had been forced to wake up for the occasion. Her heart was set on marrying Samuel. Who wanted her simply for her status and purity. He would take great delight in that on their wedding night. Which made Eleanor want to burn down Belvoir Hall, with all the damn Kiszka's inside it.

"Why am I not allowed to be in love?" Elizabeth asked, on the morning of her birthday, sitting in the day parlour eating breakfast opposite her sister.

"What a stupid thing to say." Eleanor replied, "Of course you're allowed to be in love."

She watched as Elizabeth spooned a heap of jam onto her bread. Spreading it thickly across the wedge before shoving it into her mouth with little decorum.

"I'm not allowed to be in love with Samuel Kiszka." She added, chewing at the same time. "But you're allowed to be in love with Jacob. I do not find that fair."

Eleanor's head shot up. Her appetite completely withdrawn.

"I am not in love with Jacob Kiszka." She said pointedly, pushing her plate aside.

Throwing her a knowing look, Elizabeth rose from the table and brushed off the crumbs from her dress.

"I'm going to marry Samuel. And you're going to marry Jacob. And we're both going home to Belvoir. And there really isn't much you can do about it." She stated, skulking off to enjoy the rest of her birthday without Eleanor's incessant brooding.

Jacob hadn't known how he would feel upon his early return. The rolling hills of the Kent countryside filling him with a sense of serenity as the carriage rumbled on from the port at Liverpool. Sat opposite his twin and the bride he had brought with him that would surely make their Mother so happy that his absence would be barely noted if he jumped out and walked the rest of the way to Ivy Grange.

The mid summer heat was intense that day. So warm that he threw his coat over his shoulder as he disembarked. The crossroads that lead to Ivy Grange stretched out in the opposite direction of the road to Belvoir Hall.

"Tell Ma I'll be home later." He called, watching the carriage roll on without him.

With the sun beating down so fiercely, Eleanor took refuge in the conservatory. The glass panelled room was airy and light, with all manner of plants growing in the atrium to keep her shaded. It was the one room at Ivy Grange that Aunt Helen had insisted on. With the expanse of gardens below, the view was something to behold. And it kept her distracted whilst the house was busy preparing a birthday feast.

And then he was there. Completely unexpected. She was uncertain at first as she squinted into the midday sun. His form appearing at the bottom of the driveway, walking up the lawn with his coat draped across his shoulder. His shirt unbuttoned. Oh, that damned shirt.

She flew to the conservatory door almost flinging it off it's hinges as she ran to him. The ribbon in her hair trailing behind her wildly, her dress coming up about her knees as she flew down the lawn. He threw down his coat as she approached, opening his arms for her to reach.

He caught her in a spin. Lifting her off the ground. Wasting no more time to give in to the temptations which had been there since the very first moment. She allowed him to do as he pleased. No longer caring for propriety. He placed her firmly to the ground, lifting her chin to meet his waiting lips.

Her foot rising back as he kissed her. It was not a gentle kiss, nor befitting the sort of kiss that should be a first. He was enamoured by the way she seemed as possessed as he, her fingers knotting through his hair as she fought to have her fill of him. Her mouth opening beneath his, welcoming his tongue as if she had wilted at his request.

"You were gone..." She cried through the warm breath of his mouth against hers. "You left me..."

Her reproach was a dagger to his heart. Gripping her shoulders tightly he thought of the breadth of the country he had travelled to return to her. The way he had wrapped up his business in Michigan a fortnight early to make the odyssey back to her. He thought of how Joshua had begged him to stay, their hearts torn into two halves as Jacob pined for Eleanor and Joshua found a love to call his own. They had fought over it. And reconciled over it.

"You will never know what I have endured to be here...to return to you..." He said, so uncommonly soft, his hands resting at the crook of her neck.

She didn't need to. It was laid bare in his eyes as he peered down at her, desperate for more. In haste, she pulled him down the lawn towards the line of beech tree's that secluded the view of the pond from the house.

Pulling at his shirt, freeing him of it as he gathered her dress within the curl of his fists and reached inside the fold of her petticoat. He laid her down on the soft, summer grass. In the shade of the beeches. Her hair fell free of her ribbon, cascading down to reveal tresses of long dark waves. He held his breath against the sight of her.

"I have thought of nothing but this." He confessed, sliding her petticoat up the length of her thighs.

He parted her knees slowly, sending ripples of arousal through her core as he slipped his cold palm up the inside of her legs. She was breathing heavily, her bosom rising and falling against the tightness of her corset.

It was in his mind to take her then and there. The way she pleaded with him, her arms reaching out for his body to covet her.

"Will you be wanting it rough?" He asked, lifting her leg to rest upon his shoulder as he pulled down her stockings. "Or would my Lady like to be serenaded?"

She giggled helplessly. His eyes resting on the wet, gilded pinkness of her core.

"Whatever Sir desires..." She replied playfully.

Eleanor had never seen a man's desire before. She watched him closely, pulling down his trousers to reveal himself. Her eyes widened at the size of it. The way it seemed to be weeping at the tip, the pulse of the veins running down the shaft and how he gripped it fervently in his hand as he ran his curled fist up and down, taking the flesh with it.

"You are a virgin, Lady Eleanor." He said, a fact she had never truly revealed but one that he had known regardless. "I'll not be taking it from you too coarsely."

"Take it from me however you wish, Jacob. Like my heart, it is yours."

He lifted her with careful arms, pulling at the lace of her corset just enough for her breasts to spill over the lace edging of her dress. He marvelled at the round, soft peaks of her hard nipples. Not too big, not too small. Just enough to fill the cup of his hand.

"Take me, Jacob, please...I am begging you..."

She would only cry out in pain.

"No, my Lady...I will not take it from you in the manner I have taken it from others. If my being gentle with you the first time means that you will not think me a brute...as the others did... then I will court you with more aggression afterwards." He came down to her, pressing his hardness against her thigh. "Perhaps on our wedding night I will fuck you in all the ways you desire."

She balked at the way he said it so casually. Without asking for her hand, without formally putting forth his intentions to her Mother and Aunt first.

"You intend to marry me?!" She asked, her voice breaking on the prospect that everything Elizabeth had said that morning being prophecy.

He smirked. A dangerous look that made her begin to weep, too, from her aching centre.

"Oh, my love... look at the way you ready yourself for me."

He swept a poised thumb over her swollen, slippery lips. Immediately her body responded by arching. Moaning a muffled pitch of a sound that drove him to insanity. Her breasts lilting to the side, bottom lip held between her gritted teeth.

She felt like moist silk. He probed a finger at her entrance, pushing it in slowly to her tight walls. Her hips instinctually grinding against the sensation, pushing him to slide a second digit inside.

"The tightest little thing I have ever felt." He said in breathless confessions, leaning over the body as if to claim it for his own. "May I taste you, my love?"

There it was again, that word. That name. She nodded feverishly as he gathered the fabric of her dress and slid down to greet her waiting virginity. His mouth connected with her slit and she let out the most pained shriek. As if a banshee had possessed her. Never had anything felt so consumingly arousing.

As he flayed his tongue against her wet, throbbing clitoris she continued in her song. Whining pitifully against his moving jaw. Feeling how he moaned, too. The taste of her filling his mouth. Swallowing it like sweet honey. Flicking the tip of his tongue inside her as if to elicit more flow.

"Oh dear God...I am going to hell..." She said through agonised cries.

When he appeared from the peak of her mound, he was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand slovenly.

"If hell is a place where I get to do this every night of my life, I willingly submit myself to the devil himself."

Anyone could have chanced upon them. Taking the risk into consideration, she pulled him up to meet her mouth once more and there tasted herself on the tongue which brushed against hers.

"I fear we may be seen." She said, taking a moment to appreciate the way he had finally been romantic with her. "I would have a thousand sweet words from you and a thousand moments like this, but we are not yet married...and I fear we will be caught..."

It was as though he had just made the most astonishing discovery of all time. The way his eyes moved down to her breasts, his mouth following to suckle gently on her hard nipple. She felt as if she might die if he did not do what he intended. The awareness of his body so complete. Virgin or no, she wanted to be taken in any way that would mean she could be free of the mounting frustration.

She had thought he would not heed her words. But the next moment took her to somewhere lingering above the hell she had feared. A hot, searing fire tore through her middle for the briefest of moments as he entered her. But it was not hell that came for her. As the pain subsided, she felt his body weight on top of her moving slowly in thrusts that made her feel as if she had never known pleasure til this moment.

With one hand he lifted her leg to wrap around his waist. His voice low and gruff, his panting warm against her ear. Eleanor, in the midst of it, lapped her tongue against his ear lobe which made him squeeze down on her hip much tighter, leaving reddened marks in her flesh.

"Be loyal to me always..." He demanded whilst pumping into her freshly broken walls. "I must know that I am the only man you will ever love..."

It was his ego talking. The desperate love pouring out in a jealousy that had yet to be seen. Eleanor did not care. The intensity of his eyes had drawn her in long ago. She would have permitted him anything.

"Only you...I swear it..." She replied in hushed tones, feeling him grow quicker in his pace.

All too soon he had begun to fuck into her with all the force of a man who had been driven mad. She took such delight in the way he cast aside his gentleness in favour of depravity. His body falling forward into her bouncing breasts, the fabric in his fists almost tearing at the seams.

The balmy breeze caressed their skin. Jacob feeling near to completion, he pulled out of her slowly and tried to calm his nerves as his coated tip rested against her entrance. A moment he wanted to savour. His thumb running along her moistened mouth, her tongue lapping against it. His mouth lilting open in response.

"I want to see you finish, my love..." He said breathlessly, "Do you understand me?"

Eleanor had a small idea. In the whispers she had heard exchanged between her married friends. Of the crescendo at the end of love making, which sometimes came to them and sometimes did not.

"How will I know?" She asked innocently.

Jacob's smirk returned to his mouth as he kissed her passionately.

"Oh, you sweet girl...you will know. I promise." He assured her, returning his hard cock to the wet warmth of her.

He lightly tapped at her clit with his thumb, making a rhythm on it that made her entire body ascend. He pumped harder, so hard the grass began to give way beneath her into the earth below. Dark smears of mud grazing her hands as he reached for something to hold on to. That would tell her all of this was real.

"Oh, Eleanor..." He grunted, his entire body convulsing above her as he released his seed within her.

The crescendo did not happen as she had imagined it. Not at the same time his did, but after. When he was steadying his breathing and his thrusting had ceased. When his thumb pressed against her clit and she felt the moon and stars of night come out in the middle of the day.

"Oh....my.....goodness.....Oh....."

It would have been easy for Lady Eleanor Hanover to remain unwed for the rest of her life. Languishing at Ivy Grange, haunting the old place like her Aunt did. She was not the romantic little thing her sister was. But still, she found herself in an entanglement she could not free herself of.

Some said that she married beneath her on the day she gave up her title for the man she loved. Others were enamoured by the way their story seemed to be one of love. Lady Jane Corbett stood with silent tears trailing down her veiled face as she watched from the church pews. Vows echoing down the aisle.

And she did return to Belvoir, in the end.

@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon y @char289 @dancingcarbon @gvfpal @violetstarcatcher

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #fanfic #josh kiszka #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf #fanfiction #jake kiszka fanfic #gvf fanfiction #jake kiszka x reader

60 notes · View notes

the-al-chemist · 3 years

Text

The Beginning of a Symphony - Chapter 4

A/N: Jim struggles to find a quiet place to practise sketching.

Warnings: None.

OCs featured: Selene Fraser and Alan the Ferret @lifeofkaze, Ivy Anders and Bradford Pendleton IV @kc-and-co

OCs mentioned: Lysander Mercury @slytherindisaster

November, 1895

As November arrived at Hogwarts, the weather took a turn for the worse. Wintry winds whipped through the trees of the Forbidden Forest, the Black Lake swelled with the abundant rainwater, and the students spent their break times wrapped in thick cloaks and woollen mittens, if they were brave enough to venture outside at all.

However, when the rain lifted and the dark clouds dispersed, everything was golden, as it was this particular Saturday morning, as Jim took the opportunity to enjoy the crisp autumn air and rare glimpse of sunlight. He left the Hufflepuff common room a little while after the Quidditch team had departed for their practice, just as dawn was bound to be breaking over the castle.

Jim was somewhat surprised to see his cousin Ivy leaving the common room at the same time as he was, a black and yellow scarf looped around her neck, and her blonde hair covered by a soft woollen bonnet.

“Where are… Are you going for a walk as well?” Jim asked her, allowing her to walk in front of him as they reached the barrel doorway at the same time.

“I’m going to watch the Quidditch,” Ivy responded. Seeing Jim’s frown, she added, “I know that it’s just practice, not a real game, but I am rather intrigued to see what tactics they intend to use in the upcoming match, that is all.”

“Ah. Yes, I see. That’s… That’s admirable.”

Ivy chuckled to herself, and placed her hand on Jim’s arm as they strolled through the castle together.

“And you, Jimmy? What great adventure awaits you this morning?”

“No adventure. I am going to sketch,” Jim cleared his throat. “The, uh, light at this time of day - at daybreak, that is - it’s something that I would like to… to capture. Or attempt to capture, rather.”

“I’m certain that you shall,” Ivy smiled. “You must show me some of your sketches one day. It has been eight years since you first picked up a pencil, and I’ve yet to see a single drawing.”

“I’m afraid that there is not… They are not very good.”

“Now, that I shall never believe.”

Jim bade farewell to Ivy at the grounds, and settled himself at a spot from where he could see both the castle and the forest. He took out his pencils and sketchbook, and started to draw the castle, paying particular attention to where the early morning light caught on the rooftops and windows, on the face of the clock tower’s clock, the wings of an owl flying towards the headmaster’s office. The autumn sun gave him a little warmth to balance out the cool breeze that lifted his hair, and there was a distinct stillness to the morning. It was peaceful and quiet.

But not for long.

“Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!”

Jim tensed as he recognised the voice shouting out across the grass behind him. Of course he recognised that voice. He’d been hearing it ever since he was born.

“Close bosomed friend of the aspiring sun!” Ethel continued to shout. Judging by the volume of her voice, she was either talking louder or getting closer. Or, knowing Ethel, possibly both. “Conspiring with him how to load and bless with fruit the vines which round the thatch-eves run!”

Hearing the leaves crunching behind him, Jim snapped his sketchbook shut. Not a moment too soon, either, for a second later, both Ethel and Selene had joined him on the grass, each of them leaning over one of his shoulders, presumably in the hope of seeing his drawings.

“To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,” Selene read aloud, having taken the leather book Ethel had been holding out of her hands. “And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; to swell the gourd and plump the hazel-”

“What do you two want?” Jim said irritably, interrupting Selene mid-line.

“Nothing,” said Ethel, wide-eyed. “How could we possibly want for anything when we have all this beauty around us? Is there anything in nature that holds more delight than an autumn morning?”

“Oh, yes,” Selene nodded, and reached into the pocket of her cloak. “Ferrets, for one.”

From her pocket, Selene produced her mink-coloured ferret Alan, and placed him onto Jim’s lap, as Ethel picked up a handful of autumn leaves from the ground and started to sprinkle them over the top of Jim’s head. He sat stock still. Hopefully they would get bored soon and leave him alone.

“Do continue, Selly, my dear,” Ethel said, picking up another handful of leaves. “I was quite looking forward to hearing about the plump hazel.”

“To swell the gourd and plump the hazel shells with a sweet kernel,” Selene obliged. “To set budding more, later flowers for the bees, until they think warm days will never cease-”

“Do you think… That is to say, could you perhaps, um, read poetry elsewhere?” asked Jim, already tired of being crawled on by a ferret and covered in leaves. “I came here to sketch in peace, just that. I really don’t want to listen to your nonsense.”

“Nonsense?” Ethel gasped. “This is Keats, Jimmy. Keats!”

“Philistine,” Selene muttered under her breath, and both girls sighed heavily.

“I don’t care. Please could you… Would you just leave me alone?”

“It must be so terribly dull, being you,” said Ethel, but the two girls did as he asked, for once.

But even though they were not bothering him anymore, they were still being incredibly loud, reciting poetry as they jumped into piles of crunchy autumn leaves and knocked conkers together, cackling. It made it hard for Jim to concentrate, and besides, he felt self-conscious and exposed, sketching with them so close to him.

He decided to leave them to it, but not wanting to waste the light, he did not give up entirely. Instead, he went to the lake, hoping to try his hand at capturing the light on the water.

However, when he got there, he realised that he wasn’t the only person to have had the same idea. Standing by the lakeshore, an easel and small canvas in front of him, was a Slytherin boy from his own year, who he knew by face and reputation, though the two boys had never spoken.

“Sorry. I’m dreadfully sorry,” Jim stammered. “I didn’t meant to- to disturb you.”

“You are not disturbing anything, old chap,” the boy said, not taking his eyes off the lake. “I’m just painting, that’s all.”

“I’m just sketching.”

“Sketching,” the boy wrinkled his nose. “Would you not want to add colour when the sunrise looks like this?”

The Slytherin boy was right. The sunrise was beautiful this morning, with the rich colours in the sky reflecting on the still surface of the black lake.

“I’m not… Well, I am not much of a painter,” Jim admitted. “I can sketch, a little. I can’t say that I’m any good at that, either, though. Not really.”

“I struggle with sketching myself. I find it difficult to truly replicate a scene without using colour. See here, for example. How could you truly capture the beauty of this in shades of black and white?”

Intrigued, Jim stepped closer to the easel to look at the boy’s canvas. He stepped aside, clearly much more at ease with others seeing his work than Jim was. It was clear why: the boy’s painting was stunning. He had managed to capture the way the gentle ripples of the black water caused small breaks in the colours reflecting on the surface, the way the sun beams looked almost like lines of fire shooting across the sky.

“That is” - Jim paused, trying to think of the best word to use - “splendid. Simply marvellous.”

“Thank you,” the boy held out a paint-covered to Jim, who shook it. “I’m Bradford. Bradford Pendleton. My friends call me Brady.”

“Jeremiah Hexley. My friends call me Jim. Everyone calls me Jim, actually, not just my friends.”

“Then I shall also call you Jim, and you shall call me Brady,” said Brady. “Let’s see your work.”

“Oh, no. No, I don’t… I never let anyone see my- I wouldn’t even say it was work, if I’m-”

“There’s not much point in creating art if isn’t going to be seen.”

Jim considered Brady’s words for a moment, before somewhat reluctantly handing him his sketchbook. He rarely permitted anyone to see his drawings, other than occasionally showing the odd sketch to his parents in passing. He had never simply handed his sketchbook to anyone for them to peruse at leisure, even his friend Lysander, a keen artist himself.

Brady flicked through the book, occasionally pausing to look in more detail, before handing it back to Jim. Jim tried his hardest not to show his relief at having his sketchbook back in his possession.

“They are good,” said Brady, nodding sagely. “Very good, in fact. I’m envious. I’ve never been able to sketch like that. How long have you been drawing?”

“Since I was six. Seven, perhaps. I’m not sure. I had an… a flying accident and was bed-bound - almost entirely bed-bound - one summer. My parents bought me some- some sketching pencils to help me to pass… So that I would not be bored by the ordeal.”

“Your parents gave you the materials?” Brady asked, and Jim nodded. Brady raised his eyebrows. “My father despises my paintings. He believes art to be a waste of time.”

“He’s wrong.”

“I know that. But, if anything, his hatred spurs me on, makes me want to be the best I can be.”

Jim was silent for a few moments. He couldn’t imagine not having the constant support of his parents. Even Ethel had it, in spite of her being so troublesome.

“Say, Brady,” Jim said, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “My friend Lysander - Lysander Mercury, you might know him, actually - is interested in art, too. Neither of us are… We aren’t painters, but we could perhaps help you with your sketching, and you could - only if you would like to, of course - teach us to… to paint. Perhaps.”

“Like a movement?”

“Yes, if you… I was thinking a society or club, but-”

“You know what, Jim,” said Brady, looking away from his canvas. “I like your thinking. I like it a lot. Yes. I think an Art Club is just what this school needs. A perfect wast of time, as it were.”

Jim smiled, and sat down in a rock. The light was still shining on the water, and if he didn’t start sketching now, he’d have missed his chance to capture it altogether.

#the beginning of a symphony #jim hexley #bradford elijah pendleton iv #ethel hexley #selene fraser #ivy anders #alan the ferret #hogwarts legacy

16 notes · View notes