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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...

Thank you so much for reading!! I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Remember the best way to support writers is to reblog and share. I love to hear what people think of my stories so feel free to leave a comment or an ask or message.

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tightjeansjavi · 6 days

Text

My Joel,

A/N: I have not written a fic with this many words in a HOT minute, and boy does it feel good! What a cathartic experience this has been for me after writing Joel’s letters. I did not expect so many of you to want Joel and his dearest to have an alternative ending, but here we are 🤭 writing this has been a real treat, and I hope I have done their backstory and alternative ending justice! Buckle up, because you’re in for a wild ride! Thank you to @beardedjoel for letting me spam you with all the updates and screaming along with me 🥹 thank you to @strang3lov3 for betaing and creating these STUNNING divider mood boards for each section of the fic 💘

~word count: 14.4k~

Summary: the story of two forbidden lovers finding each other once more.

Pairing | forbidden lover!joel x f!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut, infertility, canon typical violence, mutual pining, child abuse, mentions of S/A accusations (not by Joel) misogyny (not by Joel) homophobia/homophobic slurs (not by Joel) mutual pining, hopeless romantics, forbidden love, societal status, somewhat historically accurate language, arranged marriage (not to Joel), language, mentions of alcohol and tobacco products, virginity/virginity loss, happy ending/alternative ending, no age gap, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

My Dearest,

June 1st, 1844

“This evening you are to meet the banker's son, daughter.” Your mother’s sickly sweet voice floated through your room, where you sat along the cushioned bench beneath the long window, your palm resting along your chin as you gazed out towards the gardens, the grass an unnatural shade of green compared to the common folk and farmers that would only dream of stepping foot on your family's estate. Your wealth was directly a result of your fathers parents, and their long lineage of thoroughbred horses. Your own mare was a descendant of the original three stallions imported into England in the late 1600’s.

But you were more focused on the man leading your mare, and her two stallions flocking at her hindquarters from the pasture: your Joel.

Joel Miller was a mere stable hand who was entrusted by your father himself to care for your family's prized horses. But to you? Joel was much more than just a stable hand. In fact, you begged your father one summer to increase Joel’s pay when he proved to be knowledgeable with the horses and their needs. Your father agreed, but refused to dote Joel with a new title. He was penniless compared to you, but you saw his heart before you saw his status in society. And he? He loved you from the moment you first met.

Spring, 1839

“Sir, sir!” A young Joel, 13 years of age burst into your fathers parlor, his hand-me-down clothes were soaked to the bone as the storm raged on outside the estate walls. “Dahlia’s womb has breached! Her foal is on the way!” He exclaimed with excitement.

Outside of your families prized stallions, the mares were just as valuable, bearing the next line of champions, no doubt. Dahlia belonged to your mother, and this was her third foal. Your mother couldn’t stand the presence of Joel in her home, dripping all over the floor, creating a puddle of water along the artisan rug beneath his muddy boots.

“Boy!” She snapped, setting her book down along her skirts where she was sitting near the fireplace, with perfect posture. Her eyes held a cold, unnerving stare. “You are in no state to be in my home looking like—” her pointed comment was cut off by the double doors leading to the parlor bursting open, to reveal your excited, and visibly out of breath face.

“Dahlia’s foal is on the way?!”

It was past your bedtime, but down the hall you heard the news of Dahlia, and couldn’t contain yourself. You were still in your nightgown, your hair in braids with bows tied into the ends. Joel felt a flush immediately rise to his damp cheeks at the sight of you. You were as pretty as a flower, the same age as him, and he wondered why this was the first time he’s seen you, till he remembered that most girls your age spent their days indoors preparing for marriage to a suitable husband of their fathers choosing, and inevitably bearing children down the line.

Just as quickly as his gaze fell upon you, he looked away, clearing his throat to hide the redness rising in his cheeks.

“Daughter!” Your mother scolded you when you rushed into the room and didn’t curtsy upon your arrival. She had yet to notice the bows in your hair when you quickly curtsied, fingers delicately grasping the hem of your nightgown as you bent down at the waist, one foot in front of the other just as it was ingrained into your brain for years. “Apologies, mother.” You softly squeaked out in embarrassment.

She shook her head, a displeasured look fell upon her hardened features. She rose from the couch, silk shawl clenched in her fist as she crossed the room and draped the garment across your shoulders. “Cover up your modesty.” She snapped unkindly. “Men should never see a lady in her night garments.”

I am not a lady, mother. I am a child! Is what you wanted to say, but instead you weakly nodded, muttering another apology under your breath. That’s when your mother took notice of your braids and the bows tied at the ends of them, a sign of innocent youth when you were to become a woman. She scoffed, nose upturning at the sight of them. Her cruel hand rose and fell, landing harshly against your soft cheek.

Joel visibly flinched from the sound, feeling his blood begin to boil under his soaked clothing. You had done nothing wrong! And who in their right mind slaps their own child!

Your skin stung, tears welling and nearly breaching down your cheeks when she yanked the bows from your braids and mockingly held them in front of your face. “These are for little girls. You are to become a woman, or have you forgotten?”

Your lower lip wobbled, and your knees trembled. Your eyes frantically searched the room, landing upon your father who paid no mind to your distress. He was too busy puffing away on his cigar, and even if he didn’t agree with his wife’s treatment upon you, he didn’t dare speak up about it.

“Joel, be a good lad and fetch my daughters coat. I will not be treading out in a storm such as that one, but someone from our family should be present for the birth of Dahlias foal.” He gruffed out. “Let us hope for a strong colt. There are too many fillies prancing around here.”

“Sir—” Joel started, but was cut off.

“Fetch her coat, and do not make me ask you a third time, boy.” He sternly reiterated.

“Yes, sir. Right away!” He nodded, quickly turning on his heel and exited the parlor, his eyes met your teary-eyed one briefly before he disappeared behind the open doors.

“Our daughter has no business going out in this storm, husband! Especially not with the likes of that—boy.” She seethed, stepping back from your trembling frame and walked in the direction of the fire, the now crumpled bows in her fist. She wasted no time to throw them directly into flames, watching as they were burnt up into ash immediately.

“Relax, wife.” Your father sighed, tapping out the ash from his cigar into the crystal ashtray along the table, “she is in good hands with Joel, I trust him.”

“Excuse me, miss?” a timid, youth filled voice appeared behind your shoulder, hand outstretched with your coat grasped between his fingers.

You sniffled, turning to face him and quickly wiped at your brewing tears with the back of your hand. “Thank you, Joel.” You whispered, fingers brushing his gently as you removed your coat from his grasp.

He nearly shied from your touch, a series of tingles and sparks shooting up his spine when he felt your soft touch for the first time. You reacted all the same; shocked gazes meeting before he was stepping to the side for you to pass by him first, a gentleman in nature despite coming from nothing. He cleared his throat, offering you his elbow to brace against the pounding rain and blustering winds. “I’ve got you, miss.” He whispered as your palm gently rested along the crook of his elbow.

Despite your mother’s incessant protests, Joel Miller guided you outside, acting as a physical shield as you endured the storm together. Once inside the safety of the barn, Joel parted from your side, grabbing a nearby stool for you to sit upon before entering Dahlia’s stall. You watched in pure curiosity and amazement as Joel spoke softly to the mare while her head rested in his lap. Beast trusted man; man trusted beast.

When Dahlia’s foal was born, she was not blessed with a strong colt like your father hoped for, but instead a filly. She was smaller than Dahlia’s other foals, and coal black unlike her mother’s dazzling, dappled silver coat. Joel helped the young filly stand on her long, spindly legs so that she could nurse. He was incredibly gentle, letting the filly lean her weight into him. Although Joel knew he was not allowed to name the horses, he started to call the filly ‘Little Shadow’ and only left the stall when he was certain she could stand on her own.

That’s when he remembered he wasn’t alone, and that you were still sitting upon the stool, hands clasped in your lap.

“Wanna meet her?” He suddenly asked, wiping his hands down on a nearby towel.

“Oh…” you trailed off, “I’m unsure if—”

“Nonsense.” He shook his head, a small, boy-like grin tugging on his lips. “M’sure your father would want you to have the full experience, would he not?”

“Yes, I suppose he would.” You agreed and graciously took his hand when he offered it. “He will be displeased to hear that Dahlia did not bear a strong colt.”

“I never understood that.” He mused, helping you down from the stool and gently released your hand. “A healthy foal, no matter the sex, is better than an unhealthy one, is it not?”

“Yes, this is true.” You nervously toyed with a loose thread on your coat, avoiding making eye contact with him. “She is…small though, is she not?”

He took no offense to your lack of direct eye contact. He felt undeserving to be in your presence, let alone hold your gaze? “Forgive me if this comes across negatively, miss. But must you always speak so…proper?”

You turned your nose up at his question, dropping the loose thread from your fingertips, “I am to be a lady, Joel. This is how ladies talk.”

He snorted under his breath, shaking his head and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I suppose you are right. And to answer your question, she may be smaller than the rest of Dahlia’s offspring, but her legs are long, and strong.” He commented thoughtfully as he walked over to the nursing foal. “She will be a winner one day, no doubt.”

“Do you wish to name her, Joel?” You asked softly, standing alongside him with your hand outstretched to gently pet the fillies jet black neck.

“Oh, miss—I could never. I was only calling her Little Shadow because well, she is like a Little Shadow.”

“I don’t think father would approve of Little Shadow…but I think Shadow is a fine name for her, sir.”

“Miss, I am not a sir.” He sighed, reaching behind him to rub the back of his neck. “I’m just a stable hand. I do not possess any titles, and I never will. I agree, Shadow is a fine name for her.”

“Joel, I have heard that you are more than just a stable hand, but I address every man as sir. It’s how I have been taught.”

He looked over at you, eyes scanning the side of your face, the same side where your cheek had been struck by your mothers cruel hand. “That it be true, I am not a man, miss. I am just a boy.”

Silence fell between the two of you while you continued to gently stroke Shadow’s neck. You could feel Joel’s gaze landing on your cheek, but you chose to ignore it despite the heat that was slowly beginning to rise to your cheeks.

“Miss…?” He sounded unsure of himself, nervous, apprehensive of the words he was about to speak next,

“Yes, Joel?”

“Forgive me, I should not be uttering these words to a lady like yourself, but the bows in your hair…I thought they were quite—pretty.” He whispered the last bit, expecting you to scold him, to scream, and surely send him to the gallows for even thinking of you in that inappropriate manner, but instead, you smiled softly.

“Thank you, Joel. Mother…doesn’t approve of them. Says they are for little girls, and not for a lady to be. But they are just ribbons, are they not? I like how they look, and I wish she did too.” You sighed, eyes casting downwards.

He was more bold this time around as the images of your mothers hand making contact with your soft cheek flashes in his mind, “she should have never laid a hand upon you like that, miss. You did nothing wrong! Forgive me—I have forgotten my place.” He dropped his chin between his shoulders in shame.

You wept then, fat tears rolling down your cheeks at the phantom sting of your mothers palm. You slowly sank down into the straw bed, head in your hands. You looked so small, frail, weak, and Joel never wanted you to feel this way again.

At first he didn’t know how to react to your distress, but soon he found himself sinking down to his knees in front of you, his hands trembling as he reached out to grasp your covered shoulders, “my dearest, do not weep, please. Your mother has never learned kindness in her life, but you? You—” he struggled to find his words, his empathetic nature coming out in full swing.

You slowly tilted your chin upwards to meet his gaze, glassy eyes boring into his. You both took a sharp inhale of breath, time seemed to cease completely. The storm outside raged on, the wind whipped and howled outside the heavy barn doors when Joel Miller’s calloused palms gently cradled your face, thumbs brushing away your glistening tears.

1842

Spring turned to summer, summer to fall, and fall to winter. Your Joel transformed into a man before your very eyes. In your youth he showed you how to run, to make mud pies, to swim in the river, despite your mothers disapproval. Your father showed an inkling of care to allow your years before marriage to be spent with Joel by your side.

On the approach of your sixteenth birthday, Joel Miller no longer looked like a boy in your eyes. He was a man, and for the first time in your life, you felt that forbidden part between your thighs come alive at the sight of him. He had grown taller, his arms filling in, paired with strong thighs. The muscles in his back and shoulders were defined with laborious hours of work. His chiseled jaw was speckled with facial hair, paired with unruly curls that you wished you could feel their softness between your fingers. You found yourself transfixed by his lips and often imagined how they would feel pressed to yours in a heated embrace. The only thing about your Joel that didn’t change with age was his eyes; the deepest pools of brown that always appeared lighter when he was graced with your presence.

Your father treated him like a son, inviting him out on the weekends to go fox hunting with your brothers. The prospect of attending college was even on the horizon for him, and Joel could taste his new life brewing on his tongue. His feelings grew for you over the years, feeling his heart flutter and clench whenever you would look his way. Even in your modest attire, he envisioned your womanly figure beneath your layers of tooled skirts. Every night before he laid his body to sleep, he would imagine your lips pressing to his own until the thought of it had begun to drive him mad.

So upon your sixteenth birthday, he approached your father in his office with only one thought on his mind; asking for your fathers permission, and blessing to court, and eventually marry you.

“Come in.” Your father’s voice rasped behind the closed door.

Joel took a deep breath, rubbing his sweaty palms along the front of his trousers, bringing one hand up to smooth down his untamed curls. His calloused palm grasped the brass handle and slowly pushed it open.

Your father was seated behind his desk, cigar smoke wafting through the air in a swirling pattern from where it rested between his lips. He looked at Joel expectantly, arms crossed behind his head in a lax position. “Joel, my boy. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Joel stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him softly. He momentarily glanced out a large window overlooking the gardens where in just a few hours, your party would be in full swing. “Good afternoon, sir.” He nodded curtly, “beautiful day we’re having, yes? The weather will be exceptional for your daughter's birthday this evening.”

My Dearest.

“Yes, indeed. The weather has been lovely.” Your father mused. “If you’re asking if you can attend tonight’s festivities, you already know my answer, Joel. The lady of the house wouldn’t stand for it.” He waved his hand in a dismissive manner.

“Yes, of course, sir. I won’t be on the grounds this evening. A few friends have invited me to the tavern for drinks. I won’t be out late, I swear it.”

“I see.” Your father nodded, “a handsome young man such as yourself oughta get out there more.” He agreed, “So, what are you here for then?”

Shit.

“Sir, I have—known your daughter for many years now, as you are aware. I am also aware that she has many suitors lined up to offer her hand in marriage, but sir, if I was given your blessing, and permission, I would—”

“Joel.” Your father’s tone cut through the younger man like a sharpened blade. “My daughter has already been promised to another. Do not take me for a fool, boy. I have seen the way your gaze lingers on her longer than what would even be described as appropriate. I see the way she looks at you, Joel. I have bit my tongue on this matter because I happen to like you, son. What I can offer you is another lady, at your choosing. You can live a happy, comfortable life and hold a title that you would never otherwise possess. My suggestion is that you accept my generous offer, and throw away your fantasy of ever marrying my daughter.”

Joel swallowed his disappointment down with a heavy gulp. He was naive to believe that he could ever be granted with your fathers blessing. How foolish of him to believe that a man such as himself, would ever end up with the likes of you. It was a fantasy, an unattainable dream that he was better off extinguishing now instead of dwelling on what could never be. He nodded slowly, trying to ignore the way his heart submerged to the very pits of his stomach. “I understand, sir.” He finally spoke.

“Good lad. I knew you were a smart one from the start. Now, this stays between you and I, alright?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Good. You didn’t hear this from me, but the lady of the house plans to retire early this evening. If you see the opportunity to whisk my daughter away for one evening, take it. If it sours, do not even think about taking me down with you. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Sir?” Joel sounded confused, his eyes going wide momentarily, “I’m confused—”

“Treat my daughter to a night that she will never forget, so that in her later years, when she is in misery after bearing her husband's children, and finds herself in a loveless marriage, she will have her memories of you to look back on. Do not, and I mean by any means, get caught and throw your life away so foolishly.”

“I—I understand, sir.” He stuttered out, his heart lurching in his chest at the prospect of one evening with you in his embrace. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.” He gushed earnestly.

“Leave now, Joel. Do not speak of this to anyone.”

“I won’t, sir. I promise.”

All evening you danced merrily and socialized with the upper socialites of Texas with a fake smile plastered on your pretty painted lips. You searched high and low for your Joel all evening. Your gaze lingered, heart skipping a beat anytime a man that resembled him would stride past, only to be met with bitter disappointment when they would turn their cheek towards you and the resemblance would dissipate like the bubbles in your champagne flute. Your mother had retired for the evening, and your father was in his parlor with his colleagues, smoking, drinking, and playing hands of poker.

And then you felt a presence brush past your bare shoulder, the skirts of your dress ruffling in the warm summer breeze. A shred of parchment was placed into your palm discreetly as you watched the inconspicuous figure disappear in the direction of the nearby stables. Once you were certain no one was paying any attention to you, you unfolded parchment, your heart surging at the familiar penmanship.

My Dearest,

Happy sixteenth birthday. Meet me at the stables in exactly one hour.

Your Joel

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the butterflies erupted and fluttered wildly in your stomach, Your Joel. You brought the parchment to your lips, kissing his words, your lashes fluttering shut.

As the minutes ticked by, your excitement heightened, and when it was ten minutes to the hour, you snuck off to the stables with a visible pep in your step. The barn door was left ajar upon your entering, and when you turned the corner, you found your Joel inside of Shadow’s stall, bows and flowers were braided delicately throughout her luscious mane and tail. When he sensed your presence, he turned around, the biggest grin plastered on his face, dimples peeking through, one stray curl falling across his forehead that was begging to be brushed away by your soft fingertips.

“Joel.” You breathed out, smile mimicking his own.

“My Dearest.” His heart surged in his chest, and then you were launching yourself into his arms unexpectedly. He caught you, of course, hugging you tightly to his broad frame. “No one saw you, right?”

“No.” You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his neck while his hands fell to your waist. “Shadow looks beautiful! What’s the occasion?”

He chuckled warmly, tilting his forehead to rest upon yours with a sigh of relief, “she doesn’t look nearly as beautiful as you, darlin.’ And why for your birthday, of course!”

His warm, timbre laugh sent your stomach somersaulting, and your mind feeling dizzy. “An evening ride through the countryside, is that my present from you?” You teased him lightly, threading your fingers through the back of his hair.

“No, no, my sweet. It’s actually…a surprise. Are you up for it? Oh! You’ll be needing these, however.” He reluctantly departed from your embrace, stepping off to the side to lift a rucksack from the ground. “I believe they’re your size.”

You raised a curious brow as he handed the rucksack off to you. “You mean, I get an excuse to wear something outside of my fine dresses?” You gasped softly.

“Mhm.” He nodded, smile playing on his lips at your pure excitement over something so small. “I’ll uh—give you some privacy to change.” He cleared his throat, eyes dancing in the direction opposite of you as he turned on his heel so his back would be facing you.

Secretly, you wanted him to see you undress from your obnoxious layers and reveal your untouched skin to his admiring gaze. The times that you would swim in the river together were different. You were both still children, and your womanly curves hadn’t made their appearance just yet.

He silently listened to your fine skirts fall to the dusty barn floor and he was half tempted to peek, but remained respectful as you undressed. Once you gave him the okay, he slowly turned around to face you once more. Gone were your frilly heavy skirts that dragged along the floor with each step that you took. Your skirt was still long, but not as weighted and while the bodice was still fairly constricting, the sleeves were dainty and hung off the side of your shoulders like silk drapery. Your mother would certainly have a fit if she saw you dressed so un-modestly.

“So…” You trailed off, “how do I look?” You twirled on your heel, your smile never faltering.

He unashamedly looked you up and down, twice, before one strong arm looped around your waist and pulled you flush against his chest, caging you against him.

“Pardon my French, mademoiselle, but you look fuckin’ stunning.”

You giggled, hands resting against his chest to brace yourself against him. It was the sweetest sound that had ever graced his ears; your laugh.

“Thank you, sir. Mother would scold me if she saw me dressed like this!” You giggled again when his nose came to nuzzle against your cheek, bristles in his beard gently scraping against your skin, “she would, my dearest. But don’t worry about any of that, okay? Tonight you will have the time of your life with me, and your mother will have no say in it.” He assured you.

—

You rode into town on horseback, Shadow moving swiftly with Joel steering her with the reins and you behind him with your arms wrapped around him, pressing yourself as close to his back as possible. You had never been to a tavern before, but tonight would certainly be a night of firsts.

Your first sips of Ale were with Joel by your side, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned over, warm breath fanning your face as he asked you what you thought about the taste.

Truthfully? Ale was not your first drink of choice, but you had an understanding for the appeal of it. Joel agreed, and whispered in your ear that he thought it tasted like shit. His tone and crude remark sent you giggling in tandem.

Now, whiskey on the other hand? You enjoyed the smoky flavor that lingered on your tongue and the way it instantly sent a warm fire simmering in your belly, and heat to flood your cheeks. You danced, laughed, drank and you even played a hand of poker! No one in the tavern knew of your status, your wealth. Everyone in the rowdy establishment was just there living, and you silently wished for your life to always be this freeing.

When the tavern closed for the night, you and Joel strolled down the street, hand in hand. The late evening air held that familiar summer sweetness, crickets chirping, fireflies dancing around your heads. Another pair of lovers strolled in front of you and Joel, seemingly unable to keep their hands off of one another as they neared the town inn. Would that be you and your Joel?

His palm felt clammy in your palm, but his face gave no distinction that he was absolutely freaking the fuck out inside at the prospect of finally getting the privilege to press his lips to yours.

“Shadow is staying at the inn’s barn for the evening, my dearest. It’s far too late for either of us to return back to the estate…” he trailed off, eyes casting in your direction to await your response.

“Joel…” you sighed, loosening your grip around his hand, nearly dropping it entirely. “We—we have to go back. Father, mother—”

“My dearest, your mother has retired early for the evening, and your father is probably too deep in a hand of poker to even notice your absence.” He spoke softly, slowly bringing your entwined fingers up to his face, illuminated in a soft, warm glow from the flickering street lights lining the walkway. He brushed his lips against the outside of your hand, eyes locking onto yours, “I understand if you don’t desire me the way I desire you, my dearest. And if that is the case, we can leave immediately—”

“I—I desire you plenty, my Joel. All evening at the party, I kept seeing the resemblance of your beautiful face in every male passerby, but none of them were you. I’m just—I’m so afraid, Joel. My heart—it feels so deeply for you, but it’s forbidden. You and I both know the bitter truth of what we can never be.”

“My dearest, tonight we need not be afraid, okay? It is your birthday, your special day, and there is nowhere else in this world that I would rather be, than here with you. I ask you for nothing, only to trust me. Trust your Joel.”

You could feel yourself caving into his words, your body drawn to be closer to him as if by some invisible force pulling you into his chest. “I trust you always, my Joel.”

He nodded, pressing another sweet kiss to the outside of your hand. You moved in sync, his strong, broad body caging you against the brick wall of the inn, his hands, calloused and warm, holding your face between them as if you were fine delicate china. His forehead came to rest upon yours, warm breath fanning your face, “can I kiss you, my dearest?”

“Please, my Joel.” You breathed out, fingers gently resting along the nape of his neck. “You—you will be my first.” You whispered.

“And you will be mine, my dearest.” He rasped, thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones, feeling his heartbeat faster, and faster, when his lips finally brushed upon your own, both of your inexperience showing, but nature took over when your lips finally met, pressing against one another. Your breath hitched in your throat, fingers tightening around his soft curls, pulling him in closer. You wanted to crawl inside his skin, make a home inside of his heart and never leave.

“I—have never felt a sweetness upon my lips till I have kissed you, my dearest.” He murmured sweetly against your locked lips, taking the leap of what felt right when your lips parted like the narrow sea for him to slowly lick into your mouth so your tongues could meet, and dance.

An unexpected moan slipped past your lips when he licked into your mouth, a sound only for his ears, sending blood flowing southwards beneath his trousers and directly to his groin. He parted from the kiss momentarily, a string of translucent saliva hung between your swollen lips. He dived back in seconds later, but this time you felt his lips upon your neck, sucking, kissing, licking at your throat and all the way back up to your lips.

“I scraped up enough money to afford us a night at the inn, my dearest.” He let out a soft grunt when your nails lightly scratched his scalp, and your fingers tugged on the root of his curls, “do you wish to—”

“Yes, my Joel.” You didn’t even wait for him to finish his question, you already knew your answer was going to be yes.

He chuckled at your eagerness, letting his hands drop from your face and rest along your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, “lay beside me tonight, my love?”

“Yes, my Joel. I wish for that.”

He smiled into the kiss, the butterflies in his own stomach were no longer fluttering wildly, his nerves were gone because never in his life had he been more sure about his feelings till now. It was a moment of calm that both you and he felt in one another’s embrace. “Then let it be known that tonight, beneath the stars, I will make love to you, my dearest.” The words he spoke fell like a sweet oath upon your lips.

You kissed him once more, before your lips parted, but only for a little while. He took your hand in his, fingers entwined and led you to the entrance of the inn. The room was paid for, and the excitement was beginning to tingle once more as he unlocked the door to the room you would share. A single bed to accommodate you both.

And when he laid you down, fitting in the space between your thighs, kissing every inch of your untouched skin, drawing sounds from your throat that you had never felt, nor heard before. Calloused palms moved with languid ease, undressing you with methodical care. You did the same to him, marveling at the flex of his muscles beneath your touch. He was so gentle, so patient as you parted for him like a blooming flower. He kissed you there, too. Dark head of curls moving between your thighs, strong fingers spreading you open where his tongue quickly found the little bud that had your whole body quivering, and your back bowing, arching from the mattress.

He kissed, licked, worshiped, suckled on your womanhood, the taste of you was something so foreign, yet familiar, and his cock grew heavy between his thighs, hips rutting into the mattress for any form of relief.

Your speech was slurred, broken, fragmented moans dangling from your lips, and you were only able to say one word; his name.

Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel.

And when the coil in deep within your tummy was pulled tight, and a burning warmth that could only be described as the feeling of heaven on earth, traveled from the tips of your toes and up your spine, you convulsed around his tongue, eyes rolling back into your skull, muscles spasming, your cunt pulsing, leaking along the sheets. He lapped up every sweet drop of your release, swallowing it down as if he was quenched with thirst. His eyes opened, dark pools of brown staring intensely into yours, grinning like a devil. His chin and beard glistening in your sweet nectar, illuminated by the pale moonlight casting in through the thin, billowing curtains.

He kissed up your body, finding your lips and molding his tongue around yours so you could taste yourself, too. He whispered sweet nothings between kisses when the heavy weight of his cock slowly began to press into you. Tears sprung from the sudden sharp pain caused by the stretch of him easing inside of you. He kissed away your tears, shushing you softly and promising you that it would feel good so soon, my dearest.

Your nails left crescents in his back, thighs wrapping around his waist when he was fully sheathed inside of your pulsing, hugging warmth. It was the tightest vice he ever did feel, and he never wanted to part from you.

“I’ve got you, my dearest.” He whispered upon your lips, drawing his hips back slowly, oh so slowly, before guiding them forward. The coarse dark hair on his pubic bone brushed against your own with each gentle thrust he gave you. A rhythm set in with his movements, your body naturally began to mold to his as you became one. Sweat soaked skin, tangled moans and limbs, wet kisses and words of love shared between what little space was left between you.

And when he spilled his seed deep within your womb, and he moaned your name, proclaiming his love and devotion for you with his face buried against your neck. You refused to part from one another, even as his cock softened inside of you, and your cunt no longer fluttered. You pressed your lips to his scruffy cheek, tangled your fingers through his now sweat soaked curls that were matted to his forehead and back of his neck. You held him, and he held you as the sun slowly began to rise, and the birds chirped cheerfully just outside the window.

“I don’t want to go home, my Joel. I want to stay here, with you…forever.” You whispered softly through the early morning air.

He shifted deep within you, lifting his chin and turned his cheek to the side, brushing his lips sweetly against your soft cheek. His eyes were sleepy, a dopey, boyish grin graced his features, lips curved in a perfect pout, swollen with your kisses, “I need not yet to part from you, my love. But I must return you home before your father and mother awake.”

You sighed softly, dropping your fingers from their grip on his hair to then drag across his jaw, nuzzling your nose against his and pressed a kiss to his lips, “our home, my Joel.” You gently reminded him.

He kissed you back, lashes fluttering shut to savor the moment before opening again so he could once again gaze upon your face and paint a picture in his memory to hold onto forever, “our home, my dearest.”

Reality began to rear its ugly head into both of your minds and he reluctantly parted from your kiss, drawing his hips back slowly to release his cock from your warmth. “We must return home, my dearest.” He sat back on his haunches, his softened cock wet, sticky with a mix of your combined releases and a thin layer of blood.

You slowly sat up, taking the coarse sheet with you as you gazed upon his groin for the first time. Even soft now, your sex induced eyes widened at the girth of him.

He, however, was more focused on the stain of blood on his skin, and swiped his thumb across it before his gaze landed on you, “have you…bled before, my sweet?”

You nodded, “yes, my Joel. I bleed the same time every month since my thirteenth birthday. Mother told me that it means I am ready to bear children, and I have become a woman. She told me that I would bleed again when my husband makes love to me for the first time.”

His chin falls between his shoulders, feeling them sink from the realization that he would never be your husband, and you would never be his wife. “Does it hurt…to bleed? Did I hurt you, my love?”

You shook your head, letting the sheets drop from your chest as you reached out to comfort him. “No, my love. It can be uncomfortable, but you did not hurt me. A dull sting is all I felt, nothing more. You took care of me.”

He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently as you emerged from under the covers, “my dearest, what is to happen if…you end up bearing my children? We are both so young, I wish not to steal what remains of your youth. You deserve so much more than only what is expected of you, my lady.”

You found yourself straddling his hips with your thighs on either side of him, caging his body around yours while his arms wrapped around your waist, using his core strength to stay upright as your hands came to rest upon his face, “if I bear your children, then we could marry, Joel. We could—be together!” You spoke excitedly.

“My dearest, I—have nothing to offer you. I am penniless…we are not of the same status, and your mother and father would never allow it.” His thumbs gently stroked the dimples in your back at the bottom of your spine.

“I will speak with my father! He will understand, he must! No man will ever wish to marry me if I am bearing another’s child! Father—he’ll have to agree!”

“My dearest, what if my seed doesn’t take to your womb the first time? What if we are unable—”

You cut him off with a swift kiss to his lips, pulling him in close with your hand resting along the nape of his neck, “then we keep trying till my womb is swelling with life.”

He kissed you deeply, feeling his cock begin to stir to life between your tightly pressed bodies. He nodded, a silent agreement as he dropped one hand from where it rested against your spine and dragged it between you so that he could grasp the base of his cock and slowly press himself inside of you once more.

By the time you and Joel arrived back at the estate, the sun was already beginning to rise high above the sky. The stables were empty upon your arrival as Joel helped you dismount from Shadow. He urged you to change back into your attire that you wore to the party so that your mother, nor father would raise their suspicions. You parted ways with a kiss, a longing behind his lips as he watched you leave his embrace and walk back into the life you had always known.

At the breakfast table your mother was quick to question why you were not present in your chambers at sunrise, but you already had a rehearsed script planned in your mind. Without missing a beat, you told the story of how you had a few too many flutes of champagne, and fell asleep in the gardens.

Your mother, of course, scolded you, but your father? He had a hidden, knowing smile playing beneath his mustache.

You and Joel were extremely cautious and strategic when it came to planning your rendezvous. They happened frequently, under the cover of night when everyone was sleeping. Sometimes in the stables, sometimes in the gardens, and you even returned to the inn a few times in secret. He could not get enough of you, your kisses, or your touch. The feeling was mutual, and you both knew that the deep, profound feelings you were both experiencing was not infatuation or lust, no, you and Joel Miller were madly, deeply, tragically in love with one another.

Even in the daytime he would seek your presence, asking your father if he could accompany you on a ride through the countryside as your guide, and protector. You had picnics by the river where he would lay his head upon your skirts, eyes closed blissfully as he listened to you read love stories from Shakespeare till he would drift off, soft snores escaping his lips, your voice lulling him to a sweet slumber. Your horses would graze side by side, his stallion, your mare. Their tails swishing to fight off the pesky flies.

Upon the approach of your eighteenth birthday, you wept in Joel’s arms, for no matter how many times he spilled his seed inside of you, your womb did not swell with life; his child. You feared that his love for you would sour and rot when you broke the mournful news to him beneath comfort of the shimmering moon, and twinkling stars.

“My dearest, why do you weep? Who, or what has caused my sweet love to shed her tears?” He sank to his knees with you crumbling in his arms. His heart felt like it was being shredded to fragmented pieces when your sobs echoed off the nearby hedges in the garden where your embrace was hidden.

“My Joel!” You cried, clawing at his arms with fat, heavy tears streaming down your cheeks, “I—I’m so sorry. I have let you down, my love.”

“My dearest, how have you let me down? Tell me what is wrong! What has happened?” He spoke urgently, tone hushed.

“My womb does not swell with life, Joel! We have tried, and tried! No matter how many times, it has been fruitless! I bear you no sons, no daughters—” you wailed mournfully.

“My sweet, are you certain of this? Oh, my girl…” he felt his own tears begin to prick his eyes as he began to gently rock you in his arms. “Do you weep in sadness, or in fear? I do not care that you cannot bear me any children, my dearest. My love for you will never sour.”

“Do not lie to me, lover!” You were on the edge of snapping through your tears, “when my sole purpose in this life is to marry and bear children to my husband! There must be something wrong with me, Joel! How can you say you love me when I cannot be the woman I am expected to be! I never can fucking—”

You surprised yourself and him by your sudden crude language, but then again, spending as much time as you did with Joel, his verbiage began to rub off on you, and yours onto him.

“Then don’t be the woman you are expected to be, my love! There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing, do you hear me? I love you as you are! You are my lady, for fucks sakes! You can be whoever you want to be with me! Do you wish to be a poet? Be one! Do you wish to be a scholar? A singer? Do you wish to live a normal life where your choices are not already chosen for you?!” His voice cracked, coming out as a hoarse rasp deep from within his chest.

You fought the urge to scoff and chide him for being so naive. “My life will never be normal! Don’t you understand?! All I know is what has been chosen for me! It doesn’t matter what I want, Joel! I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth! My studies, my thoughts, opinions, have all been predisposed! Even the fucking food I consume, and the clothing on my back has been chosen for me!”

“Of course I understand! All I have ever done is understand that you and I were never cut from the same cloth! And yet, I love you all the same because what else is a man to do? My sweet, we are weeks away from your eighteenth birthday! We can run away together and carve out the life of our choosing! Fuck your parents, fuck the society we live in! Do you want to marry a man you don’t love and live in misery?! Or do you want the chance to live! To wake up at your choosing, to wear what you desire, to love freely with no prejudice? To never again live under your parents control? Don’t you want to…love me?” He was exasperated, chest heaving, nostrils flaring from the pure passion oozing from his words.

You fell silent, your lower lip wobbling, eyes glassy with tears as you looked into his eyes, taking in the redness in his cheeks, the puffing of his chest—the love pooling in his dark irises, “of course I want to love you, my Joel. I—I’m afraid! Can’t you see that? I’m expected to marry and bear my husband's children and now I cannot! If we run away together, I’ll never be able to return home! What if our love isn’t destined to make it! What if we fail—”

“Of course I can see you’re afraid, my girl. I see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice! You are safe here, with me. With your Joel! I would never, ever, ever let anything happen to you. We may not live a life of riches, but we would live a life rich in love! I—I can get a job! I will work until my bones break if it means that I get to be with you. I’ll work the railways, the mines! Any job that I can take, I will, and I’ll do it all for you.”

You kissed him then, tasting the salt from your own tears and his upon your locked lips. “We’ll move west! As far west as we can! We’ll see the ocean for the first time, plot out our land and live out our days together!” You murmured against his lips.

“California.” He promised you, kissing you deeply as his hands came to cradle your face, “a sheep ranch with Shadow and Sunfyre.”

“Why sheep, lover?” You asked softly between desperation filled kisses,

“They’re quiet, do as they're told.” He teased, chuckling when you gently swatted at his chest for making such a comment.

“Ha, ha, very funny.” You giggled, which soon turned into a moan when his fingers slipped down to your waist and hastily began to unlace your bodice, while your hand drifted downwards to undo the string on his trousers. Neither of you knew that one of your own ladies, the same lady that had been promised to Joel by your father, caught the two of you in the gardens while she was out for a midnight stroll. Her presence was undetected as you sank down around Joel’s cock beneath your skirts, moaning his name unashamedly as your entwined bodies moved in sync.

June 1st, 1844

“Yes, mother.” You responded in a practiced, complacent sweetness to appease her.

“He will make a fine husband to you, one day.” She added, her perfectly dainty fingers came to rest upon your shoulder, squeezing it with anything but a comforting touch. She didn’t notice the way your gaze lingered on your secret lover, nor did she sense your longing.

“Yes, he will, mother. I look forward to making his acquaintance.”

“Good. You have grown into being a fine young woman, daughter. Your father and I are so very proud of you.”

If only they knew that you were not the perfect, proper lady than they believed you to be, and that your heart belonged to another man.

Your Joel had requested a private audience with your father leading up to the festivities surrounding your monumental birthday. And so after bringing the horses in from the pasture, he made his way to your fathers office, closing the door quietly behind him when he was given permission to enter.

“Sir, I have wonderful news to bestow upon you, Shadow is expectin’. She was showin’ early signs a few weeks back, but it is official.”

“Wonderful news indeed, Joel. And who is the lucky stud?” Your father asked, despite already knowing the answer.

“Sunfyre, sir.”

“Ahh. What a combination. A filly, as black as the night, and a colt, as golden as the sun. I wonder what their offspring will look like.” He mused.

Joel swallowed the lump growing in his throat, his palms growing clammier by the second. He took a deep breath to calm his budding nerves, “Sir, I need to disclose something to you, but before I do, I just wanted to say that I have appreciated being able to confide in you in some capacity. I am grateful that you have taken me under your wing and offered me the chance at having a better life, but your daughter—”

“Joel.” He warned, leaning forward in his chair with his hands clasped together. “Be extremely careful with your choice in words for whatever it is you are about to tell me. Perhaps I need to remind you where your place is? Maybe I should have been wary of confiding in you, boy.”

“Sir, please. You must hear this! If you care about your daughter's happiness, and her well being, you will listen to what I have to say. I swear that our conversations have remained confidential! I have spoken about them to no one, I swear it!”

Your father let out a deep sigh, bringing his hands to his face where he pressed the pads of his fingers into the deep set wrinkles in his forehead. “Go on then.”

“Your daughter—she is unable to bear children. She is afraid of what is to become of her if she cannot bear children for her future husband, sir. And I fear for her as well! Sir, men are unkind, and she is sweet. She is sweet and kind and deserving—”

Your fathers heart slowly began to sink, his composure crumbled because of his darling little girl, who would certainly face a life of hardship and misery if you could not bear children and enact your duties as a perfect wife for your husband. He didn’t agree with it, but that was how society worked. Men ruled the house, and the women cared for their husbands and children. “How do you know of this, Joel?” Your fathers tone wavered, his eyes casting in Joel’s direction and he saw a younger version of himself in your forbidden lover.

“Sir, you know the answer to your own question.” Joel nearly whispered, avoiding direct eye contact and let his gaze fall to a portrait behind your fathers desk, two young men with their arms around one another’s shoulders.

“You love her, don’t you?” His question hung heavy in the air.

Joel froze like a deer that was inevitably caught by hunters in the meadow. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t think as he listened to the sound of blood rushing in his ears and his pulse pounding, “with all of my heart, sir.”

Your father slowly nodded his head in understanding as he let out a sigh, “then you must know that you have to swallow down your feelings for my daughter for her benefit and your own. You are playing a dangerous game, Joel. One that could very well cost you your life.”

“I don’t fucking care. I have never loved another being outside of your daughter. Our love may be frowned upon and forbidden, but it is real. I have felt for her since I was just a mere boy, when the storm was raging outside and she accompanied me to see the birth of Dahlia’s foal. My love for her will never sour, it will never over ripen and rot like the low hanging fruit upon the trees. I have nothing to offer her but my heart, and that holds a weight more valuable than gold or silver.”

Your father smiled, one that did not reach his eyes as he slowly stood from his chair behind his desk and walked in front of it. “You remind me so much of my younger self, Joel. Willing to do anything for the person you love. Despite all the odds being stacked against you.”

Joel took a hesitant step back, the heel of his boot nearly catching along the rug, “do not patronize me, sir. I love your daughter, and nothing will stop me from loving her. Even after death, my love for her will remain.”

“Of course nothing will stop you, Joel. For what else is a man to do when he is in love?” He smiled sadly, a look of longing hidden behind his eyes. Joel knew the look all too well.

“I don’t—I don’t understand.”

“I’m going to tell you something that you have to swear you will never utter to anyone. It is a secret that you must take to your grave, Joel. You cannot even tell my daughter. Are we clear?”

“I swear I will not tell a single soul, sir. Not even your daughter will know.”

“Good, I trust you. You have a good heart, Joel.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Your father reached for his box of cigars, silently offering one to Joel who politely declined. It had been many, many, years since your father spoke about his past, and while he lit the end of the cigar, those memories began to surface. “I meant what I said when I told you that you remind me of my younger self.”

Joel nodded in understanding.

“When I was your age, the world was at my fingertips, Joel. It was my oyster, and I could have any lady of my choosing, but I had to marry. That was my parents one rule upon me was that I had to marry.”

“You could have any lady of your choosing, but it wasn’t a lady that held your affections, was it, sir?”

“No. It was not a lady that held my affections.”

“The man…in the portrait behind your desk, was he your…?”

“Yes, Joel. The man in the portrait was my lover. The butler's son nonetheless. I of course tried to appease my parents and court the finest lady in town, but my heart longed for my lover. We were going to run away together, Joel. It was all planned out, and I was ready to throw away my old life for him. It was, and still is taboo and forbidden to lay with the same sex. We were careful, until I came to him with the grave news that I would have to marry, and that we could no longer be together. He was angry, I was angry, we got reckless, and one night we were caught.”

“By…the lady of the house? Your now wife?”

He nodded, leaning back against the front of his desk, “yes, she was the one who caught us in the act, in my chambers. She screamed so loud, as if she was witnessing a murder! I begged her to keep her voice down but she wouldn’t listen. She was disgusted with me, and proclaimed that I would rot in eternal hell for the sins I committed.”

“What happened…to your lover, sir?”

“My own father nearly beat my lover to death in front of me. I was forced to watch the life drain from his eyes. I begged and begged for him to stop, to let him live! Maybe he would have, if it wasn’t for the lady of the house to spread a rumor that the butler's son came onto me against my will. My father didn’t want to believe that his son was a fairy, and so my lover was sentenced to hang. I visited him for the very last time when he was shackled, malnourished, and begging for death to take him. I stayed with him all night, praying that the sun would never rise. The following morning I was forced to watch him hang. Every single spectator in the crowd, except for me, cheered for the death of another fairy!” He used the back of his hand to swiftly wipe at his eyes when his tears began to well and roll down his cheeks.

“He was buried in an unmarked grave and I went through with marrying the lady of the house. I wasn’t given another choice, and on the night of our wedding, she whispered to me that she knew the truth, and that she wouldn’t hesitate to blackmail me for it.”

“I’m so sorry, sir. Your lover—you, I’m so sorry. I do not understand why people are so cruel and hateful. Love is love, is it not?”

“Please do not sympathize with me, Joel. I do not seek your sympathy. I am telling you this because if you do not swallow your feelings for my daughter, you will surely face the same fate that my lover did! Don’t you understand? She has been promised to another. She meets with the banker's son tonight and in time, they will be married. It is her duty and expectation. And you will have the choice to marry the lady I have chosen for you. Your love for my daughter will fade, and you will be grateful that it did.”

“How dare you! How dare you stand there—you coward! You could have been with your lover now if you had run away together! You had the opportunity, and didn’t seize it?! Don’t stand there and claim that my love for your daughter will fade, when yours for your dead lover has not! You stand there, weeping for him! Your life could have been different—”

Crack

Your fathers cruel fist made direct contact with Joel’s beautiful nose, the force of impact sending him stumbling backwards, clutching his face in despair as blood trickled and dripped between the grooves of his fingers, staining the golden threaded hearthrug in splotches of crimson.

“Get the fuck out of my office. It is clear that you have forgotten your place, boy. You will never marry the likes of my daughter.”

Joel retreated through the office doors with what remained of his dignity. He confided in your father purely out of trust, and he thought it was a mutual feeling. For the rest of the afternoon, leading into the evening, you did not see your Joel.

The banker’s son was polite, well-mannered, but goodness—was he a bore. You had no interest in hearing him drone on about the stock market in New York City. He didn’t bother to ask you about you, or your interests as they were already predisposed by your mother.

Fucking cunt.

He strolled with you in the gardens with your hand lightly grasping onto his elbow. Your eyes wandered off, in search for that familiar stature, and head of distinguishable dark curls as you passed by the stables, but your Joel was nowhere to be found. Your heart sank and you asked the banker’s son, Timothy, if he would mind giving you a moment of privacy in the garden's gazebo. He obliged, but not before he could press an affectionate kiss to the outside of your hand. The bristles in his perfectly groomed mustache tickled your skin before he reluctantly pulled away.

You let out a sigh of relief, your posture returning to a relaxed state as you watched him walk back towards the festivities inside. When you were certain that he was not lingering, you began to nervously pace the short distance inside of the gazebo, muttering about how Joel would never just leave you like this, would he?

Where the fuck was he?

Then you heard it, the groaning of the tired wood beneath his boots, and that warm, deep rasp in his voice. “My dearest.” He croaked, and you immediately knew something was wrong, something had happened. His voice sounded far more nasally, and when you turned around to face him, that’s when you noticed the dry, crusted blood beneath his fractured nose, the rusted blood stains in his white shirt. You ran to him, delicately cradling his beautiful face in your palms.

“My Joel!” You cried, “what has happened? Who has done this to you! Your nose—your beautiful nose!”

“Hush, my darling. It’s—just a fracture, lover. It will heal.” He lowered his tone to a whisper, his hands slowly coming to rest around your waist. “It does not matter who did this to me, my dearest.”

“How can you say such a thing? Joel, please, my love, who did this to you?” You softly begged, thumbs gently stroking the scruff speckled on his strong jaw.

“Your father.” He murmured, bitterness laced in his words.

“What?” You murmured in disbelief, dropping your hands from his face, refusing to believe it. “Why would he do such a thing to you! Joel, please, please tell me what happened!”

“My love, please promise you will not hate me for what I am about to utter. Swear to me that you won’t.” He pleaded, tightening his grip around your waist in fear that you would slip between his fingers like grains of sand.

“I swear it.”

“He knows about us, my dearest. He knows that I love you, and you love me. He knows that you cannot bear children because I am the one who confided in him this afternoon. I did it in hopes that he would understand, and stop the banker's son from courting you tonight. I—I thought maybe we wouldn’t have to run away, and we would be accepted as lovers!”

“Oh Joel, they will never accept us! You stupid, stupid, beautiful little fool.” You sniffled sadly, feeling your tears oncoming. “You are too good for this world and everyone in it! Your heart is made of pure gold, and I love you for it, but now you have put yourself in grave danger! That was so fucking stupid of you to do, lover.”

“My sweet, I may be a fool, but what else is a man to do when he is in love? Your father knows, yes, but now we must seize our opportunity to leave, tonight! The party is in full swing, is it not? No one will notice your absence, my dearest. If we don’t leave tonight, I fear we will never have another chance at eternal happiness.”

You swallow down your tears, melting into his embrace and his words. “The banker’s son waits for me inside, it will be suspicious if I do not return to him within the hour…” you trailed off.

“Are you having your doubts, my love?”

“No, no! Of course not. I am in fear that we will be caught if we aren’t careful, my Joel. I will return to him and you will go to my chambers. Lock the doors and do not open them for anyone. Take the back entrance, through the kitchens! No one will see you, I swear it.” You reached for his hands on your waist, interlocking your fingers through his.

“And you? I cannot fathom thinking of the banker’s son touching—”

“My Joel, please do not allow your thoughts to sour. I am expected to dance with him and when the timing is right, I will come find you. I promise.”

He nodded, bringing your clasped hands up to his face so he could kiss your knuckles, wincing from the dull ache in his nose.

“Together?” He murmured, eyes locking onto yours.

“Always.”

You parted ways after he kissed you, promising you that all this pain would be worth it in the end, and of course, you believed him, for what else is a girl to do when she is in love?

You returned to Timothy’s side, assuring him that you just needed to be alone with your thoughts. He was an understanding man, and you could understand why your father assumed that he would be a perfect match for you, but no one would ever be your Joel. And while you danced, and made small talk with him and his friends, Joel was making his way through the kitchens, ducking into one of the main hallways, muscle memory guiding him the way to your chambers, but unbeknownst to him, he was being followed.

It was a quarter to midnight and your lover could hear the party growing rowdier by the minute even behind your locked doors. He grew weary, doubts settling into his mind that perhaps you had forgotten him. Perhaps you were having a good time with the fucking bankers son. His spirits lifted when he heard the sound of a key being inserted in the lock. He sprung up from the edge of your perfectly made up bed, heart racing in his chest when the doors opened.

His face fell, blood running ice cold when the person revealed behind the door was not you, but the lady who was promised to him by your father. He took a step back, palms growing clammy.

“How did I know that you would be lingering in her chambers, Joel?” She closed the doors behind her and locked them for good measure. “What would her father say if he knew you were in here…hmm?”

“You fucking followed me here, didn’t you, Lady Florence?” He seethed, feeling like an animal trapped in the corner with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

“Because you were promised to me, or have you forgotten?” She cocked a brow in his direction, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I never approached you. Never even attempted to court you. Just because her father promised me to you, doesn’t fucking mean shit until actions are taken after words.” He snapped.

“I suppose, but then again, you’re in a not so favorable position, Joel. Trespassing after hours, and in his daughter's chambers nonetheless? I’m almost certain you would hang for such a crime.” She mused, stepping closer to where he had tucked himself nearly into a corner closest to the window. “Perhaps he would love to hear how I caught you and his daughter fucking in the gardens a few weeks back. How truly reckless of you both.” She tsked.

He scoffed at her attempt at blackmailing him in such a petty way. “Your threats are made in vain. Her father already knows about my love for his daughter. He’s well aware, and you look fucking desperate and pathetic at your attempt to blackmail me.”

“Blackmail you? Joel, you have me all wrong!” She laughed, “I don’t have the heart to blackmail you!”

“Then what the fuck do you call what you just attempted to do, hmm? Don’t take me for a fool! You are nothing but a jealous little—”

“Joel? It’s me, my love. I don’t have my key…someone must have nicked it!” You whispered through the outside of the closed door, looking around the vacant hallway anxiously. “Are you in there?”

He strode past Florence, shoulder checking her on his way to the door and quickly unlocked it, ushering you inside before closing and locking it again.

Your eyes landed on his face, and then trailed over his shoulder to Florence, one of your ladies, who you had believed up until this point was loyal, and not a conniving little—

“Lady Florence? What are you doing in my chambers? What is going on?!”

Joel reached for bare forearm with a gentle grip to pull you back. “My dearest, it isn’t what you think! Lady Florence is the one who nicked your key and followed me to your chambers! She cornered me, threatened me with blackmail, and claimed that she caught you and I in the gardens weeks ago!”

“Is this true?” You felt saddened, betrayed, and disappointed. “Flo, how could you do such a thing to me? I thought we were friends!”

“My lady—he lies! I never would steal from you, he is the one to corner me! He sought me out, forcing me into your chambers—” she lied between her teeth, digging herself in a graver hole than she was planning.

“LIAR!” you yelled, ripping your arm from Joel’s grasp, “he would never lay a hand on a lady, nor pressure her! You speak only of lies Florence!”

“Lover! We do not have the time for this! We have to go, we have to go now!” Joel urged you from behind, reaching for your arm again. “She isn’t worth it! Please, we must—”

And then you heard your fathers voice booming down the hall. Your biggest fear was coming true, and now there was nowhere for you or Joel to hide when the doors bursted open, the locking mechanism snapping in half from the force of your father.

“What is the meaning of this?!” He demanded.

Lady Florence, being the snake in the grass that she was, immediately flocked to your fathers side. “Sir! You arrived just in time!” She said exasperatedly, “Your daughter was in her chambers freshening up and I went to go check on her, being the good friend that I am, when I heard her dreadful scream! I came upon the heinous crime of the filthy stable hand taking your daughter against her will!” She wept her crocodile tears. “He threatened to—”

Your father wasn’t buying it for he knew that Florence was a terrible liar, and a rotten friend. “Lady Florence, this does not concern you. Return to the party immediately, and speak this to no one.”

“But sir—”

“GET OUT!” He yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at her. She narrowed her eyes at both you and Joel before slinking out of the room, closing the doors behind her.

You immediately stepped in front of Joel, silently vowing to protect him no matter what would happen, you would not allow your father to harm another hair upon your lover's head.

“Daddy, please, I love him! Please, let us be! I know it goes against what is expected of me, but Joel is a good man! He has only ever been good to me, father!”

“Your mother will never allow it, daughter. All Joel has done is tempted you and filled your head with fantasies! You have been promised to the banker's son and that is final! You think of me to be cruel, but I am only doing what is best for you!”

“I do not care what you think is best for me, father! I do not want to marry the banker's son! I wish to be happy with my one love, and I do not care if that means that you and mother will exile me! I do not care that it means I will no longer live a life of riches! I am rich in love and happiness with him by my side!”

Your father ignored your pleas, even when you clung to his arm and dug your heels in the ground to stop him from advancing towards Joel. “Please, father! Please! I am begging you to leave him be!” You cried, and your words were caught in your throat when the backside of your fathers ring clad hand made swift contact with your cheek, sending you tumbling to the floor in shock. All Joel could see was red behind his eyes when your fathers hand made contact with your cheek. He sprung into action, but your father, despite his age, was quick, ready for Joel’s attack.

“YOU DARE FUCKIN’ LAY A HAND ON HER?!” Your lover yelled with a rage you had never heard leave his lips, “I’LL FUCKIN’ KILL YOU IF YOU LAY A HAND UPON HER AGAIN!”

Your father used Joel’s rage to his advantage, letting the younger man assume he had control of the situation when he was shoved against your tall, wooden chifferobe.

“STOP IT! PLEASE!” You cried, “BOTH OF YOU, PLEASE STOP!”

In your moment of distress, Joel was distracted for a millisecond too long when your fathers fist connected with Joel’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. He landed another hit, and then another, weakening Joel enough that he crumbled to his knees, bringing his arms over his head to block out the fists raining down upon him.

Your father was relentless, grabbing your lover by the back of his neck, yanking it upwards so he was forced to look up at the older man from his knees. He bent down to his level, getting close to his ear and whispered only for him to hear “I warned you this would end badly if you weren’t careful, boy.”

Joel spit a mixture of congealed blood and saliva directly onto his face, spattering it in speckles of crimson. “Fuck you, you coward.” He hissed between gritted teeth.

Your fathers fist trembled, his hand surely was broken, but all he could think about was how he was forced to watch his own lover be beaten in the same fashion, and now he was on the delivering end of it. “Get out.” He seethed. “Leave the property before lady Florence runs her large mouth to the lady of the house and spreads a false rumor about you and my daughter. Leave before I change my mind, Joel.”

Defeat; complete and utter defeat is all Joel Miller felt in his bones when your father released him with a rough shove to the ground. He struggled to sit up, coughing up more blood, and when you attempted to crawl to his side, your father grasped your elbow and yanked you to the door.

your fading screams of his name echoed down the hall as your father dragged you further and further away.

Bruised, beaten, and feeling hopeless, Joel Miller forced himself to his feet and obeyed your fathers word to leave while he still had the chance. He felt like a coward now, but what else could he do? If he stayed, surely he would face the gallows for a crime that he didn’t commit. Lady Florence had infact gone to run her big mouth to the lady of the house, claiming that Joel Miller raped you in your bed chambers. It was of course a fabricated lie, and only lady Florence, Joel, your father, and you knew the truth.

June 4th, 1844

My Dearest,

I am deeply remorseful for the events that transcribed three days ago. I know I have put you in an undesirable situation now with your father’s wishes for your arranged marriage to the rich banker's son. Forgive me, for I don’t care to remember his name. My dearest, do not put the blame upon yourself. If we had known that there were prying, hateful eyes watching us, I would have waited for you in the stables and not inside your chambers. Jealousy drives even the sanest of people to do the unforgivable. The deep wounds your father has inflicted upon me will heal, but my heart? Oh, how it aches for you, my dearest. If I were not a coward, I would turn back and face the gallows just to see your face one last time, for what else is a man to do when he is in love? I’m heading west, like we planned in the gardens, in hopes that you will follow me and go against your father’s wishes. Please write to me soon, tell me that you are safe, and grace me with your sweet words.

Your devoted Joel

Unspecified date.

My Joel,

I write this to you in secret. My words are only for your eyes, and when you receive my letter, tell no one, my lover. Father is angry, so very angry, and mother only speaks of hate towards you. She is determined to make me press charges against you to hang for a crime you did not commit! Father won’t stand for it and instead we have abandoned the estate, left all of our belongings including our dear horses! They will not tell me where we are going, but I miss you terribly, my Joel. My brothers have been free to marry by their choosing, but I? I cannot. It’s rather cruel, isn’t it? To be given one life and since birth, since I first opened my eyes and gazed upon the new world, my choice has been stolen from my grasp. Oh, my Joel, you speak in sorrows, but the fault lands upon my shoulders. I’m so sorry, lover. I should have been more careful and discreet with our planned rendezvous. I deeply loathe Lady Florence for spying upon us! You are right of her jealousy, and now she claims to be remorseful! Oh, I feel your lips now. Your kiss, your touch upon my skin. My love for you has not weakened, I promise. Hold my words close to your heart, my Joel. I fear I will not be able to write to you again, but I will try, for you. My Joel, you are in my thoughts, always.

You have my heart,

Your Dearest.

January 1848, one hour after dusk

The decision to leave Texas and travel to New York to stop yours and the banker’s son’s wedding could quite possibly be the last thing that Joel Miller would ever do. But how could he sleep at night knowing that you were out there, somewhere in the city, thousands of miles away. You had not written to him in so long, but that didn’t deter him from following his heart back to you. He couldn’t fathom life without you in it any longer, and what else is a man to do when he is in love?

That’s how he found himself in the familiar stables, the horses peeking their heads out from their stalls and nickering softly to him in greeting. He kept the single letter you wrote to him safely tucked away in the pocket of his coat, rucksack thrown over his shoulder with what little belongings he possessed. After a new family moved into your home he was given a higher title, a warm bed to sleep in, and he could have married his new boss's daughter and lived a comfortable, happy life, but he declined, for she would never be you, his dearest. Despite turning down every single one of her affections, she still lingered, hoping that one day she would be good enough for his affections and heart.

He was frantically tacking up Sunfyre, cinching up the girth when the barn doors creeped open and Phoebe, his boss’s daughter appeared.

“Joel?” She whispered through the cool evening air, lantern in hand to peer into the low-lit stalls, “what…are you doing?”

He let out a sigh, dropping his hand from the girth and turned around to face her, “lady Phoebe, it’s late. You shouldn’t be out after hours.”

“Neither should you.” She chastised. “Where are you going at this hour, Joel?”

“My lady, that is none of your business. Please, return home. Forget that you ever saw me.”

“You’re going after her, aren’t you? Joel, it’s been years, and she has only written back to you once! It’s in all the papers that she is marrying the banker's son. You could be happy here, with me.” She whispered the last bit, feeling her heart ache for a man who would never feel the same for her.

“Lady Phoebe, “You are a dear friend to me, but I cannot love you, for my heart belongs to another.”

“But I can love you, Joel. I’m right here! She is thousands of miles away and—”

“She is my love, my one true love, and I’ll be damned if I don’t follow my heart. Your heart sings for me, but it’s not my tune to hear. You will belong to another, I promise.” He moved from Sunfyre’s side, grasping Phoebe's hands gently in his calloused palms, “you have to let me, and what could never be between us go.”

May 6th, 1848

My Joel, if you’re out there…please, please come find me, lover.

Your Joel wasn’t even sure how the fuck he was supposed to find you in a city as large as New York City. All he knew is that today you were expected to marry the banker’s son, and he would be damned if he didn’t stop this wedding from happening. He asked nearly every passbery in the street if they knew where the biggest wedding of the month would be taking place. It took less time than expected to find his answer, and once he did, he rented the finest suit that he could afford, tucked the ring box safely in his suit pocket, and rode to the chapel.

The wedding bells were already beginning to sweetly chime, and he felt his blood run cold at the sound. Was he too late? He would never forgive himself if he was.

“If anyone here, in this room objects to the unifying marriage between this man and woman, speak now or forever hold your peace.” The officiant spoke at the head of the altar, just as the doors leading into the chapel burst open.

“I OBJECT!” Joel’s familiar voice boomed up the aisle. Hushed murmurs, and surprised gasps echoed throughout the chapel when your eyes landed upon your Joel. All time ceased as you dropped Timothy’s hands, racing down the aisle, the train of your perfectly fitted wedding dress dragged behind you.

Tears flooded your eyes as you threw yourself into your lover's embrace, clinging to him in disbelief with your hands cradling his face. “MY JOEL, YOU CAME FOR ME!”

“Of course I did, my dearest. For what else is a man to do when he is in love?” He murmured, unable to truly process all the feelings he was experiencing at once. But what did it truly matter? The time apart was years, but it was all worth it leading up to this moment.

Your father was already making his way down the aisle, followed by your mother and Timothy when Joel grasped your hand tightly in his and whisked you down the aisle towards the exit. He wasn’t going to let them take you away from him again, not this time.

His grip on your hand did not loosen at the harsh sound of your fathers voice, and even when you were running down the chapel steps in unison, he did not let go until you and him were safely tucked behind a wall of a building, out of sight from the wedding party.

He kept you safely caged against the wall, a burst of memories from the night of firsts that you shared together all those years ago. “My dearest,” he breathed, “I thought I was too late! I thought the wedding already happened and you—”

“My Joel, I—I never thought I would see you again! I only ever received your single letter and I thought that you had moved on, that you had forgotten about me!”

“What?” He shook his head, brows furrowed as he grabbed your hands and brought them to his lips, kissing every inch of your skin there. “My Dearest, I wrote to you many, many times! Did you receive all of my letters? I thought the same! I thought you forgot about your Joel.” He admitted quietly.

“Fuck! I bet it was mother, or father! I bet they were keeping your letters from me, lover! Maybe they thought that if I believed you had forgotten me, I would be more inclined to marry the banker’s son!”

“I would believe that to be true, my sweet. But none of that matters, okay? I’m here now. Your Joel is here, and I will never leave your side again.”

“I-I can’t believe you’re here! Oh, my Joel, I’m so sorry—for everything! I have not stopped thinking about you all these years, I swear it. My heart only has ever belonged to you. I wear his ring, but it means nothing to me!”

“Shh, my love. I know, I know. My heart has only ever belonged to you, my dearest. Only to you. Fuck his ring. I will remove it from your finger so you never have to gaze upon it again.” He rasped, gently grabbing your left hand, scoffing at the enormous rock on your ring finger. “And I will replace it with my own.”

“Please, my Joel.”

He slipped the banker’s son’s ring off of your finger, tucking it into his pocket before he pulled out his own ring box, revealing a smaller, dainter ring beneath the velvet cover.

“It’s not much, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t grace your finger with the largest diamond the world has ever seen, but—I love you, dearest. I came all this way because I couldn’t possibly fathom the thought of losing you to another. I have never loved another soul as I do you, and while I don’t have riches to offer you, shiny carriages, silver platters, I have my heart and I know that it’s worth something to you, darlin.’”

He slipped his ring onto your finger, where it always belonged, and then you finally kissed him, your lips meeting in gentle brush before he surged forward, kissing you with everything that he had to offer. He believed that he was hallucinating, that he was back in Texas, longing for you in his empty bed. But you were here, you were real beneath his fingertips as he licked sweetly into your mouth, hands splayed around your waist, holding you close.

“It’s perfect, my Joel.” You murmured against his lips.

“Only because the lady that wears it is the most beautiful in the entire world. Sunfyre is waiting for us down the street. We can go as far east, west, wherever your heart desires. I will love you eternally, and no one will ever keep us apart, my dearest. I swear it.”

“Let’s go home, my Joel. To Texas. Take me home.”

And so he did, for what else is a man to do when he is in love?

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fantasyescapes17 · 11 months

Text

Scandal (Part 1)

The Viscount's sister with an enormous dowry, beauty and unmistakable talent- you began the London season as the most desired woman in any room. But Jeon Wonwoo (a man who would rather hide in the library than dance at a ball) is beyond your comprehension. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but it embroiled you into a scandal with a man you could never love.

Genre: Wonwoo x Female!reader. Regency!AU (It's sort of Bridgerton-esque in the sense that I give zero attention to historical accuracy and prioritize aesthetics lmao) You are Joshua's sibling so your last name is Hong but the reader has no other physical characteristics. Note: Certain main characters may initially seem unlikeable in this story. Redemption arcs will come.

Word Count: 6.8k+

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Series Masterlist [Reading Candle and Manners, the earlier installments in this series first is strongly recommended as main character dynamics are introduced there.]

The sheer cacophony being produced from Miss Brooke’s fingers prodding at your pianoforte was unbearable.

You suffered silently through the onset of a headache as Miss Brooke continued to perform (the piece was not even recognizable to your ears although she was using your sheet music). The remaining occupants of the parlour conversed awkwardly over her uninspiring performance.

Your mother- the Dowager Viscountess Hong- derived great enjoyment from hosting other elite families for tea. Her tea parties were renowned not only for the wide array of cakes, biscuits and other delicacies served, but also her remarkable skills as a hostess.

Presently, the evening's guests consisted of two of the ton's most elite families: the Brookes and the Jeons. Both families had eligible young women of marriageable age which factored into your mother's decision to host them. She was hoping your brother would marry by the end of the season.

Your brother- the Viscount Joshua Hong- was seated near Miss Jeon. They chatted politely about something. The specifics of their conversation were prevented from reaching your ears by the ruckus Miss Brooke was creating on the piano. Miss Jeon was the season's promising young debutante, but it was evident that she had no particular attraction to Joshua. And Joshua's heart was already engaged elsewhere.

That left only one other marriageable bachelor in the room.

Mr. Jeon Wonwoo.

He was a strange one, you decided. Mr Jeon was exceedingly handsome and always had a calm, peaceful demeanour. He spoke very little. Even now, he sat across from you and sipped his tea quietly without making any attempt at conversation. Your initial subtle attempts at flirtation had fallen quite flat.

You had to admit that you found him rather mysterious.

Still, you had never met a man that was completely immune to your charms. Mr. Jeon was simply a bit of a challenge. You enjoyed a challenge.

Miss Brooke's piece at the piano finally drew to an excruciatingly slow end. Seizing the opportunity, you rose from your seat and clapped politely with a smile on your face as you approached her.

"Thank you so much, Miss Brooke. We are so grateful to have been able to experience your playing this evening. Truly a remarkable performance," you told her graciously.

Miss Brooke blushed. "Thank you, Miss Hong. I was considering what to play next-"

"Oh! No, I won't hear of it! You must be very tired already. I insist that you sit down and try these lemon cakes. I would be happy to continue the music in your stead," you offered.

Miss Brooke looked put out but you firmly and politely ushered her away from the piano. You sat at your beloved instrument and let your fingers lovingly stroke the keys that Miss Brooke had abused mere moments ago.

You never tired of showing off your performances. Your musical talents were undisputed among the members of the ton, and you were confident that there was no young woman in London who could ever rival your skill at the piano.

Surely, you thought, a display of my exquisite musical talent will be enough to gain a little attention from Mr. Jeon Wonwoo?

You chose to perform an incredibly difficult piece that you had recently mastered. The entire room immediately ceased conversation to turn their attention to your performance. You could tell from the corner of your eye that even Mr. Jeon Wonwoo's sharp gaze was fixed on you. He was watching you intensely.

When you finished, you were treated to an enthusiastic round of applause from the entire room. Your mother spoke up to praise you.

"Wonderful, dear. That was beautifully done," the Dowager Viscountess told you proudly.

"That was quite delightful!" Miss Jeon was equally quick to praise your performance once you returned to your seat. "I have heard so much about your musical talents, Miss Hong, but to hear you perform in person is quite something else entirely. How much time and effort you must have put in to reach that level of skill! Was it not lovely, Wonwoo?"

You smiled to yourself, awaiting the praise that was surely to come from Mr. Jeon. You were accustomed to general admiration of your music. The young gentlemen of the ton were among your most ardent admirers.

You batted your eyelashes at him and spoke in a sweet tone. "Yes, Mr. Jeon. I am very eager to hear what you thought of my performance."

Mr. Jeon Wonwoo sipped his tea calmly. His dark eyes flickered to you and he gave you a polite, tight-lipped smile.

"You possess great potential, Miss Hong," he replied simply.

You could not have been more shocked if Mr. Jeon Wonwoo had chosen to throw his unfinished tea in your face.

Potential? What on earth did he mean by that? You had been learning to play the piano since you were a small child of seven. That was a decade and a half of uninterrupted learning, of your parents hiring the best tutors and dedicating all your free time to the practice and perfection of the art. Your late father had bought you the priceless pianoforte for your twelfth birthday, and it was your most prized possession. You were undisputably the most skilled young lady in all of London and this rude, conceited, tasteless man had the audacity to tell you that you had potential?

As though you were a child?

You had never been so affronted.

"I have dedicated myself to learning how to play the pianoforte for over fifteen years now, Mr. Jeon," you informed him coldly. "I am certain that I have already realised my full potential. Perhaps you may wish to reserve your critical judgement in the future."

Mr. Jeon's handsome face did not flinch.

"You asked me for my thoughts, Miss Hong," he replied in his calm, deep voice. His eyebrow was raised. "Am I to understand, then, that my criticism holds no value while my praise does? One might call that vanity."

Your cheeks turned hot in anger. How dare this tasteless man not only insult you publicly, but also accuse you of being vain and fishing for compliments?

How dare he?

"One hardly needs to be a music aficionado to pay basic respect to the quality of a performance, Mr. Jeon. I believe even my dog knows good music when he hears it-"

Viscount Hong interrupted the rapidly escalating conversation with a laugh and made a tangential comment about a hunting expedition that he planned to undertake with some other gentlemen. You leaned back in your seat and fumed silently for the rest of the evening until the Jeons and Brookes finally took their leave.

"Joshua," you told your elder brother once the guests had departed. "I hope you have not developed any affection towards Miss Jeon because I forbid that family from being invited to our home again. I have never been so insulted in my life!"

Joshua raised an eyebrow. "Your performance was lovely, sister. You should not let the opinion of others affect you."

You turned to your mother.

"Mother! Was Mr. Jeon not excessively rude to me earlier?" you demanded validation. "Have you ever known someone to openly insult my performance- as a guest in our home, no less?"

Your mother gave you a sympathetic smile. "It does not appear that Mr. Jeon has a discerning ear for music, my darling. But do not fret. If you do not wish to see him again then we need not host the Jeons any more this season. There are plenty of other young gentlemen among the ton who would suit you much better."

You smiled and embraced your mother.

"You are so good to me, mother. Shall I play you another piece before dinner?"

"I would love that, my dear."

—-------------------------------------------------------

True to her word, your mother did not attempt to host the Jeons again. Any formal invitations to tea were restricted to the female members of the Jeon family- among whom Miss Jeon, you discovered, was a polite and friendly young woman.

You were fortunate to see very little of Mr. Jeon Wonwoo over the next few weeks. While his sister made a splash upon her entrance in society with her pretty manners and success at balls, Mr. Jeon himself was not easy to spot at social events. He would indulge in one or two dances at most and not be seen for the rest of the evening.

It was for the best, since the passage of time had not diminished your anger towards him in the slightest.

"Your post has arrived, Miss Hong," the maid told you as she came in with a tray of letters while you were at breakfast with your mother and brother.

The Dowager Viscountess raised an eyebrow.

"That is a lot of correspondence, my dear," your mother commented as you carelessly opened the letters one-by-one and glanced at them briefly before tossing them aside. "Who are you writing to?"

"I am not writing to anyone. These are from some gentlemen I danced with at the Hessington's ball last week. Mr. Carter writes to me regularly and of late I've received correspondence from Baron Wright, the Park brothers, and a few others…."

"So many admirers!"

You rolled your eyes. It was not surprising. These men were only interested in your status and fortune, though one would not think so from the romantic prose and lavish gifts they sent you on a regular basis. One of the envelopes contained a gift of expensive silk ribbon. Another contained an exquisitely carved handheld mirror.

You gestured to your maid to take the gifts away before continuing to open the envelopes.

"Oh, look- Mr. Carter has written a lovely little poem. You should use that, Joshua. It might help you woo Miss Lee."

Joshua did not look at the letter you passed him.

"I am capable of drafting my own correspondence with Miss Lee, sister, thank you," he told you firmly.

You were not convinced. "If you had written her a few poems like this before you raced off to her home to ask for her hand in marriage…"

Joshua sighed."Yes, yes, all right. That is enough."

"Oh dear," you mumbled as you opened the last letter. "Baron Wright says he intends to call upon me today. He is quite unbearable. I must not be at home- Minnie! It is lovely weather for a walk in the park. Will you help me find that pretty blue summer dress? And we shall take Snowball with us."

Your maid nodded. "Of course, miss."

You enjoyed the fresh air. Since you spent hours every day in front of the piano, it was rare to have a chance to promenade in the park with your furry companion. Snowball- your adorable fluffy white Pomeranian- trotted alongside you cheerfully on her leash and your ladies’ maids followed you at a polite distance.

"Miss, you must walk in the shade," your maid insisted. "It is very bright outside and the direct sun may burn your skin…"

You conceded, teetering a little off the path so that you and your maids could walk in the shade of the trees lining the park. You paused suddenly when you noticed a gentleman and lady strolling in your direction.

You recognised them both.

The man was Mr. Jeon Wonwoo. The mere sight of his handsome, unsmiling face was enough to make your blood boil. Wonwoo had no business looking so deceptively charming in a dark brown riding coat that emphasised his broad shoulders- the uncultured swine.

You would have walked past him without acknowledging his presence if it had been up to you. But unfortunately, you were not afforded this option. The lady accompanying him was your cousin-Miss Ella Williams- and she smiled and waved as soon as she recognised you.

"Cousin!" Ella called out cheerfully as she hurried down the path to greet you. Mr. Jeon followed her. His long legs allowed him to cover the distance in casual, effortless strides.

"Ella," you greeted your cousin warily. You were forced to acknowledge her walking companion. "And Mr. Jeon Wonwoo, if I remember correctly? I see you are out for a stroll."

Ella smiled. "Indeed. I was on a walk with Miss Jeon but we were joined by Mr. Jeon and Mr. Yoon. The path is narrow so I am afraid that the others have fallen a little behind. Mr. Jeon- please allow me to introduce you to my cousin, Miss Hong."

Wonwoo’s expression was emotionless as always.

“We are already acquainted,” he replied shortly.

"I see you and Snowball have come to promenade as well. Is the weather not perfectly lovely? It is a wonderful sunny day," Ella gushed.

"It was when I arrived. But there seems to be a rather ugly dark cloud crossing my path at the moment," you quipped with a sharp glance at Mr. Jeon.

The sky was clear and blue.

Mr. Jeon fixed his dark eyes upon you. He seemed annoyed. "Perhaps a dark cloud now and then is inevitable in life, Miss Hong. The sky cannot cater to your personal desires," he remarked.

You scoffed. "So long as the cloud learns its place and does not rain down upon those of us attempting to enjoy our day; I shall have no objections to the existence of the cloud."

Ella looked bewildered. "What cloud-"

She was interrupted by a sharp tug on your leash. Snowball had grown impatient while standing in one place and darted forwards to sniff at Mr. Jeon's shoes.

Mr. Jeon looked surprised. It was the closest thing to an emotion you had seen on his serious face- but he did not move away from the dog.

"Snowball, no!" you cried. Snowball was beginning to wag his tail and you could not imagine the mortification you would feel if your dog expressed any affection towards the man you were clearly attempting to snub.

You reached down and picked Snowball up quickly before he could embarrass you. He let out a small whine but relaxed in your arms.

Ella laughed. “Oh, that is all right, cousin! I am sure Mr. Jeon does not mind dogs- do you, Mr. Jeon?”

“I consider them to be excellent companions,” Mr. Jeon replied simply.

"And I think he is adorable," Ella insisted as she reached forward to pat Snowball's head. "I wish my mother would allow me to have a dog, but she insists that the fur makes her ill. Will you allow me to walk him sometime?"

"Anytime you like, dear cousin."

Ella's eyes suddenly widened as she remembered something. "Oh, but cousin, you must tell me- I have heard that the Viscount is courting Miss Lee! I was quite surprised. Can it be true? Will they be married?"

You stiffened. You were aware of Joshua's affections for Miss Lee; their courtship was the hottest gossip among the ton at the moment, largely because Miss Lee was from a humble background and did not possess either status or dowry to match your family's.

You had spoken to Miss Lee at the Hessington's ball. She was kind-hearted and a perfect choice for Joshua, but did not seem confident in her ability to become a Viscountess. You were not certain that she would accept your brother's proposal.

"It remains to be seen," you replied lightly. You did not want to confirm rumours until the success or failure of their courtship was more evident to you.

"You do not think she is a good match for Joshua?" Ella wondered.

"We shall have to see," you said vaguely. "Decisions such as these should not be made in haste. Not everyone is suited to become a Viscountess."

Mr. Jeon's dark eyes were still on you. His jaw was clenched; he looked displeased.

"Do you disagree, Mr. Jeon?" you demanded.

"I do not think it is your place to assess who is suited to become the Viscountess," he replied stiffly. "I am sure your brother is more than capable of making such decisions on his own."

You laughed. Your brother had made plenty of poor choices in Miss Lee's case- including springing a proposal on the poor girl without giving her any hint of his affections for her and failing to realise how she would be affected by the gossip.

"You overestimate my brother, Mr. Jeon. He is perfectly capable of making mistakes, like any other gentleman," you replied.

"A gentleman will deal with the consequences of his own actions- whether they be mistakes or otherwise," Mr. Jeon retorted.

You stared at him, bewildered. What was he going on about? You had no idea why Jeon Wonwoo was so invested in Joshua's courtship with Miss Lee, but you refused to let this odious man have the last word.

"It seems you have a high opinion of my brother," you snapped. "But I am sorry to inform you that the decisions made by a Viscount do not impact him alone. Forgive me if I do not want my brother to make mistakes that would cause pain to those around him."

Ella looked distressed at the turn the conversation was taking.

"Cousin, I am sure there is no question of the Viscount making any mistakes. Let us speak of something else," she pressed.

"Yes, of course. Men must never be questioned by women when they make mistakes," you replied drily while glaring at Mr. Jeon. "How foolish of me to think otherwise."

Mr. Jeon raised an eyebrow. "Miss Hong, it was never my intention to suggest that-"

"Frankly, Mr. Jeon, I have no interest in what you intended to suggest. I did not ask for your opinion; I shall certainly not make that mistake twice. You may rest knowing that your silence pleases me well enough. Please do not trouble yourself with speech."

Ella was shocked. "Cousin!"

"Snowball is quite tired and we must be returning home now. I will take your leave. Good day, Ella. Mr. Jeon."

You walked away, your cheeks hot with anger. Who did Mr. Jeon Wonwoo think he was? It is not your place to assess who is suited to be a Viscountess? As though a sister being concerned for her brother's marriage was overstepping her bounds? How dare he speak to you that way?

One thing was certain. You were not as kind and forgiving as your brother.

Jeon Wonwoo would regret making an enemy of you.

—-------------------------------------------

"Miss Hong, you have the most exquisite taste in fashion! These gowns are so striking!" Miss Brooke cried.

You were having tea with some of the other young ladies of the ton when your latest shipment from the modiste arrived- a large collection of custom-made ball gowns, hats, and shoes that you had ordered recently.

"This one is my own personal design," you boasted as Miss Brooke admired a particularly gorgeous lavender gown with a delicately embroidered skirt. "I ordered it specially for my brother's wedding and I am having a pair of shoes custom-made to match."

“It is a masterpiece!”

You sipped your tea and leaned back as Miss Brooke, Miss Hessington and Miss Jeon continued to compliment and admire your new gowns. You had spent a considerable amount of time preparing the designs and discussing them with the modiste. The admiration of the other young ladies was sufficient recompense for your efforts.

Let it never be said that Miss Hong was not the best-dressed young lady in the room.

Just as Miss Brooke pulled out an exquisite handmade silk shawl from the boxes stacked on the tea table, your brother appeared at the doorway of the tea parlour.

"Ladies," Viscount Hong greeted the other young women in the room with a handsome smile before turning to you. "I apologise for interrupting your tea. Sister- if I could have a word in the hall?"

You followed him into the hallway outside.

"Joshua? Is there a problem?"

Joshua had a small stack of papers in his hand. He showed them to you calmly. "These are the bills I have received from the modiste, the shoemaker and the jeweller," he informed you.

You blinked at him. "All right. What is the problem? Send the clerk to pay them."

"Do you not think some of these are a little extravagant, sister? This single ball-gown of yours costs as much as the Arabian horse I had shipped from overseas," Joshua pointed out.

"It is custom-made. The silk is imported from India so it has travelled the same distance. If we can afford the horse, then I fail to see the problem with the dress," you replied defensively.

Joshua shook his head and sighed. "Do not mistake me, sister. I am not angry. I only want to be sure that you are conscious of your spending habits."

"Are my gowns putting a dent in the Hong family fortune?" you asked with a laugh.

"You know they are not."

"Then what do you want from me?"

"I would like you to acknowledge that regardless of our ability to pay for them, perhaps it is not necessary to spend so much money on a dress that you shall only wear on a single occasion. I ask you to exercise a little restraint.”

“Yes, yes, all right," you told him dismissively. "The season is nearing an end so this was my final order. We shall be returning to the countryside after your wedding, in any case."

"Glad to hear it."

"Have you ordered your wedding things? You know the modiste takes over a week for wedding orders- particularly the wedding gowns."

Joshua blinked. "Wedding gown?"

You gasped. "Joshua! Your wedding is in less than a fortnight, are you telling me that an order has not been placed for Miss Lee's wedding gown? What on earth is the matter with you?"

Joshua looked flustered. "I-I assumed Miss Lee would arrange her own wedding gown-"

"Miss Lee's family cannot afford a wedding gown fit for a Viscountess! And she is so humble she would never ask you for such a thing- it was your responsibility to offer! You must place a deposit with the modiste immediately and I will take Miss Lee there myself to select the design this evening. You are fortunate that I am the modiste's valued customer."

Joshua nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes-yes, I will do that…"

"And none of that restraint, please. Sell one of the Arabians if you must," you added with a giggle.

Your brother hurried away and you re-entered the parlour where the young ladies were still discussing your silk shawls.

You re-seated yourself in an armchair.

"Is everything all right, Miss Hong?" Miss Jeon asked politely.

"Yes- my brother needed some help with the arrangements for his wedding. Gentlemen are very lucky to have sisters to rely on in certain matters," you said lightly before glancing at Miss Jeon. "Would you not agree, Miss Jeon?"

Miss Jeon shook her head. "I am sure I rely on my brother far more than he relies on me."

"But of course. Mr Jeon Wonwoo is a different case altogether. I gather he does not need your help in matters of the heart, since he openly refuses to court anyone," you quipped.

Miss Jeon did not seem worried. "I am sure he will find a young lady he is interested in someday."

"I hope that the young lady is not too fond of polite conversation, then, since Mr. Jeon will surely not indulge in any," you replied. "Was it not just last week, Miss Brooke, that you told me Mr. Jeon danced with you and did not speak a single word for the entire duration of the dance?"

Miss Brooke smiled awkwardly. "Yes…"

"And Miss Hessington, did you not tell me that you attempted to converse with him at the assembly rooms and he did not even look up from the book he was reading to greet you?"

Miss Hessington nodded.

"Wonwoo does not speak much," Miss Jeon admitted with an awkward laugh.

"Perhaps that is for the best," you replied airily. "I am quite offended by what little he has spoken to me thus far. If he spoke more often, I imagine he would soon gain many enemies among the ton."

"I apologise for his actions, Miss Hong-"

You brushed her off kindly. "Not at all, Miss Jeon; you are a dear friend. I would not dream of holding you responsible for your brother's behaviour. He shall carry that burden entirely on his own."

"Are there any gentlemen among the ton that have caught your eye, Miss Hong?" Miss Brooke wondered. "I notice that Baron Wright seems to be quite set on you. You often dance with Mr. Carter as well."

"We shall see," you replied lightly. "Since the season is coming to an end and I will be returning to the countryside soon, it is a perfect time to test a man's so-called affections. Only those who maintain their correspondence with me over the winter will remain candidates for my hand next season."

Miss Jeon giggled. "Then may we expect to see another wedding in the Hong family next season?"

"... Perhaps so."

—----------------------------------------------------------

Viscount Joshua Hong's wedding was a grand success, in no small part thanks to you.

The bride's wedding gown was greatly admired by the entire ton and Miss Lee thanked you for your efforts toward ensuring they had a smooth ceremony. The happily married couple left for their honeymoon immediately after. You returned with your mother to the Hongs' countryside estate for the winter.

It was a quiet winter without your brother at home. You spent most evenings practising music by the fireplace and reading and writing your correspondence. Baron Wright and Mr. Carter were both quite serious about their affections for you, and you wondered if perhaps one of them would approach the Viscount for your hand as soon as your family was back in London for the next season.

You could not decide if you cared enough to marry either of them. But you were already in your third season, and now with your brother married too, the clock was ticking. Luckily, you had the entire ton to choose from. You doubted there was a single unattached man who would not welcome your affections if you chose to bestow them upon him.

Except perhaps Mr. Jeon Wonwoo.

But as always, he was the exception to the rule.

You were pleased to return to London after the end of winter. Your sister-in-law, the new Viscountess, was equally excited. She had fully embraced her new role as your brother’s wife, and seemed much happier and brighter by his side than she had ever appeared before.

It almost made you envious of their marital bliss.

“I hope you will find someone who makes you as happy as Joshua makes me,” the Viscountess gushed as the servants hurried to unpack your belongings and set up your London home for the new season. “Marriage really is quite wonderful and I would love for you to experience it, sister.”

“Well, I must find the right man,” you reminded her. “And more importantly, I must find the right dress for the ball that the Duchess of Graham is hosting tomorrow. It is going to be the most spectacular event of the season and I cannot afford to look anything but my best.”

“You always look beautiful.”

“Your words flatter me, sister; but it is your first public appearance as the Viscountess and you must be equally careful. Perhaps a trip to the modiste is in order?”

The Viscountess smiled. “Perhaps it is.”

—------------------------------------------------

It was not easy to be the centre of attention at the Duchess of Graham’s ball.

The beginning of a new season came with so much fresh gossip and juicy rumours that it was impossible to keep track of it all. Whispers abounded from the moment you descended your carriage and entered the Duchess’ palatial London manor.

“The youngest Miss Yoon is the most awaited debutante of the season,” your cousin Ella Williams informed you as you both took a turn about the beautiful ballroom. The dancing had not yet begun. You were taking the opportunity to admire the sheer magnificence of the Duchess’ manor.

It was beyond anything you had seen before.

“Miss Yoon?” you asked. “Mr. Yoon Jeonghan’s younger sister?”

“She is rumoured to be a great beauty. And now that the messy issue of her dowry is resolved and her fortune restored, I expect she will be receiving her fair share of offers.”

You nodded. “I would like to meet this young woman. But first, Ella, tell me about the Duchess. I knew she was rich and had connections to the royal family but… the extravagance of this manor! It is at least three times the size of any other home I have seen in London, including my own.”

Ella nodded eagerly as you both admired an enormous marble statue in the entryway to the ball room.

“Of course. The Grahams have historically been very intimate with the royal family and their fortune is beyond comparison. But the Duke of Graham left no male heirs. When he died last year, the title should have died with him- but the Queen herself decreed as a special exception that the title would continue through his only daughter.”

Your eyes widened. “Fascinating. I am sure this has never happened before."

“Indeed. It was quite the controversy. Much of the nobility was displeased with a woman being able to hold a title without the support of a man. They insisted that she produce a male heir at the soonest. It is rumoured that the Duchess intends to marry soon. Perhaps this season.``

You sighed. “I wish she wouldn’t. It is quite nice to have a Duchess in her own right.”

“I agree. But she has not shown any interest in the gentlemen of the ton, so perhaps she will marry someone from the royal family instead. A Prince? Anything is possible, really,” Ella gushed excitedly. “As for the manor, it has been in the Graham family for many generations. Much of the furniture is antique and gifted by the royal family. I have heard the library has an antique pianoforte which was gifted hundreds of years ago by the King himself.”

Your eyes sparkled. “A pianoforte, you say?”

“Perhaps the oldest still in existence in London.”

Your interest was piqued.

“Ella- I must see this pianoforte,” you decided.

Ella laughed. “Unfortunately, cousin, I am not entirely sure where it is. The library is upstairs but I have never been to this manor before. I have heard that your brother is acquainted with the Duchess. Perhaps if you ask her permission…”

You shook your head. “Ask her? She is the hostess of the ball, we should never have a chance to speak to her tonight. Look at the size of this event! Nobody would notice if we slipped upstairs in between a few dances. The staircase is not even blocked.”

Ella was startled. “We?”

“I cannot go alone!” you cried.

“But-but…”

“I will grant you any wish within my power, Ella,” you promised your cousin as you seized her hand and pressed it tightly. “You may choose any dress from my wardrobe- even the ones I have not yet worn. Take your pick from my jewellery box. I simply must be able to lay my fingers on this historical piano.”

Ella laughed and removed her hand from your grasp. “All right. You are lucky that this is the first ball of the season and all the attention is focused on the Duchess and the new debutantes.”

“Show me your dance card,” you insisted, seizing the little card tied to your cousin’s wrist. “You are unoccupied for the third dance, as am I. We will meet near those stairs at the beginning of the third dance and slip upstairs. I am promised to dance with Baron Wright for the fourth- so we must find the piano and return to the ballroom by then.”

Ella giggled. “All right, cousin. But keep your promise. I intend to take the lavender dress you wore to the Viscount’s wedding.”

“It is yours.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------

You danced the first two dances of the evening with Mr. Carter and Mr. Hessington. Both of whom were very vocal about their admiration for you. You accepted their advances with your usual coolness and light flirtation.

You were still deciding which of your admirers to properly encourage. For now, you would keep your options open.

The moment the second dance ended, you hurried to the foot of the grand marble staircase. Ella was nowhere to be seen. You waited impatiently for your younger cousin, but the enormous grandfather clock in the foyer continued to tick and after a few minutes, you could hear the opening notes of the third dance beginning in the ballroom.

You were running out of time. Where was Ella?

You made a quick decision- surely there would be nobody upstairs except for a servant or two? The ball was in full swing here anyway. You could be up and back down in a matter of minutes.

It would be fine.

You lifted your skirts and ran up the stairs. At the top was an enormous landing and, as you expected, not a single person in sight. You walked down a hallway of enormous, studded half-open doors until you finally found the library. The high walls were lined with shelf after shelf of books rising into the air.

In the centre of the room- an enormous white pianoforte.

You walked towards the instrument and sat down before it with your heartbeat thudding. You were no stranger to expensive instruments but this was undoubtedly the most beautiful one that you had ever seen in your life. It was delicately hand-carved and the quality was evident from the moment you gently brushed your fingers over the keys.

“Beautiful,” you whispered to yourself before pressing your fingers down to play a chord. The noise was strange and jarring.

“That is disappointing,” a voice said from behind you.

You almost screamed in shock. You had not realised that there was anyone else in the room with you. You jumped up from the piano and whirled around to see Mr. Jeon Wonwoo was standing in the shadow of one of the bookshelves, leaning against it with a book in his hand.

“Mr. Jeon?” you demanded.

He stepped forward from the shadow. Mr. Jeon looked as handsome as ever- his dark hair fell forward barely brushing his eyes and he looked less… serious than he normally did. The corner of his lips were turned up in an almost-smile.

“Miss Hong,” he greeted.

“I-I did not see that you were already in the room,” you stammered quickly. “You should have announced your presence to me. What are you doing up here?”

Mr. Jeon held up the book in his hand. “Reading.”

“And avoiding the ball, I see, as always. I suppose you consider yourself far too superior to the young ladies here to bestow them with the gift of your presence,” you replied snidely. “Shall I thank you for deigning to speak to me today?”

He blinked. “No thanks is necessary.”

“Excellent. Then I shall ask you to please leave. It is quite improper for us to be alone together here.”

Mr. Jeon smirked lightly. “Leave? Miss Hong, I am afraid that I was here long before you. By the common rules of courtesy, if you do not wish to be in my presence then you are very welcome to leave yourself. The door is open.”

This infuriating man simply would not let you be.

You glanced at the enormous grandfather clock in the corner of the room. You could still hear the faint notes of music coming from the ballroom below, but time was running out. You had no idea when you would have another chance to experience this instrument. Mr. Jeon would not ruin this for you.

“I am sure you have been to hundreds of libraries, Mr. Jeon, but this instrument is one of the oldest antique pianofortes in London. I only wanted a few moments alone with it, if you would be so kind.”

Mr. Jeon’s eyes flickered towards the instrument.

“It looks antique but the noise it made just now was quite awful,” he remarked.

You huffed and pressed some of the keys again. The noise was still awkward. “It is simply not tuned. Evidently nobody has played it in a long time. The fact that you could not tell leads me to believe that your knowledge and appreciation for music is much lower than I originally imagined.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Why? Because I would not compliment your performance last year?” he demanded.

“It was an excellent performance,” you said defensively, anger rising. “Regardless of whether you are willing to accept it or not, Mr. Jeon. I can allow for differences in personal taste, but there is some objectivity in the field that deems me more than a mere child with potential.”

Mr. Jeon closed the book in his hands and stepped closer to you. “The problem was not your performance.”

“Oh?” you demanded.

“No. Your performance was masterful. I am afraid what you failed to realise is that your self-indulgent display of talent left your friend, Miss Brooke, almost in tears,” Mr. Jeon replied. His dark eyes narrowed and he crossed the library towards you in long, effortless strides. You felt your heart constrict in your chest.

“What?” you demanded, confused.

“You are evidently the better musician. But what I found distasteful, Miss Hong, is how you felt the need to make a spectacle of Miss Brooke by showing the entire room just how superior you were to her. That was a selfish, vain, tactless thing to do to a young lady who believes herself to be your friend.”

“Miss Brooke made a spectacle of herself,” you snapped. “She should have known better than to perform for company when she can barely produce a recognizable nursery rhyme from the piano!”

Mr. Jeon shook his head. “You could have ended it there. Perhaps even closed the instrument for the evening. But you had to outperform her by playing your most difficult piece. You used her to satisfy your vanity.”

You could not help it- you laughed. You could not believe the audacity of this man, after all this time, to defend his actions in this manner. You were becoming angrier and angrier.

Your cheeks felt hot and your fists clenched.

“Are you telling me, Mr. Jeon,” you asked as you laughed in disbelief. “That your blatant public insult of my performance while you were a guest in my home was an act of chivalry in defence of a slight you perceived against Miss Brooke? You are mad. Really, you must be quite mad to think that is even remotely an appropriate defence for your actions-”

“And you must be very proud indeed, to allow such a minor slight to make you so angry after all these months” Mr. Jeon replied with a smirk.

He was standing in front of the instrument now, mere feet away from you.

You scoffed as you stepped forward again. You would not back down from this man.

“Yes, of course. Yes, please, Mr. Jeon, I would love to hear more about my pride from the man who infamously hides in libraries during balls and snubs every young lady that crosses his path. Do you consider women beneath your notice? But of course- why should Mr. Jeon Wonwoo bother with polite conversation with stupid young ladies when he is evidently so superior in intellect and manner to our entire sex,” you hissed.

His eyes looked wild for a moment; you had never seen so much emotion in Mr. Jeon’s eyes and you could hear your own blood pumping in your ears from anger as you stared back at him. You were barely a foot apart and you could see the way his chest heaved up and down underneath his black coat.

The room was filled with a complete silence.

Silence.

The faint music from the ballroom below had stopped.

Suddenly, a number of things occurred in the flash of a single moment.

You realised that the third dance had ended and you had spent too long upstairs. There was the sound of footsteps outside the partially open library door. Jeon Wonwoo looked startled- he suddenly took a step back to put some distance between you, but his foot caught on the leg of the pianoforte and his arm came down upon the keys to steady himself.

You darted forward to steady him but it was too late. His palm had already hit the keys by the time you seized his arm and the loud, jarring piano noise was released into the silent room with no chance of concealment.

The door to the library burst open.

Oh no. Oh no no no no.

You were ruined.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

#seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo angst #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #regency!au #seventeen fanfiction #wonwoo imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines

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hebuiltfive · 25 days

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I have an idea for an AU. I have no idea if it will work at all, but it's here to stay I think. I have no idea if it's been done before either, but I'm going to attempt to write it.

Two words: Regency Tracys.

Think Bridgerton, but with a twist. A huge twist (as planned so far).

It might end up being a terrible idea. I might not write it out well at all, but this idea has got me hooked and it hasn't left me alone the last couple of days...

#i have IDEAS FOR THIS #five rambles #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #regency!au #fic: regency tracys #work in progress title there

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chenria · 24 days

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Squeezed this in between commissions, art trades and overdue giveaway pieces *cough* What is time management? (Virgil continues to have horrible hair ... it's always a pain to draw... seriously, I should have stuck with Scott as my favorite... he has the easier to draw hair...)

Also... Virgil and my OC Samantha demanded I jot down a tiny scene...

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As the grandeur of the soiree unfolded around him, Virgil found himself suffocated by the swarm of eager faces, all vying for his attention. He would need to talk with his brothers. Abandoning him in the hour of need was unforgivable. With each step, he felt the weight of expectation pressing down upon him, the burden of being one of the most sought-after bachelors of the season becoming increasingly unbearable and annoying. Desperately seeking solace amidst the chaos, he slipped away from the crowded ballroom and into the tranquility of the gardens. The moon cast a gentle glow upon the lawn, illuminating the delicate blooms that adorned the pathways. Breathing a sigh of relief, Virgil wandered deeper into the labyrinth of shrubbery, his steps measured as he sought refuge from the prying eyes of society. Finally, he found himself in a secluded alcove, shielded from view by a canopy of ivy. Leaning against the cool stone wall, he closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of respite and took a deep breath. The sounds of laughter and music drifted faintly through the air, but here in this secluded sanctuary, he was free of expectations for a brief moment. Lost in his thoughts, Virgil was unaware of the figure approaching until a soft voice broke through the stillness. "Darn… you found my hiding spot before I did." Startled, Virgil turned to find a young woman standing before him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and her face framed by pretty brown hair, curled up and held together with hair pins the shape of flowers. "I was merely seeking some fresh air," he stated with a chuckle. “But if I invaded your hiding space, pray forgive me.” He bowed slightly and was about to leave when she shook her head. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Well, perhaps you wouldn't mind some company? I just intended to sit here and read. You’re welcome to stay." Virgil looked at the young woman as she took a seat at the bench and pulled out a small leather-bound book. She smiled at him once more before she turned her attention to the book and the silence that settled between them was not unpleasant.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds au #regency!AU #virgil tracy

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peterpparkrr · 1 year

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art is to feel - Valentine’s Day

You can find the full series here.

A/N: Surprise! Love is in the air and who’s more lovey than these two cutie patooties?!

“Will you be my valentine?” Anthony asked cheekily.

“I wasn’t aware that I had another option,” You tease as you lean against the back of the sofa, pulling for gaze up from your sketching to smile at your husband.

You and Anthony had been married for just over seven months and you were still just as in love with Anthony as you had been on the day of your wedding. Possibly even more so.

Married life most certainly agreed with the two of you. Especially if your current interaction were to be any indication.

Anthony shakes his head, “Well you can’t choose someone else but a gentleman always asks.”

“And you’re a gentleman?” You ask.

Benedict groaned loudly. “If I knew you were both going to be so moony I would have never agreed to this visit.”

Benedict’s clear and vocal disgust was not enough to damper your mood, something that only annoyed Ben further.

You scootch down the sofa until you’re seated right beside your brother-in-law/sketching partner. You didn’t want to upset him too deeply, you’d begged him to come visit for a few weeks so you could work together.

“You love us,” You tell Ben as you wrap one of your arms around his shoulders. “You can always be our valentine too.”

Anthony shakes his head sharply.

“I don’t think you want that,” Anthony interjects. “I have very specific plans for my valentine,” He explains as his eyes bore into yours intently as he winks at her suggestively.

“I am going up to my room, and I won’t be leaving it until this damned holiday is over,” Benedict grumbles as he shuts his sketchbook with a sharp clap before exiting the room briskly.

“And please, keep it down, there are other people living in this house,” Benedict adds from the doorway. Refusing to even turn around to address the couple before disappearing up the stairs.

“You’re evil, Anthony Bridgerton,” You chastise your husband.

“It’s our first Valentine’s Day together, I don’t know what he expected,” Anthony scoffs, disregarding his brother.

“Besides, he’ll find someone soon enough, and he’ll stop bothering us,” He adds.

“I like when Ben visits us,” You protest with a shrug. “I like it when any of our families visit.”

“I thought you liked it when I didn’t keep my hands to myself,” He murmurs lowly, his lips nearly brushing the shell of her ear as his hand trailed up her thigh, pulling at the hem of her skirts as he turned his attentions solely onto his wife.

“Why can’t it be both?” You ask with a coy smile as you turn to face him fully.

And it was a very productive Valentine’s day indeed.

#art is to feel #art is to feel series #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton series #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton reader insert #bridgerton fanfiction #regency #regency!au #bridgerton drabble #anthony bridgerton drabble

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oddthesungod · 2 years

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We can walk through the gardens Begging the pardon of the bluebirds You'll lay on the lawn and I'll study your yawn I wish I'd met you sooner🎵

#star trek #spones #spock #leonard mccoy #regency!au #stars ur trek #still thinking about the regency!au <333

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lumelii · 11 months

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hi ho! it's been a while. but i come bearing a gift. hope you like it!

word count: 3.3k

content warning: slightly nsfw at the end, a whole lot of angst, bullying (?)

Let me know if i missed any tags. Thanks as always to Moni @karamfilmare for being my beta.

Why won’t the ringing stop?

You were sure her name had been given as she was introduced to you, but the words did not register over the incessant peal which started as soon as you saw her with Yuuji across the room. You didn’t need her name though. Yuko Ozawa, the daughter of an old friend of Mr. Nanami’s from Oxford College. She and her father were staying with the Nanamis while her father attended to business in London, though this was the first time you had seen her out in public. From what you understood, her family lived in genteel poverty somewhere in the countryside, not enough money to spend the social season in London.

Your cousin’s hand on your arm was the only thing keeping your knees from buckling as you stared at Yuuji and Yuko. The look was plain on his face as he watched her. His lazy smile, the soft crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the way his gaze sparkled and wouldn’t be ripped from hers even if a fire broke out in the Gojo’s grand ballroom.

You must have been taking too long to respond to her introduction, not able to even curtsy without the fear of falling on your face. Ichika stepped in, curtsying deeply enough to support you as well as you did your best attempt to maintain some sense of decorum.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Ozawa.” Ichika smiled brightly from the corner of your eye. The grip of her hand tightened slightly, a silent prompt.

“A pleasure.” You parroted emotionlessly.

“The pleasure is mine. Mr. Itadori speaks highly of your family.” Yuko’s smile was kind. It didn’t make you hate her any less.

“I’m sure more than we deserve, he is complementary to a fault.” Ichika gave Yuuji a teasing look.

“You surely jest, Lady Okkotsu. I only give credit where credit is due.” His eyes went to your cousin only for a moment to smirk before he focused his attention back to Yuko.

The ring in your ears dulled slightly, enough for you to finally take in the woman before you instead of only looking at Yuuji. Her hair was simple, curled at the sides similarly to yours and tied in a low bun at the nape of her neck, though she had no adornments in her hair nor at her neck or ears. Her dress was of a quality far beyond what her family could afford, and you recognized it immediately.

“What a lovely dress.” You commented, right in the middle of whatever Yuko was saying to your cousin. The other three members of your small circle turned to you, a range of confused expressions on their faces at your interruption.

Yuko recovered exceptionally well, smiling politely as she looked at the skirt. “Thank you. I didn’t have anything suitable for tonight since it was such short notice. Mrs. Nanami leant me one of her dresses.”

You knew this already. The style was slightly older, but not enough to be outdated. The dress itself was hard to forget, however. Monica Nanami had worn the dress during another party at the Gojo residence in London many years ago. The white muslin gown gathered just below the bust, the light, flowy skirts skimming the floor. The overskirt was intricately embroidered at the edges in gold and multi-colored thread which matched the embroidery along the vee neckline and edges of the bodice. The women at the party had fawned over the wearable piece of art the whole night, and Monica had given every opportunity to praise her husband and his taste. Mr. Nanami’s ears had turned permanently red from all the attention, both from the women at the party and from husbands who gave him a good-natured ribbing for making the rest of them look subpar. It had been a fun, intimate night. You had wondered if one day, Yuuji would do the same for you when you married. If you would married.

That dream was disappearing faster with every second Yuuji looked at Yuko with all the adoration in the world.

“How fortunate then, your stay with the Nanami family.” You took a small drink from your lemonade glass, watching her over the rim.

Her smile became confused but she hid it as best she could. “Yes, I suppose so.”

She looked at Yuuji. He gave her a reassuring smile and looked at you, his brow slightly furrowed, a question in his eyes. You were behaving erratically, you knew this. But you just didn’t care anymore. It was clear your goal, why you had agreed to this flirtatious farce with Megumi Fushiguro, why you sacrificed your own beliefs for the mere chance Yuuji Itadori might notice you, was for naught.

You were never even a consideration to him. Now, your pain would be everyone else’s.

“They take great pride in their charity work.” You continued. “Though your father must have known that, reaching out to such an old friend for help.”

“(Y/N).” Ichika murmured your name as a warning. But you wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t allow yourself to cry, and your anger needed a release. A barbed tongue was your only option.

“Mr. Nanami wouldn’t dare refuse. And how fortunate that he brought his young, unattached daughter with him knowing Nanami’s son would be in town for the season.” You pushed onward, even as Yuko’s face crumbled. “You must have known Mr. Itadori is the heir of his own fortune.” You made a point of looking between Yuuji and Yuko, then up and down at her dress. “Why else would you base yourself enough to wear another woman’s gown, if not to capitalize on the opportunity of a ball to sink your hooks into someone so far above your station?”

The unmasked pain you had caused in Yuko’s eyes should have made you feel something. But it didn’t. You wanted her to hurt. She was living what you had always wanted. What years of pining and waiting had never dimmed. Yet she came into town, and within weeks Yuuji was at her beckon call. You hated it. You hated yourself. Why had you never realized your feelings would never be reciprocated? Why now was it necessary for this innocent girl to suffer? This pain could not be leashed.

“That’s enough, Miss (l/n).” Yuuji hissed. His eyes flashed with an anger you had never seen before as he glared at you. But you found it was not as devastating as it would have been five minutes ago. Let him feel the pain you felt as well, seeing his love hurt. He should have been aware of your desire. You didn’t try to hide it. Yet it was never even addressed. You didn’t mean enough for even an acknowledgment.

Yuko forced a stiff smile and curtsied, murmuring an apology before she practically sprinted away. Yuuji didn’t give you a second look as he chased after her, which made the chasm in your chest widen further.

“What is wrong with you, (y/n)?” Ichika demanded once they were both gone. Her eyes were hard as well, though her expression could have been interpreted as genuine concern. “You’re not cruel, what was that about? You don’t even know Miss Ozawa.”

Her grip was still on your arm. It was too tight. The room was too hot. Your heart in your chest was pounding too hard. And the tears you had been fighting back since Yuuji and Yuko approached you seemed to be coming one way or another.

You wrenched yourself free from her grasp and ran out of the room. The entire house felt too cramped, though it was one of the largest in the city. You found the patio doors and pushed your way outside running into the garden to find a secluded spot.

The fresh air should have improved your breathing, but as you finally found a secluded alcove your gasping only grew worse. You had never felt this kind of pain before. You were young when your mother died. You hardly remembered her face, let alone her voice. The grief you may have felt as a child had been forgotten with time as time blunted whatever pain you experienced. If it was anything like the hurt that currently clawed through your chest, you were glad you didn’t remember.

As a slight breeze blew through the garden, you realized that at some point in your solitude, you had begun to cry. You wipes furiously at your cheeks to rid them of the wet tracks on your skin, but more took their place. Your gasps had turned to sobs, so forceful you bent over and braced your arms on the stone bench in front of you. Your tears stained the cool limestone beneath your hands as you failed to stop the emotions pouring out of you. You were not like this, you weren’t emotional. You thought you were in control of yourself, but events from earlier and your current outburst proved otherwise.

Had you been wrong all along? Had you confused Yuuji’s kindness as possible interest on your part? You had thought with time, maybe he would see you as more than his friend’s cousin and would pursue you as the other men in the ton had. You had ignored them all for him, and when he did not show his affection you became desperate enough to enter this farce with Megumi Fushiguro. But was it a farce? Megumi, though distant, had shown he cared in his own way throughout your arrangement. Was he interested in truly courting you? And why was it that a small part of you wished he was? You clutched your head in your hands. No. You couldn’t think of this now. That couldn’t be a possibility. Megumi made it clear your arrangement was purely for gain. And you loved Yuuji, you would have him.

“Y/N.”

You looked to the entrance of your little alcove. Megumi stood there, his face obscured by the darkness. The sight of him made you tears begin anew. He was only a reminder of what you had done and how it was all seemingly for naught. You wiped furiously at your cheeks to rid them of the wet tracks on your skin but they were replaced with new ones. You would not allow Megumi to see you cry.

“Not now, please not now.” You sobbed. “Leave me be.”

“What happened?” He stepped further into the small garden. “Are you well?”

“No!” You shouted. “I’m obviously not well! Now why don’t you go back inside and leave me to crumble in solitude instead of reveling in it?”

His face was infuriatingly passive as always, and you could see every inch of it now in the moonlight. Something about it set a change in you, and your sorrow morphed into anger.

“So, are you satisfied?” You straightened to face him, your chin held high. “You were right. My plan didn’t work. Yuuji is now seemingly completely and utterly enamored with Miss Ozawa. He does not desire my company. And now, all my work is for naught and my reputation will be ruined.”

“I do not enjoy seeing you in pain, Miss (l/n).” Megumi’s face still did not change. He could at least pretend to care, but he did not. He never did.

“Oh, I am sure you do not!” You laughed mirthlessly. “You have only been telling me this whole time to set my hopes aside because Yuuji did not want me, that this plan was ridiculous, that it would never work. Well, you were right. Enjoy your victory and leave me in peace!”

“What victory?” He stepped closer so he was only feet away. He was angry now, you could see it in the way his brow was drawn and the hard set of his jaw. His green eyes sparked dangerously as speared you with his gaze. “Do you think I revel in this?”

“Yes! You were right, I was wrong. And I hate it!” The words were bubbling inside you, just as they had in the ballroom, and you couldn’t stop them even though you weren’t entirely sure you meant them, but you were hurting and you wanted someone else to hurt too. “I hate you!”

“Do you?” He moved closer, crowding your space even as you stepped back until you were almost chest to chest. If you breathed too deeply, your bosom would brush against the lapels of his jacket. Your breath quickened to prevent any part of you touching him. The look in his eyes was dangerous, challenging as a cruel smile spread across his face. You were grateful for it. You didn’t want his pity. You wanted a release to this anger, and you knew he could provide it. “Please, Miss (l/n), enlighten me. Why do you hate me?”

“I hate how you never smile. I hate how you act like you’re above any social interaction and avoid everyone at all costs. I hate how you pretend you dislike something I know you truly enjoy so as not to give someone the satisfaction that they know something about you. I hate how you look someone up and down and you give them that indolent smile like you know something oh so devious and they’ll never know it, because who could ever be as clever or even compare to the great Megumi Fushiguro?” You spat.

“Is that so?” Your chests were touching now after he stepped forward, but you would not back down. He had tried to hold the upper hand this whole arrangement, but no longer. There was nothing left for you to lose. You had already lost Yuuji, though did you ever really have him in the first place? The thought caused the gaping hole in your chest to widen, the pain renewed. You could not hold onto this. It needed an outlet, and it stood before you.

“It is!” You yelled in his face though he did not flinch.

“Good.” Before you could blink, his large hands were cupping your face, his fingers lacing through your hair. You barely registered the intimacy of his touch because a breath later, he surged forward and planted a kiss harshly on your lips.

You started at his touch and his brazen action. Even if you were to attempt to retreat his arm has already encircled you, keeping you held to him as his lips commanded your own. But you didn’t want to pull back

It was the events of the night, you were sure of it. There was no other reason why your arms had found their way around his neck encouraging him. You were hurting, his touch filled the gaping hole in your chest just a little more. To know someone wanted your affection, or at least your touch. You were desirable. Why didn’t Yuuji see that?

You’re lying. A small voice inside you crowed as Megumi slanted his mouth over yours, deeping your kiss after the placement of your arms around him showed you weren’t resisting his advances. This wasn’t just because you were hurting, that you needed another’s touch. You had found yourself wondering over the past several weeks as you spent more and more time with the dark-haired man who was now running his tongue along your bottom lip, what it would feel like to touch him, to kiss him. To have this arrangement between you be truthful, rather than a ruse to spur your true target into action. What would it be like for Megumi to hold your hand and smile, to send you flowers sincerely instead of keeping up appearances? Was there even a possibility that he felt that way? As his tongue explored your mouth and you reciprocated in kind, albeit clumsily, maybe it could be true.

This feeling was different. There was a coiling deep in your belly, growing tighter as Megumi’s large hand covered one of your breasts and gently squeezed, finding your nipple through the layers of fabric and teasing until it was a hard nub. You gasped against his mouth at the jolt of pleasure that shot to your core and arched into his touch. This was wrong. You were with a man unchaperoned in the dimly-lit gardens. He was touching you inappropriately, and yet you wanted more. This was an extraordinary sensation, one you never would have thought would come at the hands of Megumi. Why was he expressing such outright desire when you were certain he tolerated you at best?

When Megumi’s hand left your breast you almost whimpered at the loss. It traveled lower down your body, tracing your silhouette over your dress, squeezing any soft place it landed until it was finally behind your knee. You wondered what he was planning, why would his hands stray so far down? It was then he hoisted your leg up so it was around his waist and you were balancing on your other foot. You gasped at your sudden unsteadiness and clung to him more tightly to prevent from falling. Megumi had no time to spare. He attacked your mouth again, commanding your lips for only a brief moment before he broke away again and started kissing down your neck. A whine escaped from you while he sucked on your pulse point then licked up the column of your throat, tasting the salt on your skin.

“Megumi.” You almost didn’t recognize your own voice as you moaned his name. His head snapped up at the explicit sound, green eyes flashing with a fire that matched the one growing in your stomach. The prospect of what burns that fire could cause almost scared you. Almost.

A loud crash caused you both to look over to the entrance of your small hideaway, still clinging to each other like monkeys. You couldn’t bear to let go yet. One of the small statues flanking the arched hedge entrance had fallen, its head broken off as it hit the ground. It was the force which caused the statue to fall in the first place that made you and Megumi both start in horror.

Yuuji stood at the entrance, his hand outstretched like he had tried to stop it from falling but had been too late. His eyes, however, were fixed on the pair of you and your sordid embrace. You wished you could discern the expression on his face. Shock, obviously. But there was something else behind his eyes. You didn't have a further opportunity for study as he had turned and was running back the way he came before you had finished your breath.

“Yuuji!” Megumi had released you and started running after him, pausing just for a moment to raise his hand in a ‘wait’ sign to you, and he was gone as well.

You didn’t allow yourself to wait. You couldn’t. Realization was setting coldly into your bones now at what you had done and what the repercussions would be if anyone were to find out. You were ruined. What would become of you now? Your uncle and aunt had graciously taken you in and treated you like one of their own to give you the opportunity of a life you never would have never been offered, had you lived with your father. And now, you had taken their generosity and spat on it. Their investment in you was now for naught.

Your hands shook as you smoothed your hair just enough to be presentable before you ran out of the gardens, around the house and to the carriages waiting out front. People would speak of your absence. It was certain their tongues were already wagging at your outburst against Yuko in the ballroom, but it didn’t matter. All you cared about was getting back home and hiding, Maybe then, you would wake up and find this was all a cruel dream.

taglist: @karamfilmare @gummy-dummy @thewabbit

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

#regency!megumi #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #jujutsu megumi #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jjk #jjk megumi #my writing #regency!au #jjk fandom

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hollyand-writes · 4 months

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Rating: Teen Word Count: 1,956 Pairing: Anders/Male Hawke Other Tags: Alternative Universe – Regency, Meet-Cute, Flirting, Fade to Black, Written for the @mhanderszine

Summary:

mol·ly house (noun): 1. (British, historical slang) A Regency Era meeting venue for cross-dressing and/or gay men, often a tavern or coffee-house. — Regency AU. The dashing Mr Garrett Hawke meets Doctor Anders at a local molly-house, and sparks fly.

———————

Mr Garrett Hawke, most eligible bachelor in Kirkwall, was said to be looking for a wife. Tall, handsome, rich, and living in an estate so grand that its balcony boasted the best views over the city, it was a truth universally acknowledged that not a single lady in Hightown would refuse him… if he asked.

The only problem was that any reported desire for marriage was little more than wild speculation; for Mr Hawke, as charming as he was to every lady in Hightown, had no interest in any of them. This made him enigmatic, elusive, desirable even; for many noble young ladies and their mothers saw such a gentleman as a challenge to capture and tame into matrimony—but the truth was really that Mr Hawke preferred to spend time at a certain coffee-house where men consorted with men.

High society would be scandalised by the many love affairs Mr Hawke had had from the venue in question, if they ever knew that particular coffee-house was a front for a molly-house (and notorious for it among men of Mr Hawke’s persuasion). Women were barred; like they were from so many coffee-houses or other places a gentleman would socialise in; so there was very little risk of Lady Leandra catching her son there, and very little risk of her gossipy female friends witnessing the revelry inside. On the rare occasion Mr Hawke was ever questioned on his predilection for frequenting the place, Mr Hawke would simply say he enjoyed the coffee.

But Mr Hawke’s more recent visits had nothing to do with the coffee—and everything to do with the new blond doctor that had suddenly started showing up of late...

Read more on AO3...

#handers #m!handers #garrett hawke #anders #hawke #m!hawke #dragon age 2 #dragon age #Regency!AU #dragon age 2 fanfic #Regency AU #zine fic #hawke x anders

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sailor-aviator · 9 days

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By Its Cover: Chapter One

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

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

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

Word Count: 4.6k

Series Masterlist

“Dearest, you must stop squirming.”

“This dress is uncomfortable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But Mama, why her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bug, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Bug!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seresin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Recognition lighted in her eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#bic #by its cover #regency!au #regency!jake #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin fanfiction #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman fanfiction #hangman #hangman top gun #top gun hangman

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uglypastels · 15 days

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Ridlington Park | regency!Eddie au | teaser

London , 1813 . A lady from one of the most fortunate families of the ton is in search of a suitor—much to her own dismay—and so she does everything in her power to ruin her family’s attempts at an engagement. But what happens when the one who truly charms her turns out to be the one person she can never marry?

Do be warned, Dear Reader, for this story may contain: 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 kindly but sternly requires underage readers to pursue other works.

Chapter 1 Coming Soon

Correspondence | Author's Previous Works | Join the Readers (tag)List

#i hope #eddie munson #eddie munson au #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #eddie munson smut #smut #fluff #angst #imagine #au #regency!au #i'm having a lot of fun with this #in case you couldnt tell

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yomawari · 1 year

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More Regency AU. This time featuring an undercover operation at a masquerade ball. For the "whispers " prompt at the @codywanbingo.

Lost motivation half-way through but figured I'd at least quickly color and share it rather than condemn the file to my junk folder.

#codywanbingo #codywan #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #fanart #regency!au

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fantasyescapes17 · 11 months

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Manners (Part 2, Final)

Viscount Joshua Hong is by far the most eligible bachelor in London. Rich, handsome, and renowned for his excellent manners and refined tastes. Young woman would kill for the chance to be the Viscount's chosen bride. But nobody can quite determine which of the young ladies he prefers, and you are beginning to have your doubts. Is the Viscount really as gentlemanly as the ton seems to think?

Genre: Joshua Hong x Female!reader. Regency!AU (It's sort of Bridgerton-esque in the sense that I give zero attention to historical accuracy and prioritize aesthetics lmao) You are a sibling to all the Lees (Woozi, DK, Dino) so your last name is Lee but the reader has no other specific characteristics, physical or otherwise.

Word Count: 5.2k+

Part 1

Series Masterlist [I would highly recommend reading the earlier stories in this series, Patience, and Candle, before this one but it's not strictly necessary.]

You had never been formally courted before, and therefore had no inkling of what to expect from your new courtship with Viscount Hong. Indeed, you had scarcely even processed the events of the night before. The entire evening- right from Viscount Hongs' unannounced arrival up until his proposal of marriage- felt rather like an intense fever dream.

You were awoken from a fitful sleep early that morning by your maid.

“Miss- oh miss, you must awaken, there has been a delivery for you!” she cried frantically.

You sat up in bed and rubbed your tired eyes. Lily and Nessie ran into your room in their nightgowns, giggling as they climbed up onto the bedcovers. They were followed by two maids struggling to carry an enormous basket of arranged pink and red roses between them. They placed the assortment precariously on your bedside table.

“What is this?” you asked, confused.

“A delivery for you miss- there is a card as well.”

The maid handed you the card and your sisters climbed up behind you eagerly to peek at it.

“Read it aloud!” Lily ordered, and you had no choice but to take the card into your hands and read out the message written in Viscount Hong’s neat and careful handwriting.

Miss Lee,

I thought perhaps some flowers would brighten your morning- I hope the events of last night have not caused you too much distress. I did fear that writing to you would be too forward but then again, I believe we can agree that the mistake I have made so far is failing to be forward enough.

May I persuade you to join me for a ride in the park this evening? If you are concerned about the lack of a chaperone, you may bring Chan- I will ensure an extra horse is available for him.

Yours,

Joshua

Lily and Nessie squealed in delight and even the maids were biting back their smiles. Sending flowers and a personalised invitation was a bold and romantic gesture indeed; you could not help the fluttering that arose in your heart.

It appeared that Viscount Hong meant business.

—-----------------------------------------

“I did suspect that Joshua might harbour some affection for you,” Jihoon admitted over breakfast. Your father was eating in his study, leaving you and your siblings to speak freely about the previous night's events in the dining room. “He always asks after you whenever he sees me or Seokmin.”

Seokmin agreed, mouth full of scrambled eggs. “He does ask about you often, now that I think of it, but I thought he was only being polite. The Viscount is always so well-mannered.”

You frowned at your brother. “Unlike you, Seokmin. Please swallow your food before you speak.”

“It’s only us siblings here,” Seokmin protested.

“You should be setting a better example as a gentleman for Chan.”

Chan scoffed before sipping at his tea. “Please don’t insult me, sister. I know better than to emulate anything Seokmin does.”

They began to argue and you did not have the energy or inclination to interrupt them. The gravity of your situation was slowly beginning to set in. You still harboured a certain girlish pleasure at the thought of Viscount Hong being in love with you- but you were also forced to begin thinking about what this proposal from a nobleman so superior in station to you would mean for you and your family.

Jihoon noticed your expression.

“Are you all right, sister?” he asked gently as Seokmin and Chan continued to argue.

You turned to your elder brother with a hesitant smile. Jihoon was certainly the most mature of your siblings, and you trusted him implicitly.

"Do you think it will be alright? The entire ton has been watching to see whom the Viscount will marry. I cannot even begin to think of how many young ladies must have their sights set on him. The thought of the gossip alone…"

Jihoon smiled kindly. "I did not think you were the sort of woman to be easily disturbed by gossip, sister."

"I-I am not, but you must admit that people will talk about it and you know that everyone holds him in exceedingly high regard while I am…" you bit your lip and looked at your brother, hoping he would understand your fears.

Jihoon sighed and nodded. "I won't lie. It is an unexpected proposal and will certainly generate some surprise among the ton."

"What should I do?"

"I am sure word has not spread just yet. You should speak to Joshua about your fears."

You sighed and nodded. Perhaps you should.

—--------------------------------------------------

It was a warm and pleasant afternoon; perfect for a ride in the park. Unfortunately, this meant that many other members of the ton had made similar plans. You were uncomfortably aware of the curious stares of some young ladies who passed by you on the walking trail.

The Viscount was already waiting for you and Chan with the horses, but you had to stand aside and wait for a few moments as Chan monopolised the Viscount's attention. Once your younger brother's questions had been answered and he had taken his pick of the horses, the Viscount carefully took the reins of the horse you would ride and turned to you with a smile.

"May I help you up, Miss Lee?"

Joshua stepped closer to you when you nodded. You tried not to show how flustered you felt when he gently took your hand and placed it on his shoulder, giving you the boost you needed to push yourself up onto the horse and seat yourself side-saddle.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked with a caring smile.

"Uh-yes, yes thank you very much," you replied.

The Viscount and Chan each mounted their own horses. The three of you began a slow-paced ride around the park, but Chan could not resist pushing the purebred horse for a little more speed.

"Chan! Don't go far, stay within sight!" you called after your brother as he went further ahead. Your brother merely lifted a hand to signal that he'd heard you.

The Viscount brought his horse up to trot gently alongside yours. He was a skilled rider.

"I… I received the flowers you sent me this morning," you began awkwardly in an attempt to make some conversation with Joshua. "Thank you. They were beautiful."

He nodded. "I am glad you liked them."

"I did. Very much."

"Have I made you uncomfortable, Miss Lee?" Joshua asked suddenly. He had a worried smile on his face.

"N-no, why would you think so?"

"You seem to be avoiding my eyes."

You cleared your throat. Why did Joshua have to notice? It was true. You couldn't look at him, and not only because he was extremely handsome and his kind eyes caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach. You were simply too aware of the people watching you- there was a group of young ladies near the trees that gaped at you openly, and another pair of gentlemen who had been casting glances at you since Viscount Hong had helped you up onto your horse.

"It… it is nothing," you said quickly.

Joshua sighed. "Miss Lee. Please. The intention behind this courtship is to make you more comfortable with me and to trust me. If there is anything that troubles you-"

"There are too many eyes on us," you blurted out.

Joshua was silent for a long moment.

"I see. I've made another mistake," he said quietly.

You turned to him with wide eyes. "No, not at all-"

"I have. It was quite foolish of me to ask you to come here with just your brother and no proper chaperone- and our courtship is not yet common knowledge to the ton. I failed to take your feelings into consideration, and-"

You felt miserable and rushed to correct him. "Viscount Hong, please, I never meant to suggest that you were responsible for this-"

"But I am responsible."

You shook your head and began to explain that it wasn't his fault, that it was your own insecurities and fears that were making you uncomfortable. But Joshua had already set his lips in a straight line and spurred his horse forward to catch up with Chan, leaving you behind.

This was not a good start.

Not at all.

—-------------------------------------------

The ride at the park ended earlier than it should have; Chan was vocally disappointed but you were too mortified by the entire incident to object and Joshua was firm in sending you home safely escorted by his servants.

Still; the damage was done.

Word of your potential courtship with Joshua Hong had spread among the ton and you were faced with the full extent of the situation not three days later, at the ball hosted by the Hessingtons.

Joshua had sent you flowers every single morning leading up to the ball, and had even written to apologise for his thoughtless invitation to ride in the park. He requested you to reserve him a dance at the Hessingtons' ball.

You had, of course, accepted.

The reality that this would be the first, formal social event where almost every single person in the room would have their eyes on you was clear from the moment you made your entrance with Jihoon and Seokmin.

You had become accustomed to blending into the background at balls- Seokmin was lively and charming, hence rarely had trouble obtaining his desired female dance partners. Jihoon was more reserved when it came to women and dancing. But he had many friends among the ton and was often in the company of other gentlemen engaging in conversations about business. You had always been content to sit at the sidelines, accepting the offer of a dance when you received one and mingling with other ladies when they approached you.

But a lady being courted by Viscount Joshua Hong did not have the luxury of being ignored by the ton.

“Miss Lee!” cried one of the more obnoxious gossip-mongers, Mrs. Patty, as soon as she found you alone at a bench. “You must come and dispel these strange rumours about you. Is it true that you are being courted by our lovely Viscount Hong?”

You hesitated. “Erm…”

“Ha!” Mrs. Patty cried triumphantly, turning to her companions. She understood your hesitation to be a confirmation of her beliefs. “I knew there was no chance that little Miss Lee could capture our Viscount. I have been quite observant of his attention to the Duchess of Graham of late and I believe it is only a matter of time until they announce their engagement.”

One of the other ladies tutted with disapproval. “But then Miss Lee must explain how she came to be riding in the park with Viscount Hong!”

Your response was interrupted by the sound of a strong female voice behind you.

“Miss Lee is not required to explain anything,” a young lady said sharply as she took your arm. You recognised her immediately, despite never having conversed with her before.

This was Miss Hong. Viscount Hong’s infamous younger sister.

"Miss Hong-" you began to greet her.

"Come, Miss Lee. I have saved a seat for you near the refreshment tables, and you must sit with me until the dancing begins," Miss Hong said simply.

You allowed her to lead you away from the gossip-mongers.

You knew what everyone in London society said about Miss Hong. She was praised for being the most skilled pianoforte player among the ton, and it was well established that there was no young lady who could rival the musical talents of the Viscount's sister.

But Miss Hong also had a reputation for being excessively fashionable, vain, and quick-tempered. While her status and wealth prevented anyone from saying so to her face, Miss Hong did not enjoy the same universal approval of society that her older brother did.

"Miss Hong," you said gently. "Thank you for interrupting on my behalf. I really did not know how to answer their questions."

She brushed off your gratitude. "You need not bother about Mrs. Patty. That odious woman has been trying to make my life miserable since I was a child. I am not surprised she attempted to sink her claws into you."

You smiled awkwardly. "I see."

"I have been looking forward to meeting this elusive Miss Lee that seems to have the power to make my brother miserable," she said. You were shocked by her words, but when you turned to look at her, she was giggling.

"I-I am so sorry, I really have no intention of upsetting the Viscount," you tried to explain.

"Oh Miss Lee, you are such a sweetheart!" Miss Hong said with a carefree laugh. "I meant that my normally suave brother makes the most foolish mistakes around you and then renders himself miserable afterwards. You needn't apologise to me, I find the whole affair quite entertaining."

You relaxed a little. You had been anxious about how Viscount Hong's family would react to your courtship but, judging from Miss Hong's behaviour, she at least did not openly disapprove of you.

"I warned Joshua he was being hasty about the proposal and that he should have someone speak to you first to assess your reaction," Miss Hong continued as she gestured for you to join her on the bench. "But he said it was not appropriate and that naturally he had to seek your father's permission before speaking to you."

You nodded. "I see…"

Miss Hong gave you a sympathetic smile. "My brother is kind but he is still a man. Society is more forgiving towards his type. He does not understand the fears and pressures that we face as young ladies."

You felt the need to defend your Viscount.

"He has certainly been very thoughtful and considerate towards me-"

Miss Hong laughed. "Has he? Or perhaps you are blinded by your love for him."

"But the entire ton agrees that the Viscount has the most excellent manners, and-"

"Oh," Miss Hong said scornfully. "The ton. Miss Lee, I am sorry to say that if you intend to marry my brother, you must learn to take the opinions of the ton with a pinch of salt. Being a Viscountess is not an easy job. And it is certainly not one for a weak or feeble-minded woman."

Her words struck you like a blow to the face.

A Viscountess. You would be a Viscountess if you were to marry Joshua. It suddenly occurred to you how much power and authority came from a title like that, and the strength and poise with which women carrying such coveted titles conducted themselves.

You had certainly never seen a Viscountess who stumbled over her words in front of gossiping old women.

Miss Hong noticed your sudden silence.

"I apologise if I have offended you, Miss Lee," she said quickly. "It was not my intention to call you weak or feeble-minded. I am sure you are neither. But if I may be so bold as to make a suggestion, purely coming from my goodwill as your potential future sister-in-law…"

You nodded at her. You did not know if Miss Hong was as vain or quick-tempered as the ton claimed. But in this confusing reality, she was the only person willing to tell you the truth.

"Please do," you said.

"You should use this courtship wisely. Not only to consider whether you wish to marry my brother… but also whether you wish to become a Viscountess. If you choose to marry Joshua, you should carry his title as a matter of pride, not as a burden. That is the only way you can be happy together."

Oh.

You took a deep breath as you considered her words and then turned to Miss Hong, clasping her hand in yours.

"Thank you," you told her quietly. "For your honesty."

She smiled- a sudden, genuine smile that was rare for the fashionable young debutante.

"Thank you for not being offended by it," Miss Hong replied. "Now, I regret to inform you that the dancing has begun and my brother approaches to claim your company for the first dance."

You nodded before turning to see that Joshua had indeed appeared from the crowd with his usual handsome smile.

"Miss Lee," the Viscount greeted you warmly, offering you his hand. He raised an eyebrow at his sister. "I hope my sister has not been troubling you."

"Not at all!" you said quickly. "She has been very kind."

Miss Hong stood and smiled as she smoothed down the front of her fashionably decorated ball-gown. "Excuse me- I have promised this dance to Mr. Hessington," she said lightly before disappearing into the crowd.

The Viscount turned to you.

"And I believe you have promised this dance to me," he reminded you with a smile.

"So I have."

You allowed Joshua to lead you out onto the floor for a pleasant waltz. The dance was not very demanding- and it allowed you both the chance to have a much-needed conversation.

"I do hope my sister did not trouble you," Joshua said slowly. "She is known to be rather…"

"Honest?" you asked.

"I was going to say impudent," he replied with a chuckle. "Although I dare say she usually means well."

"No, not at all. She helped me put things in perspective. I will admit that everything about our courtship is… new to me. I cannot help but have some fears and concerns about it all, and… I… I do not want you to think that I am ungrateful for the flowers and letters because I really am not, you have been very thoughtful and kind, I-I only…"

You were beginning to stumble over your words and your cheeks turned hot. Joshua's hand squeezed your gloved one reassuringly.

"Tell me," he pressed you softly. "I would like nothing more than to hear your feelings."

"I wish we could have a conversation," you admitted slowly. "Only the two of us. Without- without any interruptions or eavesdropping chaperones so that-that we could have an honest discussion about the future and what this really means for each of us."

Joshua's expression was gentle.

"Of course, Miss Lee. I agree entirely. I think we have stumbled blindly through this courtship without understanding each other. An open discussion would certainly help."

You nodded. "Well, yes. Open but…" you cleared your throat and glanced around you anxiously. "Well. Discreet, if you understand my meaning. Since we are not officially engaged."

He chuckled.

"Of course. I understand perfectly. Would you do me the honour of coming to the assembly rooms on Thursday evening? I believe I can arrange for our… discreet discussion there."

You smiled and nodded.

"Yes. Yes, that sounds wonderful."

"Excellent."

—---------------------------------------------------

Viscount Hong was a man of his word.

You arrived at the assembly rooms on Thursday; Seokmin had been glad to accompany you as he had a bet to settle at the card tables with Mr. Yoon Jeonghan.

Upon your arrival, the Viscount offered you his arm and requested your company for a walk around the gardens. You accepted- after all, you were now openly courting him, what harm could a walk about the gardens do? To your surprise, Joshua led you towards a thick copse of trees at the end of the path that provided complete cover and privacy from the rest of the gardens and the assembly rooms.

"Shall we speak here?" Viscount Hong asked you.

You nodded hesitantly. "Yes- I am shocked that you discovered this, it is such a private little corner."

Joshua looked slightly embarrassed. "The spot was recommended to me by Mr. Kim Mingyu. He is rather more… experienced than I am when it comes to finding ways to do things that society may not approve of."

You giggled. "You mean he is a rake."

"He admits it quite openly," Joshua agreed.

"And we will not be interrupted- nobody will accidentally stumble upon us here?" you asked nervously.

"It is unlikely. In any case, I have asked Mr. Kim to watch over the garden path from the balcony. If anyone begins to walk in this direction, he will send us a warning," Joshua replied.

You were flattered that Joshua would go to so much effort to indulge your simple request for a private conversation.

"Thank you," you told him honestly.

"It is the least I could do, Miss Lee. I understand that I have thrown quite a wrench in your life this past week. You have me quite flustered- I seem to repeatedly make poor judgements in your regard, and I will strive to remedy that."

You looked up to see the genuine regret in his eyes. It was still so strange to you that the Viscount should care so much about you and you could not help but feel a warmth towards him.

"Viscount Hong, please do not say so. You have not made any mistakes, really."

Joshua reached his hands out hesitantly towards yours. You realised that he was seeking permission to hold your hands- and you offered them to him freely.

His warm hands clasped yours.

"May I go first?" he asked.

You nodded.

"You asked me the other night why I wanted to marry you," Joshua began. He spoke slowly- as though every word was being carefully considered. "I will admit I was not prepared for that question, and I did a poor job of answering it. Will you allow me to answer it again?"

"Of course."

"Over the last year, ever since it became clear that the time had come for me to marry- I have met and considered many young women of my acquaintance. They all have their charms, of course, but I found that only your charms made a consistent and lasting impact on me."

You looked at him with surprise.

"My charms? I must insist you tell me what these are, Viscount Hong, since I am entirely unaware of them," you laughed as your cheeks slowly turned hot.

Joshua chuckled. "I would be glad to elaborate. I know your brothers well, Miss Lee, and I am familiar with the difficulties that your family has faced. I have watched you bear them with quiet dignity. You have a strength and maturity that is rare among young women of your age- indeed, rare for any person at all. Even in the face of my hasty proposal, you had the presence of mind to stop me and question me. You are kind and generous; but not a woman who is easily swayed. That is what makes me confident that you would be a perfect choice for a life partner, and makes me want more than anything in the world to be your husband."

Your heart swelled. It was strange; you had expected some vague words from him about love and admiration- something along the lines of what you read in novels.

But Joshua's answer gave you more confidence than any declaration of love could have.

You now understood that his proposal, as sudden as it may have seemed to you, was not a rash or hasty decision on his part. Joshua had watched you, considered you, understood you… and still chosen you.

"I… don't know if I deserve such praise," you told him softly. "I have not behaved very maturely this past week."

"What makes you say that?" he asked gently.

"I have been selfish. My fears and insecurities got the better of me, and I worried about the gossip that our courtship would create and what people would think. How they would react to you proposing to someone like me."

Joshua shook his head. "Those are reasonable fears. And I have not done a very good job of protecting you from the ton's speculations."

You took a deep breath and looked up at him.

"You do not need to protect me."

Joshua looked startled. "Miss Lee…"

"I have had time to think about what I want from our courtship, and what I can offer. Entering into this with the expectation that I should be protected from the hardships involved is foolish. If we are to be married, then I will be a Viscountess. I cannot live my life fearing the opinions of the ton."

Joshua smiled. Your face had taken on a determined expression. It was the first time since the night of his proposal that you looked like yourself again- without that fear and anxiety looming behind your eyes.

"You have nothing to fear from the ton," he assured you. "I will always be with you."

"Your sister said something to me that struck me deeply," you told him. "She said that if I was to become a Viscountess, then I should carry the title as a matter of pride and not as a burden."

Joshua sighed. "My sister has a strange relationship with pride."

"Perhaps so, but I think there is some truth in what she said," you replied. "It boils down to this… I would be proud to call myself your wife. And as long as you would be proud to call yourself my husband, then I do not think that there is anything society can do to ruin our happiness."

Joshua's eyes twinkled. His grip on your hands pulled you closer to him- you were mere inches away from him now and you could not tear your eyes away from his.

"Dangerous words, Miss Lee," he warned.

"Oh?"

"You are only making me fall more in love with you."

Your cheeks turned hot but you smiled up at him. "And you are treading dangerous waters, Viscount Hong. We are alone here, without a chaperone. I thought you were a gentleman?"

Joshua nodded. His eyes briefly flickered down to your lips. "I am. Will you allow me to kiss you?"

You flushed. "We are not even engaged…"

"I will stop if you ask me to."

"... Do not stop."

Joshua's right arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him. Your hands naturally placed themselves on his shoulders as he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.

It was a delicate kiss; one filled with passion and longing. Joshua was careful with you. One of his hands cupped your cheek as he pulled away slightly. He pressed his forehead to yours and gave you a small smile.

"Have I made another mistake?" he asked breathlessly.

You felt light-headed from the kiss but you managed to look up at him with a small pout.

"You know perfectly well that you have not," you scolded him.

"I had to check- my judgement always fails me around you. You cloud my senses," Joshua whispered. "You are the only woman that can make me doubt my own actions."

You looked up at the handsome man in front of you with adoration.

"I would never want you to doubt yourself," you told him firmly.

"Then shall I kiss you again?"

"Please."

Joshua kissed you again- and again, and again, until you were both entangled in a mess of lips and tongues and limbs, allowing your bodies to express the adoration that words could not satisfy. In your heated whispers between soft, sensuous kisses, Viscount Hong became Joshua, and Joshua became my love.

—---------------------------------------------------------

The passionate courtship that ensued had the ton in an uproar.

It was all over the gossip sheets, and on the lips of every member of the ton: Miss Lee had cast a spell on Viscount Joshua Hong and he was absolutely smitten with her.

Joshua made no effort to abate the gossip. Instead, flowers and letters arrived at your doorstep every single morning. Some days he would send you presents; pretty little hand mirrors, ribbons, satin gloves…. always accompanied by love notes stating how they made him think of you. (He even once sent you a set of silk garters that was almost opened by Nessie. You scolded him thoroughly and his gifts remained family-appropriate thereafter).

Joshua danced with you-and only you- at every ball. It caused an immense displeasure among the ladies of the ton and Mrs. Patty even saw fit to complain to you on one occasion.

"How unfortunate that Viscount Hong will not look at the Duchess anymore," Mrs. Patty bemoaned openly to you. "She would have suited him so well- so rich and with her own title."

"Yes," you said to the older woman calmly. "It is unfortunate indeed that Viscount Hong has no need to marry for riches or titles. He shall have to settle with marrying for love, instead."

Mrs. Patty gave you a sharp look but you heard no more from her on the subject.

The whispers were not all pleasant, naturally. Many gossiped about how Viscount Hong was clearly marrying down, how your dowry and station and beauty were so far beneath his. It was painful when these whispers reached your ears- but it was a pain that you would gladly bear for the privilege of being with Joshua. To his credit, Joshua swiftly and politely silenced anything that reached his ears.

The weeks flew by; and on the 30th day from his initial hasty proposal, Viscount Joshua Hong appeared once more on your doorstep just before suppertime. (This time with notice- Dotty had been able to prepare her venison pie.)

"My father is away on business," you informed Joshua as you led him to the dining room where your siblings were all waiting for supper to be served. "So I am afraid that you will not be able to ask for his permission to propose to me again."

"How unfortunate," Joshua said with a chuckle as Lily ran up to him and greeted him with a hug. He lifted her into his arms easily and set her down in her seat at the table. "It would be very inappropriate to propose to you without permission- but whose permission shall I seek?"

Chan piped up. "You could ask Jihoon."

Jihoon looked up from his plate with a raised eyebrow. "I would not dare to assume such a monumental responsibility. You will have to seek permission elsewhere."

"Seokmin?" Joshua asked.

Seokmin shrugged. "Ask me again after supper. I am too hungry to grant any permissions at the moment."

Joshua chuckled. "Chan?"

Chan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I could be persuaded… for the price of an Arabian horse, perhaps?"

"Absolutely not," you said firmly.

Joshua settled down into his seat and turned to your little sister Lily, who was looking up at him with a big smile and a gap in her teeth.

"What shall I do, Lily?" Joshua asked her with a mock sigh. "I had hoped to propose to your elder sister tonight, but your father is not in town and none of your brothers will grant me permission."

Lily frowned. "Why do you need permission?"

"It is good manners to seek the permission of a woman's loved ones before making an offer to her."

"Then I shall grant you permission, Viscount Hong! You may marry my sister."

You couldn't hold back your laugh; Nessie giggled and the corner of even Jihoon's lips curved upwards. Joshua gracefully accepted her permission and then turned to you with his usual handsome, charming smile.

"Well, Miss Lee; what say you? Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?" Joshua asked you with a chuckle. Lily looked up at you expectantly with big eyes.

You smiled back at Joshua.

"Well, since Lily has granted her permission…"

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes, Viscount Hong. I would be honoured to become your wife."

—--------------------------------------------------------

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