#regency!eddie munson

[uglypastels]

Ridlington Park | I | Eddie Munson regency!au

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

Word Count: 10k

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

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

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

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Chapter One: A Game of Perseverance

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

– Jane Austen, Letter to her sister Cassandra, 1798

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❀❀❀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Please, call me Eddie.’ 

‘As you wish,’ Nicholas agreed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What about Lady Byrnwick?’

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

‘Not fond of horses, is she?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Understood.’ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was clear this is how you were to die.

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

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

You screamed bloody murder. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Eddie.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Not at all.’ Eddie politely replied. 

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

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

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

‘Yes, mother.’ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To be continued...

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.

[augustjustice]

In a regency AU, Steve and Robin and Eddie and Chrissy would be lavender married, respectively, and live in neighboring estates. Every night, Robin and Eddie high five as they pass each other walking through their adjoining yards, on their way to go and rail their one true loves.

[steddieunderdogfics]

alternate meeting rec:

https://www.tumblr.com/flowercrowngods/713162481070112768/suggestingrequesting-eddie-having-a-crush-on-the

untitled knight!Steve / bard!Eddie by @flowercrowngods

Rating: Teens and Up

10k words, 1/? chapters

Archive Warning:

Tags: regency au, enemies to lovers

Summary:

Eddie is a bard of great renown who returns to Hawkins ready and willing to spite the people who cast him out all his life. He is in search of his muse: the knight Dustin has been writing to him about who has inspired his greatest ballads and poems. Dustin’s Sir Steve is nowhere to be found, but Lord Harrington seems to hold a grudge against Eddie and he wants to find out why.

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is alternative meetings.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[ashleyfanfic]

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson, Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley/Steve Harrington, Suzie Bingham/Dustin Henderson, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair Characters: Eddie Munson, Chrissy Cunningham, Laura Cunningham, Phillip Cunningham, Wayne Munson, Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler, Joyce Byers, Jim "Chief" Hopper, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Mike Wheeler, Suzie Bingham, Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, Erica Sinclair, Jonathan Byers, Jason Carver Additional Tags: Regency, Alternate Universe - Regency, Arranged Marriage, Gambling, women with no real agency, Historical Inaccuracy, Love at First Sight, Idiots in Love, period typical ideas about stuff, robin is married to Steve but he knows her secret, Loss of Virginity, Explicit Sexual Content, sexual awakening, Character Death, eddie is adopted by Wayne, Duke of hawkins Summary:

Regency Arranged Marriage. Wayne takes drastic measures when he receives bad news. Eddie is left shaken but determined to make his uncle proud.

The Cunninghams deal with poor financial planning by using Chrissy’s hand in marriage as a way out. But big chocolate eyes and and a charming disposition rock Chrissy’s foundation.

She learns quickly that her mother’s advice to “lay back and let him have his pleasure” is the single dumbest thing she’s ever heard.

[foundtherightwords]

Love in a Storm - Chapter 8

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham (Regency AU)

Summary: A devastating loss threatens the happy marriage of Edward and Christine Munson, Lord and Lady Hurtsfield. However, when Edward is accused of a crime he didn't commit, Christine has to set her grief aside and embark on a perilous journey to prove her husband's innocence.

Warnings: childbirth, stillbirth, infertility, angst, false accusation, wrongful imprisonment, legal drama, some violence (non-graphic), some smut (non-explicit)

Chapter warnings: non-explicit sex

A/N: This was my first attempt to write a courtroom scene! I learned a lot during my research for it (such as the fact that British judges don't use a gavel). Also, the Old Bailey transcripts of the actual Cato Street Conspiracy trials are a Godsend, as I took a lot of Robert Adams' testimonies from them.

Chapter word count: 3.9k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7

Chapter 8

The Old Bailey was so packed with spectators that the cab had to drop Christine and Owens a long way off from the main building, and Owens had to elbow his way through the crowd to get Christine inside. The pavement was swamped with boys selling broadsides printed with every detail of the conspiracy and the trials of the previous days. One of them ran up to Christine and offered her a pamphlet, and was met with such a withering glance from Owens that he ducked his head and quickly ran off.

The courtroom was a hive of activity, as clerks hurried back and forth on the floor below and spectators squeezed into their seats in the gallery above. A brief hush fell over the gallery as Christine sat down and removed her hood, revealing a velvet turban decorated with bright blue feathers. It was actually her mother's, left behind when she moved to Naples. Christine herself never wore something so flamboyant; she only wanted Edward to be able to pick her out amongst the crowd. A woman behind Christine huffed loudly, "With the money one paid for this seat, one would expect to see something!" Christine's cheeks burned, but she reminded herself she wasn't here to cater to the morbidly curious, who watched the trials as avidly as they did the latest drama in a West End playhouse. She was here for Edward. So she squared her shoulder and fixed her eyes on the floor below, ignoring the irritated murmurs around her.

The presiding judge was Lord Chief Justice Abbot, an old man with a stony, humorless face. Even from this distance, Christine could see the disapproval on the judge's face as he glanced at Murray, who looked more like an owl than ever in his crooked wig and gown. Before she could feel concerned about what this might mean for the trial, the murmuring rose again, and her attention was drawn to a door in a corner, where Edward was being led into the courtroom.

Christine leaned forward, hands gripping the banister in front of her, trying to take in everything about him, to fill that void he'd left in her during all those weeks they were apart. He was no longer in chains, thank God. And it looked like he had been shaved, washed, and changed into the clothes she'd sent. His hair was still too long, reaching his shoulders now, and he was thin, oh so thin! It wrenched her heart to see his features standing out sharply on his face and the dark smudges under his eyes. But at least he looked respectable, a gentleman. Hopefully, it would count for something in the eye of the jury. Even as she thought this, however, she was well aware that the other prisoners could not afford such privileges, and felt a jab at her conscience.

Edward was put to the dock. He turned toward the gallery and locked eyes with her. His mouth quirked up in that familiar smile that went straight through her heart. That smile told her everything that he couldn't say in his letters, everything that he couldn't speak in words. That smile said to her I'm here, sweetheart. Be brave. Be strong. I shall always be here. It was only for a brief moment, and then he turned to face the judge again, and Christine knew that look and that smile would have to sustain her for the rest of the trial.

The jury was sworn in, and the trial began. Christine hardly registered what was being said, so intent she was on watching Edward. He remained composed and expressionless while the Attorney General, a middle-aged man with a thin mouth and fussy manners, stated the case to the jury. He didn't look guilty or indignant. If Christine hadn't known him so well, she would've missed a slight hardening of his face, a tightening of his jaws, as the charges were read. He must be boiling with anger inside, and she was proud of him for maintaining a calm, dignified exterior.

The same could not be said for Murray. He moved about in front of the witness's box, waving his arms like a windmill and punctuating his questions with wild gestures. At first, Christine was exasperated by his theatrical performance, but as the witnesses stammered under his scrutiny, she started to understand his tactics. It was just as Edward had said; Murray sought to confuse the witnesses so he could catch them unawares and point out the holes in their testimonies. And he was witty, Christine had to give him that. More than once he set the crowd chuckling and had to be sternly reminded to stick to the procedures by the Lord Chief Justice.

After several witnesses had testified about the shooting of the police spy, Benson, and the fact that Benson had indeed been assigned to watch the Cato Street party, the star witness, Robert Adams, was called to the box. Despite knowing he was going to speak out against her husband, Christine couldn't help feeling sorry for him. He was a stooped, pitiful little man, with thinning, graying hair plastered to his head, a timid face, made all the more timid by the prominence of his ears, and the same vacant eyes as his wife's. In a small voice, he told of how the conspirators had found money to buy arms for their coup.

"Thistlewood said I might buy a pistol for 4 or 5 shillings; I said I had no money to buy pistols with, he said he would see what could be done. Later, he told me that there was a gentleman's servant who had supplied some of the party with money, and he said if they would act upon the subject he would give a great deal more. He repeated it more than once or twice." He said all this quickly, without emotion, as if by rote, confirming Murray's theory that he had been coached.

"Did you ever go with Thistlewood to get this money?" the Attorney General asked.

"No, but Thistlewood once came back from Hanover Square with the money, which he gave to Bradburn to purchase ferrules to put on the staves."

"Hanover Square, Lord Hurstfield's place of residence?"

A moment's hesitance, then Adams said, with a nod, "Yes."

"And did Thistlewood ever tell you the name of this servant or this gentleman?"

Adams shifted in his seat, saying, "I don't... I don't recall."

"Think, Mr. Adams. Such a generous gentleman, and you or any of the other men never thought to ask who he is, or why he would give you money to harm his own peer?"

Christine could hear displeased muttering amongst the crowd around her. Such a question, in any other case, could be seen as a clear example of leading the witness and the lawyer would be condemned for it, yet here the judge was turning a deaf ear.

Adams licked his lips. His eyes, like those of a frightened animal, flicked toward Edward, before he said, "Thistlewood might have said the name... Edward."

Christine shut her eyes briefly so she didn't have to look at the smug expression on the face of the Attorney General as he settled down, apparently satisfied with Adams's testimony. Now it was Murray's turn to cross-examine the witness.

"Are you sure it was Edward?" the barrister asked. "Not Munson, or Hurstfield, but Edward?"

"It might have been Edwards," Adams replied, looking a little more confident now that he no longer had to face the Attorney General.

"Are you not confusing him with George Edwards, a member of your party, who is now known to be a government spy placed amongst you to instigate—"

The Attorney General quickly stood up. "It has been confirmed that Mr. Edwards was nowhere near Cato Street on the night of the 23rd of February, and is not the subject of this cross-examination."

Murray spread his hands in a placating gesture. "Very well. Mr. Adams, could you confirm if it was Edward or Edwards?"

Adams's eyes darted to the prosecutors, as if seeking for a cue from them. "... It was Edward," eventually he said.

"Not Hurstfield or Munson?"

"I suppose he wouldn't be using his real name," Adams said.

"No, of course not!" Murray threw up his arms. "When coming up with a nom de guerre, one must always use one's Christian name!"

Christine couldn't stifle a grin. A snickering went round the courtroom. Adams looked abashed, knowing he'd stumbled, but unsure where or how.

"You mentioned seeing several pistols in the house of one of the prisoners, John Brunt, on the day of the 23rd," Murray continued. "Did you see this pistol amongst them?" He gestured to one of the clerks to show Adams the pistol bearing the Munson coat of arms.

Adams seemed even more confused. "I... I cannot say. They were all lying in a drawer. I cannot even say what their exact number was."

"Has Thistlewood ever mentioned the possibility of a police spy watching your movements?"

"He... he did tell us to watch out for the police," Adams said.

"And yet he missed the fact that George Edwards, his right-hand man, was a spy?"

"I must ask you again, sir, to focus on the subject of this questioning!" the judge shouted.

"Have you ever heard the name Frederick Benson?" Murray asked.

"... No," Adams said, sounding defeated.

Up in the gallery, Christine nodded with satisfaction. Murray was not only throwing doubt on Edward's involvement in the conspiracy, he was also pointing out that the shooting of Benson might have nothing with the conspiracy itself, killing two birds with one stone.

After that, Edward's character witnesses were called - Mr. Clarke, the Misses Hargrove, and some officials from parishes where Edward had done his reform work. It heartened Christine to see and hear them speaking so warmly of him. She could feel the mood of the crowd change as well, becoming more sympathetic, and for the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to hope.

At last, it was Edward's turn to deliver his defense. Usually, this would be done by the barrister on behalf of the prisoner, but Edward had elected to speak for himself. Christine's heart swelled with pride as he stood up and address the jury.

"My Lords and Gentlemen of the Jury," he began. "I cannot, nor do I want to deny that I am for reform." Christine cursed inwardly. Why in God's name would Edward open with that?! Such a statement wouldn't exactly be helpful to his case. Around her, the audience reacted with surprise as well, as heads bent toward each other in curious whispers. "I suppose you were expecting me to denounce it and proclaim my loyalty to the Crown. But I must be honest." Here, he glanced at the gallery, and his eyes caught Christine's for a moment. "I want changes. I don't want to live in a world where men can be hanged for trying to feed their families, mothers have no rights over their children, and orphans can be sold like cattle. But I also do not condone violence. I would like to believe that we can bring about changes by discovering our own sympathy for our fellow man, as well as by appealing to it in others, not by killing and inciting riots. Doing so would be to harm the very people I wish to protect. Whatever Mr. Thistlewood and his men were planning, I had no part in it."

Christine's initial irritation faded away as she looked upon her husband, who stood facing those who scorned him, who wished him harm, all because he dared to tell the truth, because he refused to conform to their rules. Her Edward, brave and true. In the past two years, between her grief and her loneliness and her frustration, she had allowed herself to forget what she loved most about him, his courage, his honesty, his passion for everything in life. It had taken all this trouble for her to remember it again.

But was it too late? For Christine had barely felt the elation when it was stamped out again, as cruelly as a bucket of water on a fire, by the Lord Chief Justice, who fixed his cold, colorless eyes on Edward, and intoned:

"As much as I would like to commend your compassion for the less fortunate, sir, the truth of the matter is that a man was killed. He was killed by your pistol, and you cannot account for your movements at the time of his death. Where was your compassion then?"

With that, he signaled for the court to adjourn. The grim faces of the judge and prosecutors brought back in Christine's mind what Murray had said. They have already decided... The trials are just for show... They will try to make an example out of him... Her heart plummeted as she realized it had all been for naught. Edward was a dead man even before he walked into the courtroom.

***

The Lord Chief Justice's foreboding words were still ringing in Christine's ears as she and Owens made their way out of the building. The trial was going to recommence the next day, but Christine wasn't sure if she could endure it, despite Murray's ever-present optimism, despite Mr. Clarke and the Hargrove sisters' encouragement.

"Don't mollycoddle me, Mr. Murray," she said, when she managed to snatch a moment with the barrister outside Old Bailey. "Tell me, truly, do you think his lordship has any chance of an acquittal at all?"

The barrister's usual sardonic smile disappeared. "Unless we can provide clear, irrefutable evidence of his innocence, I believe the best we could hope for is a reduced sentence."

"Transportation?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Murray nodded. The hollow feeling in Christine's chest grew. She didn't know what was worse, Edward dead or thousands of miles away in Australia. Perhaps she could accompany him. She had heard stories about prisoners successfully building new lives for themselves in the penal colonies... provided that they survived the hellish voyage there, of course.

Suddenly she felt a burning desire to see Edward, stronger than she had ever felt in the previous days. She had only had a glimpse of him in the courtroom as he looked back at her, before he was taken away again, back to prison, and now she longed for him, longed to put her head on his chest, longed to cry in his arms and hear him telling her that everything was going to be all right.

"Owens, please find us a cab to Coldbath Fields Prison," she said. When both men opened their mouths to protest, she held up a hand. "Gentlemen, I don't want to hear another word from you. This may be my last chance to see my husband before he is—" Her voice caught. She cleared her throat and stood up straighter. "My mind is made up. That cab, please, Owens."

"Yes, my lady." The butler tilted his head and went to the row of cabs parked down the road.

"He's still out there, you know," Murray said gravely. "And I can't pay my informants enough to have them accompany you to a prison."

"I'm taking Owens along," Christine said, her tone inviting no further debate. "I shall be perfectly safe."

***

Once the cab rolled to a stop outside the bleak walls of Coldbath Fields Prison, Christine instructed Owens to wait for her and went directly into the governor's office, as Murray had once taken her.

"This is most irregular, my lady," the governor protested, when she laid down her request.

"Sir, please. I simply wish for some time with my husband. He is... as good as a dead man." It took all of her courage to say those words out loud. She still didn't want to believe it. Somewhere in her heart, there was still a tiny flicker of hope, an irrational belief that some miracle would happen to save Edward. "Surely you wouldn't deny a grieving wife a chance to see her husband before he was executed?" And she put down a pouch full of coins on his desk.

The jingling of the coins did a lot more to soften the governor's expression than her entreating words. He picked up the pouch and undid the opening to peer inside, not even bothering to be discreet. The crease between his eyebrows immediately relaxed as if someone had taken an iron to it.

"Very well, my lady," he said. "The guards will take you to his lordship."

Christine followed the two guards down a long, narrow hallway, lined on both sides with heavily enforced doors, each containing only a tiny grated window that could be opened for food and other delivery. Her eyes burned from the smoke of the oil lamps swinging from the ceiling, and she shivered, partly from the cold dampness that seeped through the stone walls, partly from the eerie silence that hung over the place like a thick veil, muffling even the heavy treads of the guards' jackboots.

They finally came to a stop at one of the doors. "I would be very grateful if you could give us some privacy," she said, pressing a coin each into the guards' palms. "You can lock the door behind me. I shall let you know once I'm ready to leave."

The guards raised their eyebrows and glanced at each other, but Christine knew the coins would be too tempting for them to resist. "Much obliged, my lady," one of them said and unlocked the door.

Edward was sitting on the bed, with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He looked up at the sound of the door opening.

"Christine? What are you doing here?"

Christine waited until the keys rattled behind her. She had no intention of breaking down in Edward's arms with these men listening outside. Only when the sound of the guards' footsteps faded away then she went to her husband and buried her face in his chest.

"I'm sorry. Don't scold. I had to see you before..." Before the last day of the trial. Before he could be found guilty and taken away from her forever, and the only time they were allowed to meet would be before his execution or departure for the penal colonies. Just for once, for this night, she'd like to see him without the shadow of the noose hanging over them.

"I won't scold. I'm glad you're here." He enfolded her in his arms, and for a moment, Christine allowed herself to not think of anything else but his safe, warm embrace, the feel of his broad, sturdy chest under her cheek, and the soft beating of his heart, while time stretched endlessly around them.

"Thank you for wearing this monstrosity, by the way," he said, removing her turban and tossing it on the table, so he could kiss her hair.

"I never thought it would come in handy," she said, smiling up at him.

"You weren't too worried today, were you, sweetheart?" he said. "I told you Murray would be magnificent."

Christine's heart melted. Edward must have known how the Lord Chief Justice's words affected her, but he was trying to ease her mind. Always thinking of her, always protecting her...

"I think you were magnificent," she whispered, nestling into him again.

"Was I? And here I thought you were going to scold me for giving another one of my reform speeches, when I should have been groveling to the judge instead."

"No. I expect nothing less from you. Truth conquers all, remember?"

She lifted her face to look at him, and he bent down to meet her with a kiss. She had expected it to be a quick, soft kiss, but the moment their lips met, all the longing she'd felt in the last two months erupted into a physical ache, a fire that refused to be quenched unless she had him in her arms. So she pressed her hands to his cheeks, drew him to her, and drank him in. Edward tightened his hold around her, and she writhed in his arms so she could feel all of him with all of her, his hands cradling her waist and the back of her head, his chest crushing her breasts, his lips a scorching heat between hers. Still, the fire burned. His mouth moved down her throat, and his hands impatiently opened her coat and tore away the lace fichu covering the low neckline of her bodice, until his trembling lips found their way to the upper swells of her breasts. The ache concentrated into a pounding in her heart and between her legs, echoed by a throbbing pulse she could feel from him, even through all the layers of their clothes.

With difficulty, she peeled herself away from him and threw her coat over the door of the cell, covering the small opening.

"What are you doing?" Edward asked, puzzled.

"Giving us some privacy," she said. "I've paid those guards well, but who knows when they may return."

She returned to him. As he realized her intention, Edward resumed his kisses with a frenzy. His lovemaking had always been gentle, shy, and unhurried, but there was none of that gentleness now in the way his mouth ravished hers, in the way he tugged at the buttons on the back of her bodice and stripped it down over her breasts. It was feral, frantic, driven by the fire she knew they both felt. They had so little time.

Her back hit the cold, hard wood of the bed, and she shivered, not because of the cold, but because his mouth had closed over her breast, inflaming, tormenting. She arched her back and twisted her fingers into his hair, pressing him closer to her, urging, begging for more. He pushed her skirts up around her waist, and the next thing she knew, he was inside her, the fabric of his trousers rubbing against her thighs, driving her mad with want. Still the fire burned, but she no longer wished to quench it. She wished for it to go on forever, until her very blood felt like it was built from crackling flames, until it obliterated everything so there was nothing else but the two of them, here, now. She wrapped her limbs around him, clinging to him with all her might, while her hips lifted rhythmically, matching his thrusts. The fire was close to burning out, but not yet, not yet, she didn't want to lose him just yet...

"Look at me, Edward," she whispered, wishing to draw out the moment just a little longer. "Please, look at me." And he did, his eyes filling her veins with warmth, with desire, with love. The fire reached its zenith. She bit into his shoulder to muffle a cry, half in ecstasy, half in despair, while he pressed his sweat-drenched forehead against her neck with a moan and poured himself into her, and finally, they became one, body and soul, as the fire burned itself out, sated at last.

Chapter 9

[hellcheerficdatabase]

Love in a Storm

Author: @foundtherightwords

Rating/Warning: Mature, miscarriage

Chapter Count: 12/12 (Part 3 of Hurstfield Hall series)

Description: A devastating loss threatens the happy marriage of Edward and Christine Munson, Lord and Lady Hurtsfield. However, when Edward is accused of a crime he didn't commit, Christine has to set her grief aside and embark on a perilous journey to prove her husband's innocence.

Tags: Alternate Universe- no vecna, alternate universe, regency au, angst, false accusations, wrongful imprisonment, eventual fluff, emotional hurt and comfort, Alternating POV, multiple chapters, part of a series, status: completed

[jellyfishloveletterghosts]

HA fill for a square from my 3nd and last bingo card for @harringroveson-bingo

Square: A2 - Monsters

Title: Turn No Cheek

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 10094

Ship(s): Harringroveson

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Regency, Prince Billy Hargrove, Jester Eddie Munson, Noble Steve Harrington, Alpha Billy Hargrove, Alpha Eddie Munson, Omega Steve Harrington, Neil Hargrove is His Own Warning, Neil Hargrove Being an Asshole, Abuse, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Hurt Steve Harrington, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Neil Hargrove Gets What Neil Hargrove Deserves, Murder, Minor Character Death, Choking, Stabbing, Protective Eddie Munson, Protective Billy Hargrove, Epilogue, Time Skips, King Billy Hargrove, Healing, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Happy Ending            

Summary: Neil was never supposed to find out about their involvement with Steve and of course the man proves what a monster he is when he does.

Turn No Cheek

Eddie creeps through the secret passageways, hat held between his hands to keep the bells from giving him away and a sack of stinky heavily perfumed spices and flowers to keep his scent hidden. Most in the castle are surely asleep by now but there is always some noble sneaking about to visit a lover or a servant being overworked.

He slips into Billy’s room via the false wall behind a tapestry he has used a hundred times and drops the pouch just outside it. It is quiet, not even whispers or creaking from the bed meaning Steve must not be here yet. He sets the pouch and his hat on the side table with a soft jingle as he moves closer to the bed pulling the drapes open more, making space to climb up onto the bed. He stops with his knee sinking in as he looks down at Billy.

"Shit he went hard on you today." Eddie, kicks off both of his shoes up as he climbs up the rest of the way, and settles close to Billy. He skims his hands gently over the bruised flesh of his cheek, hands falling lower to the proof of punches and possibly kicks molting his skin in dark shades.

"Your fault, you really pissed him off."

"And he took it out on you.” They knew he would but Eddie’s job is to point out when the king and his court are shirking their duties. He is not simply an entertainer but a voice of scorn and mockery when a king needs a kick in the ass. Still he does  not like seeing Billy bruised up like this. “I'm sorry." He leans in and drops a kiss just above an angry bruise darkening Billy’s cheek bone.

Billy’s eyes are wet, always teary when he is angry or frustrated, or sad. In general just an easy crier when he has the safety to be. "He's figured us out." He grits out hand curling over Eddie’s wrist keeping it pressed against his jaw.

"Steve?" Eddie asks a pit of worry souring his gut. Being an omega makes Steve an easier target and only a nobleman's son. He is not the crown prince or the court jester in the public eyes, could be wedded off to someone out of spite or worse if the king were to ever find out about his involvement with them.

Billy shakes his head "He didn't say anything about him." It eases the growing worry in Eddie’s stomach.

Read the Rest on Ao3

[steddieficrec]

the other hand knocking by greatunironic

(10/10 I 102,213 I Teen I Steddie)

Since he was eighteen, Steven Harrington knew he would not marry: there were many factors, but chief among them were that he had, he knew, given up his chance for true happiness when he had allowed his mother to persuade him from accepting Edward Munson’s proposal.

Or: a Regency AU.

(look. i will apparently read anything with these two. and I'm so glad I did. The pining, the hand holding, the looks across the parlor. <3)

[all-the-words-necessary]

Regency AU: Steve Harrington, set to inherit the title of Duke, is the most eligible Bachelor this season. Eddie could care less, he's got more important things to worry about, like how he needs this pianist job to work out or if he and his uncle are going to be out on the streets.

He's heard what the girls at the opera house say, if you become a paramour of a rich titled man then your bills are set...and well. Eddie's never been one to ignore a good business opportunity.

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

Enter, The Devil's Puppet | Steddie x Reader

Prompt: On a ship

Words: 1912

Fandom: Stranger Things

A/N: Pirate!Eddie and betrothed Regency!Steve and Reader. Steve’s got a heart of gold, dumb of ass. Another late entry for Writer’s Month. Things keep happening that's preventing me from writing ahead, so a few entries from here on out will be a little late.

Summary: You are arranged to be married to the “disgraced” Mr. Steve Harrington and planned to meet with him on your own terms. Things do not go as planned as you were kidnapped before you could meet. A noble man comes to your aid, but a ruthless pirate gives you a life changing choice.

-

You didn’t mean to wander off too far, but your curiosity got the best of you. It was always some reason or another that you were prevented from going near the water, always having someone accompanying you to keep you in line. You were to meet your betrothed today, someone that could help your family’s social status and get rid of the debt that your father had. 

You had met with your betrothed twice. Once when you were but teens before he got sent off to school, and the second time at a dinner when you were reintroduced. He wasn’t an unpleasant man. In fact, he seemed to have matured greatly since the last time you’ve seen each other. Before, the two of you could not see eye to eye. 

Now, while he wasn’t the sharpest man, he seemed more in touch with his emotions and was more open to deep conversations. He had a good heart, truly someone that you would not mind spending your life with, a thought that almost scared you. While you both enjoyed each other’s company, he admitted that his heart had not fully recovered from his first heartbreak. Neither of you were ready to get married. As if you had a choice.

It happened so quickly. One moment, you were perusing the docks and the trading market, the next, you were blindfolded, tied, and dragged onto a ship. No amount of struggling got you anywhere, only on your captors’ last nerves.

They were going to use you for ransom. Until your family pays what they ask for, you’ll be a prisoner on their ship. They had even made it more difficult to pin down, moving the ship around so that the ships sent for your retrieval couldn’t take them. Maybe, just this once, you should have done as you’re told.

“Your old man’s a stingy one, isn’t he?” one of the pirates growled, crossing his arms menacingly as he stood guard by your cell.

You rolled your eyes, sitting down on the floor with your ripped coat below you. “Don’t get me started on that. What happens to me if my father can’t bring the money?”

The other guard leaned over the bars and grinned, showing a missing tooth. “Guess we’ll just have to keep you forever,” he said, leering down at you.

“They’ll find you!” you shouted angrily.

“Sweetheart, we’re barely putting any effort into evading them. You think they’ll waste soldiers to go after the child of a corrupt man who’s indebted to powerful people? They’re stalling until one of us gets bored. Watch. Less than halfway to Shipwreck’s cove and they’ll give up.”

You froze, stumbling to your feet to approach the bars, “How do you know so much about my family?” you asked.

He smirked. “Cap’n Carver’s obsessed with your betrothed. He’s done his research. We know your family won’t ever pay the ransom, but Steve Harrington will.”

“You leave him alone.”

“Or what, sweetheart? His ship is catching up to us as we speak.”

That idiot. What can he do against a fully armed ship and with what army? You doubted that he had thought that far ahead. You were fond of him, sure, there was no doubt about that, but his new sense of selflessness can get a bit too far.

It was only through stories that you knew of this as well as a first hand account from the man himself, but after he had gotten disciplined from getting into trouble in school, he had many of his privileges taken away and been made to work for family’s trading business as a dockworker.

Many of the other workers were older and could not afford to leave work despite sickness or injury, so he’d take their shifts and give them more money than what they were owed. Surely, he’s not actually coming, is he?

A loud scuffle woke you up from your slumber, the guards that were outside your cell were missing. You looked around and fished out two pins from your hair, swiftly moving over to the lock to try and pick it. You have done this a handful of times. There was only so much you could do at your family’s virtually crumbling estate and so many rooms that were restricted.

You finally heard the click of the lock when the footsteps reached just beyond the door. You grabbed a glass bottle that one of the guards left out and hid behind the door, holding it above your head as the knob turned.

Steve tumbles through, face bruised and bloody and his clothing stripped and torn until there was nothing left but his dirtied trousers, ripped blue vest, and a bloodstained white muslin shirt. He spat out more blood and tried to roll out of the way as a big pair of hands reached out to grab him. You chose this moment to swing, hitting the pirate directly on his head. You took a hold of his sword as soon as he collapsed and stood in front of Steve.

Steve mumbled your name, reaching a shaky hand out to you. “Just run,” he said.

“Not without you,” you said firmly, grabbing his wrist and placing the sword hilt in his hand. It took a moment for him to register it, but he quickly caught on and gripped it tightly, lifting himself off the floor. You rifled through the pirate’s pockets, finding a gun in its holster and bullets.

“You know how to work that thing?” Steve asked, frowning.

“Do you?”

“Uh, yeah, I don’t really prefer guns, but it’s something that we’re supposed to learn at –”

“We need to go right now,” you interrupted, grabbing his wrist again and dragged him into the narrow hallway. “You shouldn’t have come for me.”

“And leave you here to these… these savages? No way!”

“Mr. Harrington, what if you got hurt?”

“It’s Steve,” he said quietly, making you pause to look at him. “Please, don’t call me Mr. Harrington again.”

“Okay, Steve, but do we have a way out of here?”

He looked around and nodded. “Come on, this way.”

You were impressed how he had memorized the general layout of the ship, the stairs leading up to the upper deck just ahead. You need to give him more credit from now on. Though, this felt too easy. Where was everyone? There were noises above when Steve was being dragged to the cell and you didn’t pay mind to it until now. Your grip on Steve’s hand tightened as you braced yourself for what’s to come.

“Just stick next to me,” Steve said softly, walking ahead of you as he made his way up the stairs.

Everyone was dead. Blood and rain soaking into the wooden planks and running a dark river to your feet. A shiver ran down your spine and it was not just from the cold air. Heavy footsteps made their way over to you and Steve, stopping to kick the gun away from Captain Carver’s outreached hands.

“Well, well, well. You two are practically royalty back on Hawkins, aren’t you?” a baritone voice said with amusement.

“Listen, we just want to go back home,” Steve said, “Bring up back to Hawkins and we’ll make it like this never happened.”

A man with long dark wavy hair stepped towards him, wide brown eyes studying him closely. He brought his ring-clad fingers up and gripped Steve’s chin. “Now, why would I want to do that?” he asked with a teasing smirk.

Steve swallowed, steadying his breathing as he raised the sword to swing. The man was faster, grabbing his wrist and twisted until the sword clattered to the ground. With shaky hands, you brought up the gun and aimed it at him, your heart stopping as you pulled the trigger. And… nothing. You forgot to load it.

The man threw his head back and laughed, taking the gun from you and handing it to one of his crew members. “You two are fun. Oh, how rude of me,” he said with a smirk, stepping back to give an exaggerated regal bow. “The name’s Captain Edward Munson, The Handsome Freak of the High Seas, The Devil’s Puppet, and captain of the great Hellfire ship.”

Your blood ran cold. Captain Munson, the Devil’s Puppet himself, was standing right in front of you after effortlessly slaying the pirates that captured you without a scratch on his body. It was said that he made a deal with the devil for the power to rule the seas for eternity, becoming his puppet in return. Ruthless, cruel, and sadistic.

Captain Munson tilted his head, looking at Steve expectantly. “Steve Harrington,” he said. 

The pirate hummed, whispering his name in a sing-songy voice. “Pleasure to meet you, big boy,” he purred, running a finger over his cheek, sending a shiver through the younger man. Then, Captain Munson directed his attention to you.

You introduced yourself shakily, feeling frozen in your spot. Steve’s hand shot out as the pirate captain strode over to you. He chuckled, patting his cheek lightly. You couldn’t help but notice how flushed Steve’s cheeks were. The captain was now in front of you, his dark eyes seemingly reading right through you. He nodded to himself, drawing out his pistol and facing the barrel towards himself.

“Take it,” he said.

Your eyes widened, flickering over to Steve for help. He looked between you and Captain Munson, then at the crew who were watching intensely. “I don’t understand,” you said quietly.

He smiled, disarmingly soft. “Take it,” he repeated, “I’m giving you something that your old life had never given you.”

“And that is?”

“Choice,” he said, raising his other hand towards you, “You shoot me, and my crew will take you and your beloved back to Hawkins and live out your merry lives under society’s scrutiny and restrictions, or you can take my hand and I can show you what it’s like out here in the real world, where you’re free to be whoever you want to be and love whoever you want and do whatever you want to do.”

“And Steve?”

Captain Munson looked over at him. “Harrington can choose whatever he wants, too.”

Steve’s eyes widened, as if it was an option that would have never been given to him. You knew how strict his parents were, how emotionally distant they could be. Through letters, he confessed that they see him as a disappointment, that no matter how much work he had put into the business, it wasn’t enough. Despite all their treatment and the lack of affection from them, he still sought their approval. This was one of the reasons why he did not protest the arranged marriage with you.

Steve took a step forward, one of the Hellfire crew shooting out to stop him. Captain Munson waved a dismissive hand and their posture laxed, letting him through. Steve took your other hand and squeezed.

“I’ll go wherever you go,” he said softly, his eyes filled with love and understanding.

Captain Munson’s eyes flickered between your joint hands, then you. He raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

You exhaled slowly and lifted your shaky hand… and took the captain’s hand firmly.

He grinned widely, twirling the pistol with a finger and shoved it back in its holster before wrapping an arm around Steve’s shoulders. Steve stumbled forward, colliding with you as the captain yanked you towards him.

“Welcome to the Hellfire, lovelies.”

[welcometohellfireclub]

I don't want joseph quinn to be on bridgerton. Not because I don't want him to get work and have a good career, quite the opposite.

I just hate Bridgeton.

[uglypastels]

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

[soughthopearchived]

He never liked this drab affairs but that isn’t to say he doesn’t like dancing and togetherness only that he’s always been on the outside looking in but he’s long since accepted that. He’s a crow and the rest were doves, peacocks ; majestic and beautiful. He stood out like a sore thumb he swiped horderves from silver platters and drank champagne from dashing long flutes. 

He only came for his uncles sake, he says he’s fit for marriage and should show it but he never expected to catch your gaze and hold it or the way his heart beat a tenfold or how you’d tease one another without a word from across the room until you descended into laughter drawing the attention of party goers. 

Mostly, after having his face ground in the dirt out back for such disrespect he’d expected to go home on this rainy day letting the cool water soothe not for you to be standing there, umbrella in hand. He only noticed when the water stopped hitting cobblestones and your grand skirts came into view as his eyes skittered across the floor. 

They raise slowly and he pauses, lifting a nervous hand. “ Oh, hello. “ 

@hawkinssongbird​

[mariusslonelysoul]

please consider: fruity four Pride and Prejudice au

steve is mr darcy, eddie is lizzie, robin is bingley, and nancy is jane. dustin can be georgiana, obviously, and i can see max as anne de bourgh maybe? with lucas as mary. mike would be a mix of lydia and kitty, and holly can be there as the fifth sibling. or maybe el is anne, and lady catherine is brenner.

as for caroline, perhaps billy? and then max could be mrs hurst, with lucas as mr hurst, or she can just be miss mayfield for now. then again, maybe billy can be wickham. jason (¿or 001?) could be mr collins

i don't know who jonathan, will, joyce, hopper or murray could be; maybe jonathan as colonel fitzwilliam? or will as the colonel (several p&p fics pair him with kitty as it is). we also need a charlotte, but eddie doesn't really have a lot of friends apart from the party; maybe barb? chrissy? she'd have to end up with jason though, and i don't wanna do that to her

there would have to be a lot of changes done regarding plot and relationships obviously, especially with all the background characters, but steddie and ronance fit quite well imo, and every fandom deserves and needs a pride and prejudice au, so if somebody were to write it, i'd be very happy :)))

[ashleyfanfic]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson, Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley/Steve Harrington, Suzie Bingham/Dustin Henderson, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair Characters: Eddie Munson, Chrissy Cunningham, Laura Cunningham, Phillip Cunningham, Wayne Munson, Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler, Joyce Byers, Jim "Chief" Hopper, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Mike Wheeler, Suzie Bingham, Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, Erica Sinclair, Jonathan Byers, Jason Carver Additional Tags: Regency, Alternate Universe - Regency, Arranged Marriage, Gambling, women with no real agency, Historical Inaccuracy, Love at First Sight, Idiots in Love, period typical ideas about stuff, robin is married to Steve but he knows her secret, Loss of Virginity, Explicit Sexual Content, sexual awakening, Character Death, eddie is adopted by Wayne, Duke of hawkins Summary:

Regency Arranged Marriage. Wayne takes drastic measures when he receives bad news. Eddie is left shaken but determined to make his uncle proud.

The Cunninghams deal with poor financial planning by using Chrissy’s hand in marriage as a way out. But big chocolate eyes and and a charming disposition rock Chrissy’s foundation.

She learns quickly that her mother’s advice to “lay back and let him have his pleasure” is the single dumbest thing she’s ever heard.

[foundtherightwords]

Love in a Storm - Epilogue

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham (Regency AU)

Summary: A devastating loss threatens the happy marriage of Edward and Christine Munson, Lord and Lady Hurtsfield. However, when Edward is accused of a crime he didn't commit, Christine has to set her grief aside and embark on a perilous journey to prove her husband's innocence.

Warnings: childbirth, stillbirth, infertility, angst, false accusation, wrongful imprisonment, legal drama, some violence (non-graphic), some smut (non-explicit)

Chapter warning: childbirth (non-graphic)

Chapter word count: 1.5k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11

Epilogue

Yorkshire, April 1824

The ewe lay on her side with a solemn expression, her round belly moving in time with her heavy breathing. Two pairs of eyes, one brown and one blue, were fixed on her. They belonged to Edward Munson, Baron Hurstfield, and his daughter, the Honorable Agnes Munson. Both were lying on their bellies in the warm, fragrant hay, watching the ewe.

"Watch carefully now," Edward told Agnes, as the ewe struggled to her feet. "The baby is going to come out any moment, right between the mother's legs there..."

"Like a poo?" Agnes asked.

Edward hesitated. On the one hand, Christine would probably have his hide if she knew what he had been teaching their daughter. On the other, he didn't want Agnes to grow up into one of those prissy missies that fainted at the mere mention of a perfectly normal bodily function, and in his opinion, three years and two months was definitely not too young an age to learn about reproduction. Luckily, he was spared having to answer Agnes's question, for at that moment, young Will burst into the barn. "My lord, the baby is coming!" he shouted.

"I know, we've been watching it," Edward replied, his eyes still fixed on the ewe.

"No, my lord, I mean—her ladyship—"

Edward bolted up. How had he forgotten again?! Christine would definitely have his hide for this. He picked Agnes up. "Make haste now, we have to go home!"

"But I wanna see the baby!" Agnes whined.

"Your baby brother or sister is coming. Don't you want to see him? Or her?" Edward asked as he swung the child onto his shoulders, sending her chestnut curls flying.

The mention of her younger sibling sent all thoughts of sheep and lambs from Agnes's mind. "Sister," she said with the conviction that only three-year-olds could have.

"Or brother."

"I wanna sister."

"All right, your sister then," Edward said, laughing. He put her into her seat on the gig and drove back to Hurstfield.

They were met in the front hall by Jane, who had come up from London for a visit on the occasion.

"How is she?" Edward asked, handing Agnes to his sister.

"She's well," replied Jane. "But she's asking for you."

As Edward ran out of the hall, he heard Agnes's piping voice behind him, saying, "Aunt Jane, I saw a sheep almost poo out a baby!"

Chuckling to himself, he took the stairs two at a time, then knocked on the door of his and Christine's bedroom. It was opened by Dr. Sinclair, wearing a look of blatant disapproval on his face. After Agnes's birth, Edward would have thought Sinclair had gotten used to his presence in the room by now, but clearly, the doctor's traditional mind still had a hard time accepting it. And he never missed an opportunity to make his displeasure known.

"Really, your lordship, I can't condone this..." he grumbled.

Christine, who was walking up and down in front of the windows with a hand on her back, looked up. "Doctor," she said lightly, "my husband has seen far more of me than you ever have, so why is it acceptable for you to be here and not him? I can assure you, he is not going to be in your way."

Ignoring the flustered physician, Edward grinned and stepped into the room to give his wife a quick kiss. Her face was slightly flushed, but otherwise, she looked unchanged.

"Did Agnes get to see the lamb?" she asked.

"Not yet. But she can watch lamb being born all the time. It's not every day when her mamma brings her a baby brother or sister, is it?"

She smiled at him, but her smile was quickly replaced by a gasp and a wince, and she clutched at his hand.

"You should lie down," Edward said. She shook her head, only squeezing his hand more tightly.

As Christine panted and heaved, Edward's heart constricted in time with her contractions. He had been in such a state of agony during Agnes's birth that he didn't remember much of it, only the excruciating fear and the subsequent blinding relief. Now, some of the fear had diminished with experience, but it only meant that he was all the more aware of his wife's pain and his own anxiety. He could only pray that this baby wouldn't take too long to arrive.

And it didn't. After several more circuits in front of the windows, Christine's knees buckled, and she finally agreed to get on the bed, though her hand never left Edward's. She had barely laid down when she suddenly arched her back and screamed. A moment later, there was a defiant wail, followed by the midwife's joyful shout, "Alive, alive! And a boy, too!"

Edward kneeled down by Christine's bedside. "Did you hear that, sweetheart? We have a son!"

Christine's eyes, already bright, brightened even more as she turned to him. Edward pressed her hand to his lips, kissing it again and again, laughing and crying, while she repeated in a soft voice, "A son..." and gave him an exhausted but dazzling smile.

Then her smile went out, as abruptly as the flame of a candle getting extinguished.

"Sweetheart? What's the matter?" Edward asked shakily, as Christine started breathing hard again, grimacing and squirming in his hand. "Doctor!" he called, his voice cracking. "Doctor! Something's wrong—"

Dr. Sinclair rushed over. "Your ladyship?" he said. "How are you feeling?"

"I don't—" Christine twisted her hand away from Edward's and gave a muffled scream.

Dr. Sinclair felt the rippling muscles on Christine's belly with expert fingers. He lifted his head, and a look passed between doctor and patient, a look whose meaning only they could understand. Edward felt an iron band tightening around his heart.

"What is it?!" he shouted.

Before the doctor could answer, Christine slipped her hand, hot and damp with sweat, into Edward's, which had gone cold with fear. There was that look in her eyes again, the look that had been branded into his mind on the last day of his trial, half apologetic, half triumphant. Perhaps there was a bit more triumph in it this time.

"I'm afraid we're going to need a bigger crib, my love," she said.

Edward stared at her, and looked up at Sinclair, not understanding.

"Twins, my lord," the doctor said, smiling. "I don't know how I missed it, but this is one instance in my professional career when I am more than happy to have been mistaken."

***

That night, with Christine nestled up next to him in bed while cradling the two troublesome bundles in her arms, Edward thought how lucky they were to have experienced such pure, radiant happiness, not just once or twice, but three times. It didn't seem possible.

The babies finally quieted down, and gently, gently, Edward lifted them from Christine and placed them in the crib, which did fit both of them, though only just. They had decided to name the boys Anthony and Osborne.    

"Shall I go, so you can sleep?" he asked, as Christine's eyes, which were fixed on the crib, started fluttering drowsily.

"No." She grabbed his arm and pulled him back into bed. "Stay." She carefully shifted her body to lay her head on his chest, and Edward ran his fingers through her hair, remembering a night, four years ago, when he had also had her in his arms like this, in a much less comfortable bed, when he had thought he would never see her again, when he couldn't have imagined such bliss as this. His heart almost burst with gratitude and love.

"Aggie is disappointed," Christine said, bringing him back to the present.

"I don't blame her," Edward replied, smiling as he recalled the look of dismay on their daughter's face as she peered at her brothers over the edge of the crib. "It's like asking for plum pudding and getting not just one, but two herrings."

"Did you just compare our sons to herrings?" Christine asked in mock offense.

"Well, they're wrinkly and they stink. I'm sure I was a herring when I was born as well, before my looks improved."

"You're incorrigible, you really are," Christine said, chuckling, and she pulled Edward's face down to plant a soft kiss on his lips.

Edward kissed her back, then trailed his lips along her cheek to whisper into her ear, "Let's see about giving Aggie a sister as soon as we can, shall we?"

"What if it's another boy?"

"I'm sure she can handle three brothers just fine. She was conceived in prison, she's strong."

"Edward!!!"

"I know, I'm sorry, I've promised never to bring that up again." He took her hand. "She is strong though. Just like her mother."

"And her father."

Their lips met again, the warmth of their kiss like a reassurance, like a promise, and Edward knew that no matter what life brought, their love would be enough to withstand it.

THE END

A/N: I think I may have developed a cavity from writing this epilogue, but it felt good to finally give Edward and Christine the "happy ever after" they deserve. Thank you for reading!