xxrainshadowsxx

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite Chapter 13

You wake to a beam of sunlight on your face and your husband’s arms still wrapped firmly around you. It’s beyond comfortable, and you’d like nothing more than to go back to sleep, except for the fact that you’re suddenly very, very aware of the fact that neither of you are wearing anything.

The realization makes you want to shy away from him and wrap yourself in a cocoon of blankets. It’s ridiculous, you know that. After everything that happened the previous night, there are no more secrets left to hide as far as your bodies are concerned. But after sex being taboo for you for your whole life up to this point, there was still a level of shame that was intermingling with all your feelings about last night. You weren’t going to let him know about that, however. You didn’t want to make him upset, and you certainly didn’t want him to think you had any regrets about what you’d done.

You look back over at your husband, and he still seems to be sound asleep. You’d be fine to let him stay like that, but you had no idea how to summon Nellie to you, and you were also starting to get hungry. Waking him up seemed like the only solution to both your problems.

But even something as simple as that, you were unsure of how to do it. Nellie usually woke you by gently shaking your shoulder, but for some unfathomable reason, you felt far too shy to initiate touch. Besides, what if he became angry with you for waking him early? The last thing you wanted to do was risk his wrath.

Your other option was to find the robe he’d taken off you the night before and attempt to find your room… and pray to all that’s holy that you didn’t run into anyone on the way. If it was scandalous for a man to see you with something as simple as having your hair down before marriage, it was a thousand times worse for anyone but him to see you in this state now. No matter what autonomy you had, the fact remained that you were meant for his eyes only now.

Before you can make a decision, he stirs, yawns, and sits up, stretching his arms out over his head and letting the sheet fall from his bare chest. You don’t want to stare, but you can’t help it. He’s captivating, and the more time you spend with him, the more beautiful he seems to you.

After blinking a few times, he finally looks down at you. “How long have you been awake?” he asks through a second yawn.

“Only a few minutes,” you murmur. “I didn’t know what you wanted me to do… leave or wake you up.”

“You can try to wake me up, but it’s not likely I’ll respond,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m a very heavy sleeper, especially after sex. But I don’t want you to ever think you should leave.”

His words were probably meant to be sweet, but they’re highly bitter to you. While not an outright confession, he had practically confirmed your suspicions that he had experience in sex before last night. It shouldn’t bother you, you weren’t in love, but it did, likely because your own father had died from consorting with prostitutes. You didn’t want the same fate to befall your husband.

Some of your displeasure must have shown on your face, because he suddenly frowns at you. “Hey, are you alright?” he asks in concern. “You don’t… you’re not regretting last night, are you?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” you assure. You’re not lying about that, but neither do you want to tell the entire truth about your ire. You quickly decide on a half-truth as a compromise. “This is just a strange place for me, not familiar enough to call it home just yet. And while I’ve received education on how a socialite is supposed to transition into a wife and homemaker, I have a suspicion that you aren’t expecting me to be a traditional wife, are you?”

“You’d be correct about that assumption,” he confirms. “But I think I’d like to address your other concern first. I want you to feel comfortable here. This is not just my home, it is our home now. So, shall I call Nellie to help you prepare for breakfast and give you the tour afterwards?”

You nod your assent, so he tugs a bell pull that rings along the length of the headboard of the bed. Within seconds, there’s a gentle knock on the door.

“Just a minute!” he calls. He gets out of the bed (you hastily avert your eyes), and he finds your robe from last night and tosses it to you. You dress awkwardly, trying to preserve your modesty, as he pulls out a robe of his own from a handsome chest of drawers. “Alright,” he calls again. You can’t help but notice he’s quite informal with his staff. You like that about him.

The door opens as Nellie and the man you saw last night slip into the room. “Nellie, would you take Mrs. Onceler to her room and prepare her for breakfast, please?”

Nellie inclines her head slightly before turning to you. “Come,” she urges. You follow her out of the room, and only two doors down does she usher you into your own quarters. The moment the door closes behind her, she turns to you, a mischievous smile on her normally calm features.

“So? Tell me everything!” she exclaims as you sit down at the vanity that you couldn’t quite see as yours yet. You rub your eyes before answering her. Despite sleeping quite heavily, you still feel awfully tired, making you question how late you were up last night.

“I mean… I don’t know how much there is to tell,” you evade. Talking about it out loud, even to Nellie, brought a burning red blush to your face. “It wasn’t a horror story. It was… good, I guess.” You can’t even look her in the eye. You couldn’t admit the heights he’d taken you to, and even if you could talk about it, no words could accurately describe the sheer euphoria of it all.

Nellie groans in mock despair. “I know that’s all I’ll be getting from you now, but don’t think I’m going to give up. One day soon, I shall get you to tell me about it,” she declares. “But on a more comfortable subject, I drew a bath for you. Would you like that before breakfast?”

You don’t want to keep him waiting, but your selfish desire to skin in warm water wins out. He can eat without you if he wants.

You spend a longer time than is probably reasonable in the tub. You didn’t realize it until you’d gotten in, but you were a bit sore, and the warmth was a perfect balm to your aching muscles. You only ask Nellie to start washing you once the heat of the water begins to die. The soap she uses smells like roses, and you’re certain he bought it specifically for you.

The water takes the curls out of your hair, leaving you with a soft wave instead. You decline Nellie’s offers to both put it up or re-curl it. “He doesn’t care how I wear my hair in the house. It’ll be lovely to keep it down and natural for once,” you explain. Nellie makes a face that you can’t quite read at your statement, but you don’t press her about it.

She instead simply helps you get changes, putting you in a soft green dress, which surprises you a bit. Green wasn’t exactly popular for the daytime–yellow and cream were far more common–but you thought seafoam green was more complimentary for your complexion. You hadn’t been allowed to wear the color for years. It was these little things that were truly showing how different life with Mr. Onceler was going to be rather than life under your mother’s strict eye.

Once you’re dressed, you can find no more reason to stall. Giving yourself a final look-over in the mirror, you deem yourself acceptable and allow Nellie to lead you to the dining room.

Now that the lights are on and sunlight streams through the windows, the whole place seems much friendlier and much less foreboding. While the layout was definitely different from your mother’s and even Mrs. Ryan’s, you felt it would be known to you quickly. You agreed with your husband that thinking of this place as ‘home’ would help your unsteady emotions.

Speaking of your husband, he’s already at the table, but stands abruptly when you enter. “I hope you find everything to your liking,” he says, and you’re shocked to hear a note of anxiety in his tone. “I was told you like raspberries, so I have them here. And no mushrooms at all. I understand they make you ill, so I had them removed from all my dishes…” he trails off, looking at you nervously.

You glance down at the table. You didn’t know how anyone could be unhappy with what was in front of you. Eggs, toast, rolls, and fruit, including the raspberries he mentioned. “This is perfect,” you tell him honestly as you take a seat. “If this is the standard of meals I am to expect, I fear I shall quickly gain fifty pounds and will be unable to fit into the wardrobe you purchased for me,” you say as you spoon raspberries into a small glass bowl in front of you.

He steeples his fingers and watches you intently for a few minutes. “I want you to be happy here,” he reiterates slowly. “I know that I’ve caused you pain, and that you still chose me is… well, let’s just say I did not expect it. So if there’s anything I can get for you, please don’t hesitate to let me know. If it’s in my power, I’ll obtain anything you desire.”

You twist your face as you slowly chew a bit of a roll. What you wanted was an insight into his true intentions, and that was the one thing you weren’t sure he’d give you. At times, like last night, you could almost swear he’d developed feelings for you. He was so tender towards you, cared for you in ways you’d never experienced, from your physical well-being to how mindful he was during sex. And now that you were married, you felt some honesty was due to you. Throwing caution to the wind, you decide to take the plunge.

Of course, you’d still have to be subtle. You didn’t want him to catch on to the fact that your feelings towards him had moved from indifference to… well… you weren’t quite sure what you felt for him. Thus, you choose your words very carefully, keeping your expression as neutral as possible.

“I know why you married me,” you start, causing him to quirk an eyebrow, and you could tell he was giving you his full attention. “I know that you wanted my name–I won’t pretend to know how you’ll use that as an advantage now–and that you’re expecting children from me. But other than that, I’m not sure what you want from me. All I would like from you, at least for now, is clarification, so that we might live as harmoniously as possible together.”

His face is odd. Often, he looked at you like he looked at most things, as though you were a sideshow that was mildly interesting to him, or as if he were amused by you. Not so now. Not only did you have his attention, but he was frowning slightly, his brow furrowed. You’d never seen that expression from him before. Were it anyone else, you’d have guessed they were working to solve a particularly difficult problem. With him, you could never be sure.

He takes a considerable amount of time to answer you. “I would like companionship, first and foremost,” he finally confesses. “I have been alone for much of my life, and while I’m comfortable with my solitude, I did not realize how much I could enjoy the company of others, provided they are intelligent enough to catch my notice. It is… nice.”

Now it’s your turn to raise an eyebrow. “Forgive me, but it doesn’t seem to me that one would need a marriage for something as simple as companionship,” you point out. “Surely something as banal as friendship could accomplish just as much? And none of that would have caused as much trouble as it did to obtain me. I still feel as though there is an element I am ignorant of.”

As you were speaking, his face grew increasingly darker, until he was veritably scowling. “Of course there are things about me that are missing,” he growls. “Just because we are married does not mean you are entitled to every one of my secrets. I’ve given you my reasons. I need an heir and for the most part, I enjoy your company. Is that not enough for you?”

You’re taken aback by his sudden shift in tone. “I am sorry if I’ve offended you,” you start in an attempt to placate him. “But I am simply trying to get to know you. You are my husband. I do not wish to spend the rest of my life married to a stranger.” You almost add something about him being insufferable again, but you didn’t think that would help his temper much.

He runs his hand through his hair, and despite everything, you can’t help but notice how much you like it when he musses his thick, ebony tresses. “I am not trying to antagonize you,” he grumbles. “I meant what I said when I said I want you to be happy. But I also warned you that I am a difficult man to tolerate. For the past year, I have been hounded by people who feel they deserve every detail of my life, every emotion I’ve ever felt, simply because they want to know. I am guarded about these things. Why should I divulge them to anyone? They are mine and mine alone.”

You sigh deeply at the end of his tirade. Whether he had meant them or not, he’d revealed a deeper truth about himself. He’d had no one in his life. He’d admitted he enjoyed the presence of another, but even you were marred by others who had come into his life before you. No one had ever cared for him as a person, they only wanted to unravel the mystery of this man from Georgia who had made his fortune in New York in less than a year. No wonder he treated your prodding with hostility. He’d grown up trusting none, and the elite of New York had only heightened that mistrust.

You wanted to be the exception. Hesitantly, you reach out and grab his hand. He looks up at you suspiciously, but makes no move to pull his hand away. “I’m not like others,” you murmur. “I am not your enemy. I am your wife, and I would implore you to think of me as such. Your burdens are mine as well.”

He huffs out an impatient breath, though you note some of the tension has left his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he says abruptly. “I have put you through far too much in marrying you. You lost everything you knew, and still you stood by me. I know you only did so because you believed in the security that I could give you. I do not wish to add to my many sins against you by forcing you to bear what I have. I have dealt with far more than you know, by myself. I can continue as I am. You need not worry yourself about me.”

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do to stop me worrying over you,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. He raises an eyebrow as you feel a crimson heat rise to your face. “I mean, you’re my husband. It’s my job to worry about you now, isn’t it?” you add quickly in a futile attempt to preserve what remained of your dignity.

“And yet I’m telling you that you don’t need to waste your energy on such matters,” he reiterates, still looking at you quite quizzically. You wish he wouldn’t. You’d much prefer to figure out your own emotions before he came to a conclusion on his own.

But in regards to his insistence on shouldering all his cares alone, that was one thing you couldn’t accept. Nothing could stop your curiosity or your desire to help carry his burdens. Your instinct is to argue with him, but it would likely do more harm than good here.

Still, you wouldn’t completely fold. Forcing yourself to look into his eyes, you say, “Well, let me know if you ever change your mind. I’ll be here if you do.”

He nods slowly before he gestures to your breakfast that, in the depths of your discussion, has gone forgotten. “Eat,” he commands gently. “You’ve been wasting away these past few weeks. I want you as healthy as possible before we head north.”

You freeze with a spoon halfway to your mouth. “I beg your pardon?” you ask as you slowly lower the utensil.

His usual amused look is back. It’s quite incredible how swiftly his moods are able to change. “I do seem to recall that I told you that I spend quite a bit of my time upstate, where my business has its headquarters. Surely you don’t want to be left alone here for the next several weeks?”

“But… it’s winter,” you protest. “The city is cold enough during the winter. Up north must be even worse. Where would we stay?”

“It’s not much colder than the city,” he says. “I would have preferred to go there earlier in the season, but I was rather preoccupied by courting and then planning a wedding with my new wife.” Oh, how you loathe how much enjoyment he derives from teasing you. “As for where we will stay, what do you expect of me? A log cabin in the middle of the woods? I wouldn’t subject you to that. I had an estate built for my use, and I daresay you’ll find it lives up to your standards. Of course, you can pick out rooms for your parlor in both locations, as well as decorate as you see fit. Finances are no object.”

“I doubt I shall have time to change anything here if we are to leave for the north soon,” you sniff. You were thoroughly annoyed he’d answered all your objections satisfactorily. “When do you mean to travel? How long will it take?”

“Less than a day by train,” he answers easily, seeming much more comfortable now that the conversation has turned toward far more mundane matters. We’ll leave within a fortnight. You’ll be comfortable there, don’t worry. And it’s beautiful in the summer; that’s when we’ll be spending the most time upstate. I have every confidence you’ll love it before long.” He studies you for a few moments. “I haven’t managed to distract you, have I? You’re still determined to try and help me.”

Your mouth twists as you debate how honest you want to be. He’d probably see through a lie right away, which was an inconvenience. “You did distract me a bit,” you admit. “But unlike most men, who in my limited experience tend to focus on one topic at a time, I was given an ability to think of several things at once. It’s not something I’m often thankful for, but in this case, there’s not much you can do to discourage me from wanting to lessen your burdens any way that I can.”

He’s inscrutable now, though at least he’s not outright hostile again. “I suppose this is the reason I married you. I do admire that mind of yours,” he sighs. “But please trust me when I say that you don’t want to know me. If you think I’m awful now…” he trails off, though he doesn’t pull his eyes from yours. They’re like icy blue daggers, piercing you straight to your soul. You could get lost in them for days.

You rise from your chair, almost as if you were hypnotized. Without meaning to, you walk so close to him that you have to crane your neck to see him properly. “What are you doing?” he whispers, though he makes no effort to move away.

“I don’t know,” you breathe. And even still, neither of you move. The tension in the very air between you is palpable. Something was going to snap, and you weren’t sure if you wanted him to leave or…

He makes the decision for you. With no warning, he twists his hand into the hair on the nape of your neck, while the other plants itself on the small of your back. His head closes the distance between the two of you, and his lips find yours. It’s a far cry from the mostly gentle kisses you’d exchanged thus far; this one is filled with a kind of hunger from him. He seemed desperate for you, like he’d never get enough of you. It was all you could do to grasp onto his shoulders and go along with the ride.

“You’re too tempting for your own damn good,” he growls against your lips. The hand on your back starts pulling at the laces on your dress. “And you’re wearing way too many fucking clothes.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you register the language that would normally make you blush. But the way he says it, all it does is serve to make you feel more desirable. He may not love you, but if you could satisfy him this way, he may not feel the need to frequent brothels like so many other men.

The thought of him doing this with anyone else annoys you, so you force it from your mind. Instead, you just barely manage to detach your lips from his. “Are you really… going to undress me in the middle of the dining room?” you manage to gasp out.

“I don’t have the patience to go all the way back to the bedroom,” he huffs. He grabs your face in between both of his hands, making you look back up at him. Even still, his touch is expertly toeing the line between being forceful and making sure he wasn’t hurting you. His eyes shoot through yours again. “You’re so fucking irresistable. And you’re all mine.”

Those few words, small though they may be, changed the entire mood for you. You feel your brow furrowing and your eyes start to narrow, and when he goes to kiss you again, you bring your hand up to push him back, even though, physically, you want to let him continue. But mentally…

“So were they all just words to you sir? Pretty words to get me to agree to what you wanted?” you hiss venomously. He looks dumbstruck, clearly not able to use enough brain power at the moment to understand why you were so furious.

“What?” he asks, blinking a few times. In his confusion, you wrest yourself from his grasp, holding up the bodice of your dress since he had indeed managed to loosen the laces a decent amount.

“All of your talk about me having my own autonomy! Clearly, that was a promise you never intended to keep,” you lash out, attempting to maintain your dignity even while holding your clothes up. “The first thing you do now that we’re married is tell me things I’m ‘allowed’ to do, and not even twenty-four hours later you’re declaring that I belong to you.”

“No!” he scowled, instantly going on the defensive. “Blast it all, that’s not how I meant it and you know it!”

“Do I?” you scoff. “You only ever corrected yourself after I pointed out the tyranny of your words. I think you’ve become quite good at saying what I wish to hear.” You turn from the table, your breakfast still uneaten. “If you’ll excuse me, sir.” You exit the room in a whirl of skirts, leaving him alone with nothing but the memory of your wrath.

You make it halfway down an unfamiliar hallway before you sink against a wall. God, what a terrible start to your marriage.

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite Chapter 12

God, I'm sorry this took forever. In my defense, this was by far the hardest chapter to write. The language of the time period coupled with smut was a CHALLENGE. But yeah, smut ahead.

Nellie takes you inside, knowing her way around from the few times she’d been here to help prepare for your arrival. You barely have any time to take in the expansive interior of the dark house before Nellie shows you into a room, getting lights on for you and having you sit at a large vanity.

As Nellie prepares, you look around the room that now belonged to you. There was a bed taking up most of the space, and it was outfitted with extra blankets for the winter. A closet there was also, stuffed to the brim with clothes, most of them unfamiliar. There were a couple new jewelry boxes on the vanity, but what surprised you most of all was a small bookshelf containing all of your favorites. He’d even procured a copy of Shakespeare’s entire works for you.

“How did he know what I like?” you ask as Nellie drifts back over to you, the lights now bathing the room in a warm yellow glow. “The books, I mean. I’m shocked he went to the trouble of getting all these.”

“He asked me,” Nellie responds mildly as she looks around for a brush. “When he was first bringing me to work from your mother’s, he asked me a lot of things about you. I daresay you’ll find your closet full of styles and colors you prefer, and that he’ll have his cook prepare plenty of your favorite foods.”

You blink a few times. You certainly never expected him to go to the lengths of discussing those things with Nellie to make a more comfortable environment for you. Even Mrs. Ryan had not done that, though you supposed that stay was always meant to be temporary.

But even those small comforts, lovely as they are, can’t cure the anxiety that the night still brings. You suspect Nellie senses this, for she gently turns your attention away from everything and back to the vanity. “Let’s get all of this out of your hair,” she murmurs as she starts carefully removing pins.

There’s no hope of getting the curls out of your hair without another bath, which you definitely do not have time for. Therefore, all Nellie does is brush them out slightly, arranging them in a less messy order. You liked having your hair down, though it did seem a little unusual now. Nellie also helps you out of your bridal gown and into a luxurious white robe your new husband had provided for you.

“What am I supposed to do afterwards? Am I supposed to come back here?” you ask as Nellie drips a tiny bit more perfume on your wrists.

“I’m sure he’ll let you know. He won’t let you get lost,” she says as soothingly as she can, right as there’s a knock on the door. You blanche, but Nellie’s already standing to answer it.

She barely cracks the door so you don’t see the speaker, but you do hear an unfamiliar male voice. “My master is requesting the presence of his wife.”

“Tell him I shall bring her posthaste. She’s just finishing getting ready,” Nellie answers in a low voice before closing the door and turning back to you. “You know I can’t stall any longer,” she apologizes. “But don’t fret much. He’ll be gentle with you, you know that.”

“I know,” you sigh, running your fingers through your hair once. “I’ve just been taught my whole life to fear this. That won’t go away, no matter what assurances he or anyone else gives me. But give me the tincture, will you?”

Nellie takes the fertility tincture and puts a couple drops under your tongue, then you take a sip of water to wash the bitter taste out. Now you truly can’t put this off. “You’ll be fine,” Nellie insists before she creaks the door open again, waiting for you out in the hall. You allow yourself one deep breath before following her.

The mysterious man is gone, and you encounter no one as you follow Nellie down the hall. You’re surprised that his own bedroom isn’t far from yours; you’d assume he’d want a bit more privacy. But Nellie points out the correct door herself, and based on the small bit of light you see escaping from the bottom, you’re sure it’s the right one.

She gives you a brief hug before disappearing into the darkness. You watch her go, then lift your hand to rap your knuckles against the wood.

Almost instantly, he opens the door for you, smiling slightly before stepping aside to let you through. You walk in rubbing your arms, feeling decidedly self-conscious. “You look lovely,” he starts, capturing one of your curls in between his fingers. “You should wear your hair down more often. It suits you.”

“It’s not considered proper for a woman to wear her hair down in public, especially a married one,” you state baldly, giving him the bog standard answer that had been drilled into you since birth.

“Well, I’m not going to force those rules on you in the house,” he says in that same soft voice. “You can dress and wear your hair how you like when it’s just the two of us.” You refrain from saying anything. You didn’t think he meant to come off like this, but his talk of what he “allowed” you to do sounded a lot like he was making you his property. You wouldn’t say anything about it this time, but you didn’t like it.

He plays with your curl for a moment more before letting it fall. “Look,” he says with a heavy sigh. “I’m not blind. I can tell you’re scared. We… don’t have to do this if you don’t want. I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”

You look up at him in near disbelief. Now that you were married, it was his right to get what he wanted from you, whenever he liked. You’d always been told you’d have no say in it, and that it was your duty as a wife to always be available to him. But here he was, offering you an out, and you believed him to be perfectly sincere.

And even more surprisingly, you didn’t want to take it.

“I think the longer we put this off, the more nervous I’ll become,” you try to explain. “I don’t want to do that. And I’m not scared because it’s you. Nervous, yes, I think I’d feel that with anyone… but out of everyone, I’m glad it’s you.”

He takes one step closer to you. “So, just to be clear, I have permission to do this?” he double-checks.

“Yes,” you breathe.

He closes the rest of the distance between the two of you in two long strides and puts one of his hands on the side of your face. He pauses to look you in the eyes, like he can’t believe this is happening, before his other hand goes behind your neck and he pulls you into a kiss.

Inadvertently, a sigh escapes the back of your throat. Unlike at your wedding, this kiss is a bit faster, almost primal. Yet it still fills you with the same butterflies, the same yearning for more. Your hands come to rest on his chest, and you do your best to kiss him back despite your inexperience.

“Dear God,” he growls against your mouth before threading his hand into your hair, pulling you closer. He opens his mouth slightly and you feel his tongue glide across your lower lip. You gasp, and he slips his tongue into your mouth, and a sound you’ve never heard yourself make before is wrenched from your throat. In all the stories you’ve heard about wedding nights, from Mrs. Ryan gently giving you a reminder the week prior, to the flippant remarks by Alice’s mother scattered throughout your youth, to your mother’s constant lessons about a wife’s duty, none of them had mentioned that it would feel so good.

Eventually, you have to pull away. “Can’t breathe,” you manage to get out since he’s giving you a quizzical look. In response, he instead moves his lips to your neck, gently kissing along the skin he finds and works his way to your clavicle. Your knees nearly give out when he does this, and a sound that you can only describe as a moan is wrenched from your throat.

After a moment, his mouth comes back up, capturing your lips again. You do your best to move your lips along with his as your arms snake around his neck. You’re not sure exactly what to do with them, but having them around him just feels right, especially since he seems to be pulling you even closer. You just don’t want to be doing the wrong thing and disappoint him, especially not with how unbelievably good he’s made you feel so far.

Without warning, while he’s still kissing you, he hooks his arms around your thighs and picks you up, securing your legs around his waist for more stability. You squeak slightly in surprise, but don’t care to break the kiss with him.

He’s the one to pull away from you a moment later as he deposits you on his bed. You desperately try to reorient yourself from how lightheaded he’s made you feel, but he isn’t doing anything to help matters. Instead, he’s unbuttoning his white shirt with impatient fingers before veritably ripping the thing off, leaving you even more disoriented.

You’d never before in your life seen a man without his shirt on. And though you had nothing to compare it to, you couldn’t say at all you were disappointed in what you saw. His torso was much harder than your soft, feminine form. And while he wasn’t quite as well-defined as an ancient Greek or Roman statue, you found his natural look even more mesmerizing.

He pauses with undressing himself once his shirt is off to extinguish a few of the lamps in the room, leaving only one on in the end. Though the room is significantly darkened, you could still see him well enough, which you liked. Satisfied, he joins you on the bed and crawls on top of you to kiss you again.

It’s almost too much to have him this close while he’s wearing so little. Without meaning to, your hands come to rest on his chest again, very much of their own accord. He hisses and shoves himself away from you, making you wince.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak instantly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing, I didn’t mean to mess up–”

“You’re not,” he cuts you off in a voice that sounds oddly strangled. “God, sweetheart, trust me, you’re not doing anything wrong. I’m just trying to take my time, alright? I want you to enjoy this too, but if you keep doing what you’re doing, I’m not going to have a lot of self-control left.”

His words confuse more than reassure you. It sounded like he both wanted you to stop and keep going at the same time, and you weren’t sure which he wanted more. And he wanted you to enjoy it? By all accounts you’d heard, this was going to hurt, not be enjoyable.

Although you couldn’t deny that you had liked it so far. The physical sensations were almost too much, but they were definitely good.

“So… what exactly do you want me to do?” you ask demurely. You wanted complete clarification before proceeding. You’d heard the old adage that it was better to ask forgiveness rather than permission, but in this circumstance, you didn’t think that rule applied.

“You can keep doing what you’re doing, just take it easy when it comes to touching me?” he requests. “It’s not that I dislike it, it’s just that… well… maybe it’s best to let me take the lead tonight?” You nod in assent, resolving to try and keep your hands under control, no matter how curious you were to explore him.

He leans over you to kiss you again, and this time, you rest your hands lightly on either side of his face. He seems to be okay with this–he doesn’t stop you in any case–and you’re slowly starting to feel more comfortable again when you feel him try and tug at the tie holding your robe closed.

You inhale sharply, causing him to immediately pull back. “We can stop,” he mutters, still sounding oddly strangled. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, I promise.”

“Why are you so determined to stop?” you ask, suddenly feeling quite as humiliated when he nearly kissed you in the hall of Mrs. Ryan’s house before backing out at the last second. “I feel like it’s you who doesn’t want me.”

“Darling, nothing could be further from the truth,” he insists. “I want you very badly, believe me, but I also know this is entirely new for you. I don’t want to scare you or make you uncomfortable.”

You look him dead in the eyes, finding no hint of a lie. Slowly and very deliberately, you reach down to the tie of your robe and pull it undone in one motion. Still looking at him, you shrug the garment off your shoulders, still mostly covered, but the invitation is there. “I want this, and I want it to be you,” you repeat in a whisper.

He gives you a look that you can’t quite identify before leaning down to place a tender kiss to your lips. “If you’re sure,” he murmurs before pushing the robe further down your arms, helping you remove the limbs entirely. You hadn’t bothered with a chemise, so all of the sudden, you were bare before him.

He pulls back from you again and just looks at you, his expression akin to if he had just been struck over the head. “Lord, have mercy,” he groans, almost to himself before one of his hands trails from your side up to your breast, drawing a long whine out of you, one that you barely recognize as your own voice.

“Does that feel good?” he whispers. You can only nod desperately, words completely lost to you. Emboldened, he covers your breast with his palm, kneading gently. Something you don’t have a name for is pooling in you, coming to settle in between your legs. It was mortifying, and you’d never admit it out loud, but you wanted him to touch you there next. 

He can’t read your mind, so of course he doesn’t listen to your unspoken plea. Instead, he trails his lips down to your neck, leaving small kisses along the way until he reaches your collarbone. Then, without any warning, he takes your skin between his teeth and begins to suck.

“Oh, God!” you cry out arching your back so your body is pressed further into his. The sensations he’s giving to you are some that you’ve never experienced before, and you had no idea anything could ever feel this good. His mouth moved over you expertly, though you didn’t want to acknowledge the likely reason he was so good at this. You push those intrusive thoughts away; all you wanted to focus on right now was your husband and how deliciously he was working you up.

He releases your skin with a wet pop, and you look down and and just catch the edge of what looks like a dark purple mark in the line of your vision. You don’t have long to dwell on it though; his mouth has moved again, and now his lips have wrapped themselves around your nipple.

“God… f–” you start but just barely stop yourself from cursing. You’d never felt any inclination to do so before, but his ministrations were taking your manners and throwing them to the wayside.

He releases you after a moment, a brazen smile on his face; clearly, he believes himself to be doing an exemplary job. He was, but you didn’t want to admit that to his face. So before he can say anything, you pull him back down to you for another searing kiss.

You can tell you’ve surprised him, but he recovers quickly and kisses you back enthusiastically. As he’s doing so, perhaps to get you back for catching him off guard, he gets his still-clothed leg in between yours and his thigh creates a gentle, yet steady and unyielding pressure against your core. 

At this point, you let out a mewl so loud it can probably be heard by the whole house. You’ll most likely be ashamed of that tomorrow, but at the moment you couldn’t find the capacity to care. All you wanted was for him to relieve the building pressure in your core.

He pulls away a moment later, and his weight leaves you entirely as he gets off the bed and tears off the remainder of his clothes with impatience. And as much as it makes your face flame red, you can’t help but look.

Your first thought was panic. Seeing his erection, all you can think is that there’s no chance that it’s going to fit inside you. You didn’t see how anything at all would fit, but certainly not something that big. You suddenly understood why everyone had warned you it was going to hurt, because that would undoubtedly cause pain if he tried to put it anywhere inside you.

Thankfully, the moment doesn’t seem to be upon you quite yet, for when he gets back on top of you, it’s just to kiss you again. That doesn’t last long, however; his erection pokes your thigh, and while that doesn’t hurt, it’s much more firm than you had anticipated.

“Sorry,” he winces. “I’m trying to make sure you’re ready for it, but I realize it gets in the way, and that you’re not exactly used to this.”

“Does it hurt?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. You don’t see how it couldn’t hurt, being swollen like that.

“No, it doesn’t,” he says with a small chuckle. “However, I’m more concerned with not hurting you, so, with your permission, can I get you ready?” You have no idea what he means by that, but with how incredible he’d already made you feel tonight, you were eager to experience more of that. Moreover, you trusted him. So you do your best to relax into the mattress and nod for him to continue.

He kisses you once before balancing his weight on his calves as he sits up. Watching you closely to gauge your reaction, he reaches down and swipes a single finger through your center.

“Oh, God!” you cry out, tossing your head back. All of the sensations so far had been nothing, nothing, compared to this. This was heavenly, and you wanted nothing more than for him to continue plucking you like a harp.

He swears under his breath when his finger makes contact. “Damn, darling, you’re so wet,” he purrs. While that should have been mortifying beyond belief, the way he says it makes you swell with pride, like you’re finally getting something right.

He continues to move his fingers around your folds, paying particular attention to your sighs to let him know when he finds a sweet spot. When he makes contact with one little bud near the center, you feel like you’re going to combust after only a few seconds of him massaging it.

You’re doing your best to keep from outright screaming, but your frequent moans and sighs seem to spur him on, and he often responds to your sounds by cursing in a low tone. He looks up at you, and you’re quite sure your face is red and not at all attractive, but he mutters “So beautiful,” before slowly sinking one finger into you.

You’re expecting pain. You tense, preparing yourself for it, but it never comes. You can definitely feel that there’s something there, but it doesn’t hurt in the slightest. “Is this okay?” he murmurs, to which you can only nod. “Tell me if anything feels uncomfortable,” he instructs before he slowly starts moving his finger in and out of you, building up at a deliciously, tantalizingly glacial pace. It’s heavenly.

You feel a bit more pressure than before, but it still doesn’t hurt, and it would take an act of the divine for you to want to stop now, so you let him keep going. Without you even realizing it, your hips start to rock against his hand, matching his movements with your own.

Then he brings his hand up to massage that little bud he’d found earlier, and for the second time that night, you only just manage to bite back a curse.

“It’s alright darling,” he whispers, his breath hot on your ear. “Let it out for me.”

You’re not quite sure what “it” is, but by God, “it” does exactly as he says. You curl up, letting out a near scream, clawing at his back, desperate for something to hold onto. Whatever happened was almost too much to comprehend, and indeed, the sheer euphoria of it all but shuts your brain completely down for a couple minutes as you attempt to recover.

You don’t notice him removing his fingers from you, but he must have at some point or another; he’s sitting on his thighs, hands at his sides. He waits patiently for your breathing to return to normal, with just a hint of a smug aura about him.

Calming down takes several minutes, and after he deems you’ve finally returned from whatever high he’d taken you to, he asks, “Do you want to keep going?” You nod, words still not something you’re capable of. You don’t care if it hurts now, you’d do just about anything to feel that high once more.

He positions himself on top of you, most of his weight on his arms, but you can still feel his chest pressed against yours. “Tell me if it hurts. I’ll go slow, I promise,” he reiterates before gingerly inserting himself into you, making you gasp as you anticipate pain that never makes an appearance.

There’s certainly more pressure than before, and it’s growing as he pushes more of himself into you, but it’s nothing that could even remotely be considered painful. You relax the muscles in your face as you get used to the intrusion, and after a moment he starts to pull back, slowly starting to create a steady rhythm of in and out.

It's like nothing you've ever experienced before. Even his hand a moment ago hadn't created sensations like this. Your breathing gets heavy again, and even he's starting to make noises as he buries his head in your neck. His hips start moving faster, and subconsciously, almost by instinct, your legs come up to wrap around his waist, while your own hips rise to meet his.

You feel that same crest start to rise in you again, even more intense than it was last time. Your nails dig into the skin of his back, but he either doesn't notice or doesn't care. Instead, he just speeds up his movements, letting out a string of expletives into your neck now.

His faster motions only serve to help bring you to the top of that crest faster, and within minutes he sends you over with a long, high-pitched something coming out of your mouth as each of your limbs presses his body even closer to yours. He initially doesn't slow down, prolonging the feeling for you for a few moments before he goes limp, panting heavily.

For a while, it seems all either of you can do is stay still, focusing on catching your breath. He's the first one to move, and he does nothing more than roll off of you, leaving you feeling strangely empty and with some sort of sticky residue in between your legs.

You're suddenly very self-conscious of the fact that you're wearing nothing, but you don't have the strength to sit up and look for a blanket. Instead, your hand blindly searches for one until he throws a sheet over you. “That's what you were looking for, right? Don't know why you want the blasted thing but…” he trails off as he needs to catch his breath again, eyes still closed.

You give him a few moments before daring to use your own voice. “Was that… I mean, were you… satisfied?” You'd been told that men would finish and spill themselves inside a woman, but you were far too embarrassed to actually say those words aloud.

He lets out a short, barking laugh. “Don't worry yourself on that front. I am well beyond satisfied.” You let out an inaudible sigh of relief. At least you weren't a total failure in this particular aspect of being a wife.

You're also acutely aware of the fact that, now that he's spent, you were to redress yourself and make your way back to your own room, though you had no idea how to do that without Nellie to guide you. But before you can even get out of the bed to put your robe back on, he rolls over, throwing an arm around your waist. “Stay?” he asks simply. His tone makes it clear that this is a request, not a demand. As always with him, you could decline if you so chose.

“Okay,” you whisper instead, to which he smiles sleepily at you. He moves only to turn off the remaining light before he's back in the bed, holding you close.

You expect it to take a while to fall asleep, what with the unfamiliar bed, as well as a whole other person there with you. But you're so worn out that sleep comes quickly and you sink into it, comforted by your husband's arms around you.

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite Chapter 11

Sorry this has taken so long, but they made it to the wedding.

Since Nellie’s arrival, the days, and then the weeks, went by much more pleasantly than before. Though your mother’s rejection left a hole in your heart, having Nellie back helped to heal that hole exponentially. 

And yet nothing could stop what was inevitably coming closer. With each hour that passed, the day of your wedding drew nearer, and with it brought more confusion than you’d ever experienced before.

Mr. Onceler would be good to you, you knew that. But the emotional side, the part you’d found so easy to ignore when you initially agreed to this, was now rearing its head far more often than you would have liked. And, most annoyingly, you were angry with yourself for your confusion. You didn’t even want to have romantic feelings for him. Everything would be so much easier if there was nothing but cordiality between the two of you.

But that wasn’t the case, and you knew now that it would never be the case. After all he had done for you–keeping you safe after your exile, bringing Nellie to you–you couldn’t remain apathetic. You had feelings for him, that was certain. You just couldn’t quite name what they were yet.

There was also a certain amount of fear involved, though it wasn’t towards him. You’d heard horror stories about wedding nights all your life, and as such, there wasn’t a chance you wouldn’t experience some amount of trepidation, no matter who your husband was. In fact, he was probably the best possible option you could share your wedding night with, since you knew he’d be considerate of you and your inexperience. But even knowing that didn’t eliminate fear altogether. That was likely impossible.

And then, to make matters worse, your little secret was gnawing away at you. Terrified of the possibility of infertility, you’d asked Nellie to go to the apothecary to try and get whatever they had that might help you. You’d had no money to pay for it, and you would never let Mrs. Ryan or Mr. Onceler to purchase it for you, so you’d told Nellie to trade anything she could for it. She had procured it, and had never mentioned the cost. You hadn’t taken full inventory of the things she had brought back to you, so you were none the wiser of what she’d used either. It was an unspoken rule that neither of you would discuss it further. The bottle sat hidden in your dresser, only to be opened before you saw Mr. Onceler on your wedding night.

You weren’t quite sure why you didn’t want him to know you had the tincture. You supposed it would be like admitting you couldn’t fulfill the most basic duty of a wife, though that didn’t seem quite right. For all you knew, you could be worrying for nothing. It was a very real possibility that you would get pregnant on your wedding night and have a healthy baby before you’d even been married a year. But your mother’s struggles made you want to be prepared if that wasn’t the case.

You’d find out soon enough. As Nellie wakes you that morning, you find that a pit has already settled in your stomach. It was your wedding day, and you didn’t feel ready for it in the slightest.

Mr. Onceler and Mrs. Ryan had pulled everything together remarkably quickly, though even with all their speed, you knew you’d trespassed on Mrs. Ryan’s hospitality for far too long; you’d been there over a month. You’d especially felt like an intruder over Christmas. It had been a quiet affair, with two of her children joining you. They’d done their best to make you feel welcome, but you’d known you were out of place. Hopefully, that feeling would start to fade when you moved into Mr. Onceler’s house this evening.

Most of your things had already been transported there in preparation for your move. You were sure you’d find more than you expected; he’d hinted that he’d purchased an entirely new wardrobe for you to make up for what Nellie couldn’t take with her. All that remained behind was your bridal gown, certain accessories you wanted to wear for the day, and Nellie herself to help you prepare.

“Are you ready?” Nellie asks once she sees that your eyes are open. No, you most decidedly are not ready, but you’re also not not ready, and you figure this is the best it’s going to get. So you nod and get out of the bed you’ve been borrowing for the past several weeks for the last time.

You know you’re on a schedule, and must be ready no later than two to make it to the chapel in time, but Nellie’s still taken the liberty of drawing a bath for you, knowing it’s the easiest way to get you to relax. You mercifully sink into the warm water, letting the heat soothe the tense muscles in your shoulders. The only instruction you need to follow now is to not get your hair wet; Nellie carefully piled it on the top of your head, and since she knows your hair better than you do, you trust that it’s easier to work with if it’s not freshly washed like she claims.

You stay in the bath as long as you possibly can without having your skin prune up. Once out, you slip into a robe before sitting on the vanity where Nellie waits with a hot iron for your hair. Though it probably would have been easier, you detested the thought of hiding your hair in a cap-style veil, which was unfortunately becoming quite popular. Your long hair was your pride, and you’d rather sit for hours and risk suffering burns trying to curl it all than hide it away.

Nellie’s just getting the last curl in place when Mrs. Ryan enters the room. You panic for a moment, thinking you’re running late, but the clock reveals it’s only noon. Fear alleviated, you turn back to Mrs. Ryan, who beams at you. “You look a vision,” she declares before turning to Nellie. “Well, let’s get her in the dress.”

Now you’re confused again. “Surely we’re not leaving my hair down?” you ask, turning to Nellie for confirmation. It would be your preference, but a woman with her hair down was scandalous enough. A married woman with her hair down was unheard of.

“No, of course not,” she assures. “But if we don’t get the dress on now, it won’t fit over your hair. Come on. Stand, arms up.” You listen to her, but only reluctantly. You’d only tried that dress on twice before, and it had made everything seem so much more real. You doubt it will be any different today.

Sure enough, as Nellie and Mrs. Ryan ease the garment over your head, your breath catches for a moment. This is real, you’re getting married, and though your groom isn’t a total stranger, you didn’t know him as well as you would’ve liked. And of course, that means you weren’t desperately in love with him, nor he with you. That was a pipe dream now.

“Have you been eating?” Nellie asks as she starts to lace the back up. “I don’t seem to remember having to tighten the laces so much.”

You shrug in response. You did your best to force food down, but in truth, it held very little interest to you for the most part. More often than not, you ended up skipping luncheon or even supper. It didn’t seem like a big deal, since you were sure Mr. Onceler would insist on you eating with him when you were married.

Oh, Lord, that was happening in only a few short hours. Seeing yourself in the dress again only confirms your fate. However, the sinking feeling in your gut, which you expected to get worse throughout the day, seems to lessen instead. Though getting married would be a colossal change, you never really thought of it as being a bad one. Shocking to even yourself, seeing the dress on you makes you feel ready for this. You were ready to live with him. You were ready to be his wife.

Your fears weren’t completely assuaged, but they had been calmed somewhat, and that in and of itself was nothing short of a miracle. You were able to sit and look at yourself in that wedding dress while Nellie finishes your hair without much panic.

Finally, she’s done with you, and fixes the veil at the back of your head, so it doesn’t cover your hair much. She then turns to three glass bottles sitting on the vanity that you’d somehow gone the whole day without noticing. “Mr. Onceler sent these over this morning as a wedding gift,” she explains. “They’re scents. I know it would probably please him today if you were wearing one.”

“You’re right, of course,” you murmur before sampling the perfumes. They were all lovely, and with their French labels, you knew they were excellent quality, better than anything you’d ever owned. You chose the one that claimed to have notes of orange and sandalwood; when you try it on, you find the label did not lie.

With the perfume applied, there was no further reason to stall. You were as ready as you could ever be, and you knew you’d never looked lovelier. Nellie had really outdone herself.

“Let’s get going! It wouldn’t do for the bride to be late to her own wedding!” Mrs. Ryan calls, and she ushers you out the front door to where a vehicle waits for you, which you were thankful for. The chapel wasn’t far, but you didn’t fancy walking there in New York’s frigid winter air.

You make it to the surprisingly empty building quickly, and you’re swiftly ushered off into a side room. “I didn’t realize no one would have arrived yet. I thought he invited most of the upper class, to avoid offending anyone?” you inquire.

“They should start showing up in the next half hour or so,” Mrs. Ryan confirms. “You know how they all are about time. It’s supposed to start at three, so half of them will come at two-thirty, and the other half at three-thirty. Although, now that I think about it, I should probably go make sure he actually shows up on time. That boy is always late to everything…” her voice trails off as she leaves the room, leaving you almost alone, with only Nellie and your nerves for company.

It’s an agonizing hour of waiting. Before too long, you can hear voices outside your door, though you can’t discern any individual words or speakers. You’re surprised you don’t see Alice; you figured she’d bulldoze her way in whether she was allowed or not, but the only person who comes in is Mrs. Ryan again a little after three.

“Well, most of the people have come,” she says. “The Hunte’s aren’t here, but nobody expected them to be. He’s getting anxious though, he doesn’t want to wait for anybody else. Time to get this show on,” she announces, clapping her hands together. 

“Wait,” you say before you can stop yourself. “Is… is my mother here? I know she was invited.”

Mrs. Ryan’s face falls, and she puts her hand on your shoulder briefly. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to, child,” she berates you with a sigh. “Now, put it out of your mind. Let’s go.” She hands you a bouquet while Nellie picks up your train, and the three of you make your way to the narthex.

“We’ll see you inside. Wait for the music,” Mrs. Ryan reminds you. She gives you a brief hug, and though you wish you could express your gratitude in words, the hug seems to say it all. Nellie, too, claims a hug for herself before they both dart into the chapel. You have neither your father nor mother here, so you will be walking alone. For the second the doors are open, you see that it’s full and filled with light chatter.

You don’t have to wait for long, alone with your thoughts. Through the doors, you hear the talking start to die down, before it’s replaced by thundering organ music. With no visible prompting, the doors swing open wide, revealing your presence. But more importantly, at least in your mind, you can finally see Mr. Onceler again, waiting for you at the end of the aisle.

You’re not aware of your feet taking even and measured steps, but they must be, since he’s slowly getting closer. He’s patiently waiting for you with his hands folded in front of him, and miraculously, he’s smiling. Not just smirking as was his custom, but an authentic smile now adorns his features.

You don’t see anyone else as you make your way towards him. You’d expected to glance at the pews to at least spot Alice, Mrs. Ryan, and Nellie, but you don’t. Even your mother’s absence has been temporarily erased from your mind. The only people in the room are you and the man who will very soon be your husband.

And the last thing you’d been expecting hits you quite suddenly: you’re excited. Not just at peace with your decision to spend the rest of your life with him, but genuinely happy to be doing so. The happiness is so foreign to you after your disownment, you hardly recognize it. It feels entirely new.

Lord, what was this man doing to you? You’d gone from loathing him to marrying him of your own volition in a matter of months, and you were happy about it no less. It must be the aura of your own wedding getting to your head.

A wedding that you were still in the middle of. You’d reached the end of the aisle now, and he’s extending his hand out to take yours. You grab hold of his proffered hand, and though the words haven’t yet been said, this feels like a finality. There is truly no going back now.

You’d been to a few weddings in your life, and your own is not much different than the affairs you’d already witnessed. The ceremony consisted of standing there and listening to the priest for the most part. Your participation isn’t required until the very end, and even then it’s just two little words. In your memory, weddings seemed to take a very long time, but now that it’s your own, you’re shocked by how quickly you get to the end and the minister it asking that all important question: would you accept Mr. Onceler as your husband, until the day you die?

The answer is easy. “I do.”

And now it's his turn. The priest posits the same question, and you have no doubt about his answer. “I do,” he says immediately after the question has been asked. His voice is confident, his hand steady in yours.

“Then by the power vested in me by the state of New York, in the presence of God and these witnesses, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.” The fact that you were now a married woman is quite overshadowed by what's coming next. You'd been expecting it, of course. It was part of every wedding, a tradition dating back to the Middle Ages according to what you've read. It doesn't mean you haven't been both anticipating and dreading this moment.

The two of you turn to each other at the same time. Veils that covered the face were out of fashion, so you didn't even have to wait for him to lift yours; he had perfect access to you. He puts his hands on either side of your face and leans down to meet your height. He presses his lips to yours, soft as a feather, and the second they meet, you feel like you're floating, butterflies exploding in your stomach.

The kiss only lasts a couple of seconds; he keeps it very chaste since you're surrounded by people. Polite claps spring up around you, but it's only background noise, a very minor annoyance. Most of your attention is captivated by your husband, and how much you wanted him to kiss you again.

The other part of your mind is consumed with the confusing feeling of why you wanted this. He'd made it clear that this was a business transaction, and you'd reminded yourself of that fact over and over, as a protection for yourself.

But despite all of your caution, despite every wall you'd put up and hid behind… could you really be falling for him?

It would be a supremely stupid thing to do, of course. You'd only be setting yourself up to get your heart broken. But if you were still feeling this way, even with all your precautions, you didn't see a way to make it stop.

“Come along,” he murmurs into your ear. “I've hired a photographer. I'm sure you'd want at least one picture.”

“Oh… yes, of course,” you say, sounding a bit dazed. Pictures had changed, even in your short lifetime. They used to be quite expensive and time consuming. They weren't exactly cheap now, but didn't take near as long, so they'd all but replaced painted portraits. The only thing that remained a constant was that they were reserved for special events; primarily, family portraits, and, of course, weddings. You yourself had only had one picture taken with your parents, just a year before your father had died.

People began to file out, heading to the banquet hall just across the road, since your social statuses decreed there must be a party to accompany the wedding. But as they left, a photographer entered–and, most interestedly, it was a woman.

As her team set up her equipment, she was busy directing how you were to pose. After one look at Mr. Onceler's height, it was decided he would sit so he wouldn't completely dwarf you. You were still able to place your hand into his arm, while your other grasped your bouquet.

“Stay just like that!” the photographer called as she made her way to her camera. You school your face into a neutral expression. The last thing you wanted was to ruin your own wedding picture due your haywire emotions.

You manage to stay still as the flash goes off, then blink several times as stars dance in your eyes, rather uncannily reflecting your own mental state. The brightness hit heavily when you were right in front of it. At least it was over now. Mr. Onceler stands, his form slowly becoming less hazy as your vision recovers. He slips his arm around your waist and leans down to whisper in your ear. “How are you feeling? Regret anything yet?”

“Do you want me to?” you ask. Better to have a smart mouth with him than be honest and give him any hint of your true feelings.

Sure enough, he chuckles in amusement. “Good to know that our marriage has not dulled that tongue of yours, Mrs. Onceler.” That makes you freeze in the middle of taking a step, which he could hardly fail to notice. “Oh? And where's that infamous wit now?” he teases.

His vexing at least spurs something to come out of your mouth. “And why do you think I want to take your name? Mine, after all, has more prestige, as you were quickly to notice. Perhaps I want to keep it.” You really could lie when push came to shove. You didn't mind giving up your name and taking his. It was just so bizarre after being called by your maiden name all your life.

He laughs at that, a genuine one this time rather than the sarcastic chuckle he gave earlier. “I'm afraid that's not the way the world works, darling,” he reminds you. “And I think you gave up any pride you had in your name when you agreed to sully it with mine.”

“And here I thought my name was the only reason you wanted to marry me in the first place,” you shoot back. “Don't tell me there was any ulterior motive, was there sir?”

“‘Sir?’” he asks with a raised eyebrow. “I'm your husband now and you still deign to call me sir? Not very romantic of you.”

“And since when has this relationship ever been romantic?” Try as you might, you can't keep the bitterness that truth brings from creeping into your tone. You hope he doesn't pick up on it, but one look at his face proves that hope was in vain; he's gone from looking amused to frowning down at you, brow furrowed.

You turn away and start heading for the exit to join everyone else. The last thing you want is for him to make any of his own conclusions when you yourself didn't even know what you were feeling. And you especially didn't want any of these possible conclusions to lead him to give you pity.

He grabs your hand and spins you around just before you can make it to the door. Very, very hesitantly, he says your name, pauses, then restarts. “I know that I'm not the man you had probably hoped to marry for most of your life,” he says. “But I do want you to know, now that you are my wife, if there's anything you need, or just want, please do not hesitate to speak to me about it. I want to do everything in my power to make you happy.”

You barely resist the urge to scoff in his face. Just like a typical man, trying to fix every problem by purchasing something. You'd learned long ago most problems weren't fixed by this in the slightest. “I'm afraid what I want is something you can't give me,” you whisper. “I don't even know myself what it is,” you add hastily before he gets the wrong idea.

He reaches up and runs his thumb over your cheek, and you can't stop your slight tremble at his touch. He stops just shy of your lips. “Let me know when you find out,” he murmurs, his expression unreadable. You're relieved when he leads you out the door a moment later. Though you weren't exactly looking forward to being the center of attention at your reception, at least that was something you knew you could navigate. Better yet, it would take your mind off your new husband.

As you predicted, your reception is a bit of a madhouse. Everyone wanted to speak to you at least once, though Alice made sure she got her time first. Just talking took up most of your social skills. Most of these people barely knew you, while others bought into the rumors Mrs. Hunte had done her best to spread about you being hardly better than a harlot. Those who were hostile didn’t dare damage their standing with Mr. Onceler like the Hunte’s had decided to, but they also didn’t work to hide their disdain; you saw more than a few sneers aimed in your direction.

You couldn’t entirely forget Mr. Onceler, of course. He was by your side the entire time, and more often than not, he had his arm wrapped securely around your waist. As you guessed, when food was served he insisted you eat a full plate, and also made a point of leading to a now almost nostalgic dance floor several times. He was now the only person allowed to dance with you, unless he granted direct permission to someone else. No man asked at your wedding however; it would be a surefire way to earn his wrath.

And while the reception lasted well after the sun dipped below the horizon, it still felt over and done with far too quickly, considering what was coming. After several hugs from Alice and her family, there was no one left except you, Mr. Onceler, Nellie, and Mrs. Ryan.

“Get going, you three,” Mrs. Ryan laughed. She’d indulged in the large amount of wine available and was in a great mood. “I’ll arrange for this all to be cleaned, don’t worry about a thing.”

“I’ll pay you back for that, Matilda,” Mr. Onceler says as he starts to lead you outside; he’s had his own personal car loaded with the last of your things, and it waited to take you to your new home.

“You will not if you know what’s good for you,” Mrs. Ryan threatens with a harmless swat at his arm. “This is a wedding present for the two of you.” He just rolls his eyes at her before taking you the rest of the way to his car. It only just has enough room for the three of you and your belongings. You sit in the passenger seat, a bit of an odd change for you.

After a few moments of silence, you speak up. “So, I don’t think I ever asked where you live…” you start before he interrupts you.

“I’m still on the Upper East Side, don’t worry,” he smirks. “Although I also have a house upstate where I spend a lot of time. Obviously I expect you to join me during the months I’m up there. Ah, here we are.” You turn to see an admittedly giant house, much bigger than your mother’s. And though he was indeed still within the limits of the Upper East Side, it wasn’t in an area you had frequented. If you were in the upper class, this was the upper class of the upper class. It might as well have been a different state.

A manservant runs to take your things as you get out of the car. Mr. Onceler turns to you. “I’ll trust Nellie to show you to your room. Though I expect to see you sooner rather than later.” He gives you a meaningful look before disappearing into the house.

You couldn’t ignore it any longer. The day was far from over, and now the real tribulation would begin.

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite Chapter 10

You’re met with stares and poorly disguised whispers the second you walk through the doors. Your courage almost flees here, but Mr. Onceler moves his free hand to cover yours, which still rests in his elbow. You fight the urge to hide your left hand, which is freely swinging at your side, and the ring on your finger seems to shimmer like the brightest beacon, drawing all eyes to it.

You do your best to mimic your fiancé and wear a mask of cool indifference. However, you can’t stop yourself from scanning the room, looking for your mother, but so far you see no hint of her.

You do, however, see Mr. and Mrs. Hunte, though not Thomas as of yet. Mrs. Hunte’s eyes are a pair that follow you unabashedly. Though you’d always gotten along well with them before, now she quite literally looks down her nose at you, as if you were nothing more than dirt on the floor.

You force yourself to look away. You were not becoming her daughter-in-law, you did not have to rely on her family’s fortune. You were marrying a man wealthier than they, and her opinion of you no longer mattered. In a way, it never had in the first place.

But even when you choose not to look, you can’t turn off your ears, though you desperately wish you could. The whispers strike you from all sides, as hot as if irons straight out of the fire were being held against your skin.

“Look at them! I hear they’re engaged now–”

“She turned down young Mr. Hunte–”

“I heard she kept it secret from her own mother! Never expected this kind of scandal from her–”

Finally, he guides you into the chapel proper. Here, at least, people have the decency to pause their gossiping, though the shameless stares continue. You do another quick scan of the room, but don’t hold out any hope that your mother will be here; sure enough, you don’t see her in any of the few pews that are occupied.

Mr. Onceler leads you toward the middle row of pews and slides in, looking wholly unbothered, though it does seem as though the seats are a little small for him, as his knees are almost against the pew in front of you. Despite your discomfort at the atmosphere, you have to suppress an insane urge to laugh, which would be a very bad idea. In your unease, a laugh would probably sound more akin to a shriek.

After a minute, Mrs. Ryan sits down on the other side of him, looking a bit disgruntled. “I swear I’ve never been more popular with these shrews,” she mutters. “Everyone wants me to say something. Don’t worry, I’m shutting them up,” she reassures, likely seeing your alarmed expression. “All I’m saying is that, yes, you’re engaged. Nothing more.”

“Did you even have to say that much? Ignoring everyone is better,” Mr. Onceler grumbles before he’s forced to stay quiet due to the soft chime of the bells, signaling the beginning of the service.

It’s a service that you hardly remember a single minute of. Though no one can talk about you, there’s nothing that can stop the stares of silent judgment. Even though you were expecting it, it doesn’t make bearing the burden any easier. You’ve never experienced scrutiny like this before. You’re not sure how to handle it.

The second the minister releases the congregation, you nearly run into Mr. Onceler in your haste to leave. Luckily, he seems to understand your need to get out of public. He takes your hand into his arm again and leads you out into the narthex, not even bothering to wait for Mrs. Ryan, who is being hounded once more by the various gossips who are clamoring for news.

“Darling!” You’re almost at the door when the familiar call draws your attention. Alice is pushing through the crowd, decorum clearly not a care in her mind. Your shoulders deflate in relief; here was someone who, at the very least, would be an ally to you.

“Oh Alice dear, you don’t know how lovely it is to see you,” you sigh, releasing Mr. Onceler’s arm to give her a brief hug. “It’s been bedlam… though I’m sure you’ve heard everything with the rumor mill at full speed.” You allow a small hint of bitterness to creep into your tone, and Mr. Onceler pulls you back into the safety of his arm. It should feel possessive, but it doesn’t. You feel comforted by his touch, however it comes.

“The rumors are crazy,” Alice says with a shake of her head. “I can’t believe half of them. For instance, there’s one saying that you were courting both Thomas Hunte and Mr. Onceler at the same time. Or that it’s not just an engagement, but that you eloped yesterday. Or–”

“Alice, please,” you cut her off with a wince. “I really don’t need to know what people are saying about me. In fact, I never want to hear any of these rumors, even if we laugh about this in fifty years’ time. It’s been hard enough. I don’t want to waste my energy correcting unfounded rumors, alright? I want to lay low until this is forgotten.”

“Oh, all right,” she huffs. Alice tended to love hearing false rumors about herself, and didn’t always remember that others had different preferences. “But you must tell me, at least, what actually occurred.”

“Yes, I will, but not here. There’s too many people here,” you insist. Alice nods, then loops her arm through your free one, and you head out into the street just as Mrs. Ryan catches up with you.

Alice manages to wait a few blocks down the road before she can’t contain herself any longer. “So, what exactly did happen?” she presses. “And why is your mother not with you? I’d heard you’d been disinherited, but I know better than to believe that–”

“That one’s true, Alice,” you confirm softly, unable to meet her gaze when you say it. Alice’s hands fly to her mouth in shock. You quickly start speaking again before she spouts off at the mouth. “We got engaged yesterday. When we returned home to tell my mother, Thomas Hunte was with her, asking for permission to court me. I dismissed him in what I hope was as polite as I could make the situation, then explained to my mother my circumstances. She told me that as long as I am engaged to my fiancé, I am no longer welcome in her home.” You relay the story without any emotion. You’ve had to completely dissociate yourself from the event, pretend it happened to someone else, or you would break down again.

For once in all the time you’ve known her, Alice is speechless. “Oh, my Lord,” she whispers. She stares down at the ground for a long time before she finally says something. “I do not know what kind of wisdom or comfort I could offer,” she murmurs. “I do not have the faintest clue on how I could help the situation. I shall only give you what I can, little as that may be.” She draws herself up to her full height before addressing not only you, but Mr. Onceler as well. “Since no one has said it, let me be the first to congratulate you–both of you–on your engagement. My wish for you is that your marriage is a happy, prosperous one.”

Her words touch you more than you expect. Just to have someone who was genuinely happy for you was such a welcome presence. This was supposed to be the happiest time of your life so far, getting engaged and preparing for your wedding. Your circumstances hadn’t allowed you to feel that way, but Alice was perfectly willing to hold on to any joy until you were ready to receive it yourself. 

“Thank you, Alice. Truly,” you say. “And as much as I would love for you to stay, won’t your parents get worried since you’ve gone off by yourself?”

“Probably,” she shrugs. “They’re more than likely used to it at this point though; I did it often enough in England.” She giggles suddenly. “Oh, I have to tell you about that. When we went to King Edward’s court, well, you know my father. He has all these hopes for me, and I daresay I’ve been a disappointment in every way. He wanted me to socialize, of course, but there was this Count…” She breaks off here as she glances up at Mr. Onceler. He hasn’t said anything, but his ears are very red. “Well, I’ll spare you the details for now. But a forbidden summer romance, well, it’s every bit as good as the books make it out to be.” She sighs dreamily. “So enjoy this while it’s still considered somewhat forbidden! It makes it so much more exciting.”

Now you were just as embarrassed as your fiancé. Alice had always been a bit salacious, and you weren’t surprised at all to hear of a brief, passionate romance she’d engaged in, but you did not need her to advise you to do the same with Mr. Onceler. You still couldn’t be sure if there was any real affection on his part. It certainly didn’t seem like it.

“I really must be going,” Alice says, drawing your attention back to her. She gives you one last gentle squeeze. “I simply cannot wait for your wedding! It’ll be beautiful,” she declares confidently before waltzing away.

You’re not quite sure how you should address her behavior once she’s out of earshot (you weren’t sure if you should even address it at all), but Mr. Onceler speaks first. “I honestly cannot believe there was ever a moment you seriously thought I was going to abandon my pursuit of you for her. I can’t even stand five minutes listening to her, let alone be able to live with that. I don’t know how you have the patience for it.”

“Oh, she’s not that bad once you get to know her,” you defend her quietly. “And she really is harmless. She just doesn’t have much of a filter. If a thought enters her brain, it’s going to come out of her mouth.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that she’s a bad person,” he corrects himself. “She and I are just completely incompatible and I don’t know why you ever thought I’d leave you for her.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. You can’t tell if he’s trying to express affection for you, or if he was just annoyed by Alice’s extroverted energy. These cryptic hints he kept giving you were quite frustrating, but you didn’t feel bold enough to ask him about it outright yet. Besides, queries about his feelings might bring him to question yours, and you still couldn’t answer that. Best to hold off your inquiries until you had a more level head.

You reach Mrs. Ryan’s house quickly after that, and Mr. Onceler surprises you once again by sitting with your hostess at her dining table and immediately starts discussing plans for your wedding. You shift guiltily as you overhear them.

You knew the traditions, of course. You were perfectly aware that in America, the bride’s family was supposed to front the bill. It was something your mother had always agonized over, but had insisted you’d make it work somehow.

It’s because of this that you feel compelled to speak. You clear your throat to get their attention. “We don’t need to make this an extravagant affair,” you say softly. “I know you probably weren’t expecting to pay for this, sir, and I think we can safely say I’ve been far more trouble than I’m worth. I know society expects a large wedding, but please don’t feel obligated to do so if you don’t wish to.”

Mrs. Ryan looks on you with pity, understanding, and gentleness all wrapped up in one expression. Mr. Onceler, on the other hand, leans back in his chair with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. “Can you give us a moment?” he asks Mrs. Ryan. The older woman nods once, then leaves the room with surprising speed, leaving you alone with your fiancé.

He gestures to one of the empty chairs next to him. You sit, a bit perplexed and more than a little bit nervous. Though it was very, very rare that an engagement was broken, you were terrified of accidentally angering him to that point, for then you truly would be left utterly desolate.

He hesitates for just a fraction of a second before he reaches for your hand. “Do I frighten you, darling?” he asks. Your fear must be showing on your face. But more than the fact that he’d been able to read your emotions (yet again), you were far more struck by him calling you ‘darling.’ But thought it caught you off guard, it would have to be addressed later. Answering his questions was the first matter at hand, so you push everything else out of your already cluttered mind.

“I’m not frightened of you,” you whisper. “As strange as it is, you’ve become a trusted comfort to me. I’m only scared of the power you hold, and what would happen if you changed your mind.”

He huffs impatiently once. “Have I not proven by now that I will not abandon you?” he asks in a low tone, his thumb running over the ring he put on your finger. “When I make a promise, I keep it. I don’t care if your family will not be paying for our wedding; I knew that even before I asked to court you. The only way now that we wouldn’t be married is if you decide to end it, because I assure you that I will not.” You had been looking down at the table, so it catches you off guard when he puts his hand underneath your chin and tilts your head up to look in his eyes. It shouldn’t faze you anymore, but the shade of bright blue combined with the intensity of his gaze still give you goosebumps. He holds you firm, not even blinking. “Look at me,” he says, his voice matching the fire in his eyes. “I will not leave you. I swear it. And don’t think of yourself as a burden, because I do not. Do you believe me now?”

Staring into those eyes, how could you not believe him? You nod your head once and he releases your chin as well as your hands. Your immediate instinct is to protest before you stop yourself. You were being stupid, craving his touch like that. He always said he didn’t fancy you in any way.

But if his feelings had changed… could yours do the same? You had to find out.

“Wait,” you call before you lose your sudden rush of boldness. He had been about to stand up, but sits back down at your voice, looking at you quizzically. You hurry to ask your question. “Our circumstances surrounding our engagement, how it is just a matter of convenience… has that changed in your mind at all?” You wish you didn’t hope he’d say yes. You’re not even sure you wanted his affection.

He takes a very long time to answer. You wish you could get a clue of what he might say, but his face is completely unreadable; you wouldn’t even feel confident in a guess. The longer he drags this out, the louder you can hear your own heart beating. 

Finally, he starts to speak. “No. Nothing’s changed,” he says, his expression staying the same. And you have no reason to believe he’d lie. Your shoulder sag, and you do your best to try and master your facial expression into one of neutrality. The last thing you want is for him to learn of your disappointment.

Unfortunately, it seems as though your efforts were in vain, for he opens his mouth again. “Have yours?” he asks gently. You’d almost describe his tone as pitying, which you hate. The last thing you need is anyone’s pity, least of all his.

Still, his question makes you falter. You couldn’t say you felt absolutely nothing towards him, as you did when you agreed to this. But as to what feelings you actually had now, you had no clue what they were. Sometimes he infuriated you to no end, and others… well, other moments made you feel as though maybe you did like him, even if no real love had blossomed yet.

But you didn’t want to try and explain all of this to him. An overly-detailed explanation would likely just annoy him. Though you believed him when he said he wouldn’t leave you, you didn’t want an unhappy marriage because you too often frayed his nerves. So even though he was honest with you, you couldn’t do the same.

“No,” you say quickly. You look directly in his eyes, lest he should think you’re being dishonest. You have a silent face-off with him for a few moments before you deem it’s safe enough to break it off.

“I suppose I’ll let you get on with your plans. You clearly don’t need me here for that,” you say as you stand up. You walk towards your borrowed room, and though you feel his eyes on you the entire time, he doesn’t call you back.

You wait until the door closes before you collapse on the bed. As much as part of you did indeed crave his presence, dealing with that man was exhausting. Even though it was still very early in the day, you need a nap. You could figure out what to do with him and your confused feelings later, when hopefully your mind was less chaotic.

****

Over the next few days, things progressed very much the same way. Mr. Onceler wasn’t there everyday, but most days you saw him for at least a few minutes. You remained cordially polite to each other, and there was no hint of the passion you’d heard most newly engaged couples had. You were beginning to think that sort of passionate love was only found in the novels you now had ample time to read, since you spent most of your time in the room, trying to stay out of Mrs. Ryan’s way.

You knew wedding plans were progressing, but it was a surprise to even yourself how little interest you took in the subject. Mrs. Ryan often asked for your opinion on how you would like things, but the truth was you didn’t care much. You’d never been the type of girl to waste away hours planning every minute detail of her wedding. In fact, for most of your life, you’d been expecting your mother to hold the reins wherever you got engaged, and you would have been more than happy to let her do so.

But today, you knew that you would at least have to make an appearance. The seamstress who would be making your wedding dress was coming to take your measurements, and she couldn’t very well do that if you were locked away.

You hear the doorbell sound mid-morning, and while you debate on staying put until someone comes to fetch you, you decide it’s probably better to do the polite thing and meet the woman in the foyer.

You open your door and head to the entrance hall, then stop in your tracks, mouth falling open of its own accord. There was no seamstress there at all. Instead, none other than Nellie stood on the rug, beaming at you.

“Nellie!” you shriek, abandoning all propriety and running to her, throwing your arms around her. Tears are leaking from your eyes, but for once, they’re from joy. This had been the last thing you’d been expecting. “What–why—how are you here?” you ask breathlessly, releasing her from your hug, but keeping on her arm, as though she would disappear if you had no tangible proof that she was really standing before you.

“Mr. Onceler’s hiring me,” she explained in a rushed voice. “He wrote to me a couple of days after your engagement, said you missed me, and if I was agreeable, he had a plan to help me resign from your mother and that he would hire me on instead. I wrote back with a yes right away. It took a little while to sort the details out, but I’m here now.” She gestures behind her as she’s speaking, and when you look past the still open front door, your fiancé is unloading bags that you recognize as Nellie’s from a buggy.

Her revelation leaves you speechless. You couldn’t believe he would do that for you. He absolutely did not need to do it–in fact, it would have been very easy for his plan to have gone wrong. And yet, it seemed as though he barely thought twice about doing it, if Nellie’s timeline was accurate. You didn’t know how you could ever thank him enough.

“M-my mother?” you hear yourself ask. Wondering if she’d still be taken care of without Nellie was the only thing you could latch onto right now. It wasn’t as complicated as everything else going on.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry,” Nellie assures quietly. “I recommended someone I used to know for her to hire, which she has done. She’ll be well comfortable, I promise.” She takes your hands in hers. “Enough about that though. How are you holding up?”

“I’m doing alright,” you murmur, still in a bit of shock. “It’s been difficult, I cannot lie, but I’m getting better day by day.” You couldn’t focus on yourself for too long though. Her arrival sent question after question shooting through your mind. “Let’s go to my room, so we can speak properly,” you suggest. You loop your arm through hers and lead her down the hall.

Once you’re in the room, both of you take seats on the bed. “So… how exactly did this happen? I can’t imagine my mother was happy when you told her you were seeking employment somewhere else, especially not here. You did not tell her where you were going, did you?”

“No, she has no idea,” Nellie says. “I thought it might not be wise to tell her. She doesn't know that I was hired elsewhere at all. This was also Mr. Onceler's idea, but I pretended like I'd gotten a letter from my family that my mother was ill, and I needed to leave as soon as possible to help care for her. She wasn't exactly happy, but she understood and accepted my resignation without complaint, especially when we got the new maid settled in.”

“Good. I'm glad there's still someone there, and that she's not alone. That would drive her mad,” you murmur. “And… how is she otherwise?”

“She's still in a state of shock,” Nellie sighs. “She eats and speaks very little. I haven't the faintest idea why she reacted so violently, but she's now got the idea in her head that you pursued him specifically because she told you not to–”

“That's absurd!” you interrupt. “I didn't pursue him at all, and I told her this was the best way to preserve our reputation. She just refused to listen to reason.”

“I know,” Nellie agrees, calming you a bit. “She is being unreasonable though, so we cannot expect rationality from her at present. Again, I cannot say why she is doing this, but she's so determined to cling to the belief that all who are New Money are unsuitable that she's willing to go to great lengths–no matter how preposterous–to keep that line of thought. She would rather believe that you were a rebel this whole time than accept she was wrong about Mr. Onceler.”

You pull your knees up to your chest and hug them. “So I take it there's no hope for any reconciliation yet?” You know the answer without needing to see Nellie's shake of the head.

“She's only mentioned you once since you left,” she says hesitantly, like she almost doesn't want to tell you this. But you knew Nellie would never lie to you, not even to spare your feelings. “The morning after, she demanded to know if I had helped, but I convinced her I was as clueless as she. And then… well, she ordered me to start selling your things. But I managed to save most of what you care about.” As if one cue, there's a knock at the door, and after you allow them to enter, Mr. Onceler comes in, carrying some of Nellie's luggage. He dips out quickly, leaving the two of you alone.

Nellie excitedly opens a bag. In it, you see some of your favorite jewelry, including a pair of pearl earrings that had been a gift from your father. She also managed to stash some favorite dresses. Only one item surprised you: she decided to bring your debutante dress.

“Why this one?” you question, holding it up. “You know I was never in love with it, and I can hardly think of an occasion where I have a reason to wear it again; I think their whole purpose is to be worn only once.”

“It's not so much the dress itself, but what it symbolizes,” Nellie explains. “You became a woman to the world in this dress. You met your eventual husband in this dress. Whether you knew it at the time or not, in this dress you decided to be your own person, not your mother's puppet. I thought it was something you could tell your daughters one day, if you're fortunate enough to have them.”

The smile you'd been wearing slips from your face when she mentions children. Mr. Onceler had made it clear that he expected heirs from you. But your own mother had had such a hard time carrying… you were the only survivor out of several siblings. You and she were a modern-day Katherine and Mary.

You put the dress down and look at Nellie. “I know you just got here, and probably want to settle in, but Nellie… could you do something for me?”

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite Chapter 9

We'll deal with the fallout from last time, and maybe we'll even get a touch of spice in here.

NOTE: This chapter does mention church. This is purely because at the time, church was a social event for the upper class. Characters' personal thoughts on what religion they personally believe, or if they're religious at all, will never be mentioned.

“Okay, darlin’, let’s get you into a bath,” Mrs. Ryan says as she leads you down a hall. She ushers you into a washroom, and a few minutes later, a young, freckled-faced girl joins you. She fills the tub and helps you out of your dress.

“Maggie, could you get a cloth and ice from the icebox?” Mrs. Ryan asks the girl, who nods and scurries out of the room. Once she’s gone, the woman lets out an enormous sigh before focusing her attention on you. “I was really hoping it wouldn’t come to this,” she says, almost to herself.

“I’m sor–” you start but for the second time that day, you find yourself cut off before you could finish your apology.

“Honey, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for,” Mrs. Ryan insists. “I’m the one that told him to bring you here if things went sour with Dot, so don’t worry about being a nuisance; I was well-prepared to host you for a while. I just wish it didn’t have to come to this.”

Maggie comes back in the room then, carrying a handful of ice in a small towel. She gives it to Mrs. Ryan, who passes the bundle off to you. “Put that against your cheek. I know it hurts, but that’ll make it better, trust me,” she adds, noticing your wince when you pressed the ice against your bruise. You want to ignore her, but acknowledge that she’s probably right. Reluctantly, you hold the towel up to your cheek again, and after a few minutes, the sting does begin to die down. You hum in contentment and sink further into the water.

She lets you be at peace for a minute before speaking again. “Look, I love that boy like he’s my son,” she begins with no preamble or hesitation. “But I need to know the truth, regardless of how I feel about him. Is this going to make you resent him? He’s prepared to keep every promise he made to you. But do you regret it now that the cost has been paid?”

It was a heavy question, one that you didn’t feel fully prepared to answer just yet. But Mrs. Ryan’s gaze, which is firm and gentle at the same time, tells you that she doesn’t plan on letting the matter drop until she gets an answer. “I knew this was a possibility from the beginning, loathe though I was to accept it,” you say slowly, choosing your words carefully. “But I had a choice then to turn him away, and I did not. I shall stay by his side, regardless of what happens to us.”

Mrs. Ryan’s look changes to one of exasperation. “I know what your upbringing was like, but you don’t have to be so prim and proper here. You just went through a great ordeal. It’s fine to not be fine.”

“I know,” you sigh. “And believe me, I haven’t been fine. Right after… well… it happened, I think I traumatized Mr. Onceler. I was in hysterics, and I don’t think he was expecting it. And I’m sure I’ll become weepy again at some point, but right now, with everything that occurred, I just feel numb. It’s all too much, my mind needs to process it before it will allow me to feel again.”

Mrs. Ryan pierces you with that almost unsettling gaze for a minute longer before she sighs again. “Well, I suppose that’s fair for now,” she murmurs. “Take as much time in here as you like. Maggie will help you with whatever you need.” With that, she takes her leave, and you take the opportunity to just not think, which is a blessed, most welcome distraction.

It’s only when your skin begins to prune and the water grows tepid do you finally have Maggie scrub you down and help you out. She’s nice, but hasn’t quite mastered the way your hair works; she has an especially hard time finding all the pins and removing them. She makes your heart pang as you’re reminded of the other loss you suffered today. Nellie might be forever beyond your reach now, unless you were somehow able to write to her.

The thought of Nellie almost sends you into near hysterics again. While you’d dreaded a possible separation from your mother, you’d forgotten to take into account that Nellie would also be lost to you. That hurt almost more than your mother’s abandonment. Nellie was your dearest friend, and the thought that you might never see her again was abhorrent, not to be considered.

Thinking about Nellie made your chest hurt, so you put her out of your mind for now. You’d see her again. You simply had to.

With that resolution, you pull on a simple robe that Mrs. Ryan has left for you. It’s a bit too long, but still wearable. You towel-dry your hair as best as possible before letting it hang on your shoulders. You absentmindedly comb through it with your fingers as you step out of the washroom, trusting Maggie to lead you to whatever room you’re supposed to be staying in.

But as soon as you take a step into the hall, you hear a sharp intake of breath, causing your head to snap up. Mr. Onceler’s standing there, and you’re immediately self-conscious of how little you’re wearing. Yes, the robe covered you well enough, but there was still quite a bit of leg on display, and he’s never seen you with your hair undone before.

You should have been mortified. Even though you were engaged, a lady should never be caught in this state with a man unless he was her bona fide husband. But the day had taken such a toll on you that you couldn’t find the capacity to care at the moment. Who was going to know? And even if it somehow did come to light, this was miniscule compared to the scandal that was already over you.

So instead of dashing to another room, you take a step closer to him. You noticed that he’d taken off his jacket and his hat, leaving his hair tousled. For the first time, you could see what had caught Alice’s fancy. While he’d always been good-looking, this was the first time you could say that he was truly handsome. And even beyond handsome in this casual state… he was gorgeous.

For several moments, you just stand there, staring at each other. Finally, you blink, tearing your eyes away from his face so you’d be less distracted. “Um… I wanted to thank you for earlier,” you murmur demurely. “You stood by me and brought me somewhere safe, and for that I shall be forever grateful.”

He looks at you, completely bewildered. “You don’t need to thank me for taking care of you,” he huffs, and you note that he almost sounds offended. “You’re my fiancée. It’s my job to keep you safe, and I’m utterly disgusted with myself that I failed you so badly in that regard.”

Now it’s your turn to be confused. “How could you possibly have failed me? No one else would have done so much for me.”

He sighs and steps up so that he’s right in front of you. He hesitates, then brings his hand up to your face, tracing your cheek as though it were as delicate as lace. His touch causes your stomach to lurch in a way that you’ve never experienced before. “I allowed you to get hurt,” he whispers, his voice full of regret. “This should never have happened, and it’s my fault that it did.”

“No!” you exclaim. “There was no way you could have seen it coming, and no way you could have prevented it. Listen to me.” You take the hand that isn’t on your face in both of yours without a second thought. “I would not have you blame yourself,” you insist. “It distresses me, I must confess.”

That pulls what seems to be a reluctant smile from him. “Of course, I would not wish to do anything that might distress you,” he murmurs. The hand on your face now rests so that it’s cupping your cheek. He whispers your name, your first name. It’s the first time he hasn’t called you ‘miss.’ 

And is it just you, or is his face slowly moving towards you? You’re about to ask him but… no it’s definitely moving closer. What on earth is he possibly doing…?

Oh. Your eyes flutter shut as you realize he plans to kiss you. And even more shockingly, you find yourself not only allowing it, but very much looking forward to it.

Just as you feel his breath ghosting over your face, it suddenly stops, and he pulls his hand from your skin abruptly. You open your eyes, frustrated and bewildered, just as he says, “No. I can’t do it.” You can’t tell if he meant for you to hear him, but you did, and now all you feel is humiliation. You wrap your arms around yourself, wishing that you could simply evaporate on the spot.

“I’ll have Matilda show you to your room,” he announces, a bit too loud for the otherwise silent hall. He marches away and out of sight, leaving you quite befuddled as to what his actions and words meant.

He was adamant on marrying you, yet he did not want to kiss you? The rules of engagement, at least as far as you had been taught, stated that such displays of affection were to be saved until the actual marriage occurred, but he hadn’t learned such rigid rules as you did. What was more, you were alone, so no one would know, and you’d already broken all of the supposed rules. What was one more?

Embarrassed beyond belief, you can do nothing but just stand there until Mrs. Ryan reappears, looking amused. “Here,” she laughs, leading you through a door to what is clearly an unused but furnished bedroom. “I don’t know how you did this to him, but keep it up. I’ve never seen him so off his game,” she cackles until she catches sight of your face. “Oh. Not a happy interaction on your end then?” she asks.

You narrow your eyes. “How much did he tell you?” you ask suspiciously. You didn’t think he was the type to open his mouth, but Mrs. Ryan clearly knew something.

“Oh, he tells me most everything,” she shrugs, but turns serious when you start fuming. “Don’t hold it against him, or at least be understanding. He’s not trying to cause any problems. I’m just the only adult left in his life he feels he can trust. He’s not much older than you, remember. You’re both just kids to me.”

“How did you become so close to him?” You don’t realize how much curiosity has been burning you about that particular mystery until the question leaves your lips. Mrs. Ryan doesn’t seem surprised or off put but you asking it; she instead leans back and looks pensive for a moment.

“I met him within a week of him first coming to New York,” she explains. “You know he got very rich, very quickly. My husband helped him out, he put a large stock in the business, and he brought him to the first big event with the rich and snotty. The poor boy was completely lost. Well, I remembered how that was, and how vicious these people can be to anyone who dares to enter their little club. I took pity on him and decided to help him as best I could, and he’s trusted me ever since. As a kid, he didn’t have anyone he could really lean on, and he never had a positive adult figure in his life. I don’t know what he’s told you about his family…?” She trails off, clearly waiting for an answer, so you supply one.

“He hasn’t said much,” you recall. “He’s just told me that they all had to work from a young age, only his mother won’t, and that his father died young.”

“Hmmm.” She looks thoughtful for a moment about something before pressing on. “Anyway, from what he’s told me about his mother–which isn’t much, mind you–she’s an absolute witch of a woman and he’s better off without her. You think Dot can be difficult? She has nothing on his mother.”

You start to wonder whether or not you should be hearing this. He hadn’t exactly been thrilled that you knew where he had come from, and here was Mrs. Ryan telling you even more of his secrets. He wasn’t going to like this.

And yet, their relationship suddenly made sense after Mrs. Ryan’s story. She was the only mother he had ever known. Only one question remained. 

“So, why are you so fond of him?” you ask. “You said earlier you thought of him as a son. Why did your affection for him grow so much?”

“Oh, he’s just a gem once you get to know him,” she says fondly. “It’s not hard to grow an attachment to him with time. He can be a pain, I know, but I think you’re starting to learn that he’s deadly charming when he’s not being influenced by his environment.” She pats your hand. “He’s a good kid. And for what it’s worth, he’ll be good to you.” She stands up then. “I’ll have Maggie bring you your dinner in here. I expect it’ll be an early night for you.”

She wasn’t wrong about that. Almost as soon as you finish the meal that’s brought to you, you’re desperate for sleep. Maggie brings you a nightgown, but you dismiss her after that. This was the first disruption in your nighttime routine in years, and you didn’t want an intruder at the moment, no matter how benign her motives might be. This was both the beginning of your new normal, and a period of intense grief, and you just had to be alone.

For as you sit in front of a vanity brushing your hair out, you’re struck again with just how much you miss Nellie.

You’d spent every evening for the past several years with her. She was often the voice of reason when you were frazzled. She’d not only stood by your side during your courtship, but she’d helped you out at great personal risk if your mother had discovered her involvement. You knew that if it weren’t for her, you would not be engaged today. You miss her so much that you physically ache, and your eyes burn with unshed tears; you have no more to cry after the day you’ve had.

There’s a knock at the door then, and you’re tempted to ignore it by pretending you’re already asleep, but since it’s probably Mrs. Ryan, you figure you should, at the very minimum, hear her out since you’re staying on her hospitality. You clear your throat briefly before calling out, “Come in.”

To your surprise, when the door opens, it’s not Mrs. Ryan who stands there. Instead, Mr. Onceler appears in the doorway, looking sheepish. “Hi,” he begins hesitantly. “Um, I just wanted to let you know that I’m about to head home, but I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“Oh,” you murmur. You don’t know why, but for some reason you were under the impression he would be staying here with you. Looking back on it, that assumption was absurd. He had his own house; what reason would he have to stay? “Will you be visiting frequently?” you ask, praying you sound more indifferent than you felt.

“Probably,” he decides. “I have a business to run, of course, but we also have a wedding to plan.” He looks apologetic for a moment. “I don’t know if your preference would be to have a longer engagement period, but I don’t want to intrude on Matilda’s time for longer than necessary.”

“No, I agree. That’s fine,” you assure quickly. He looks momentarily relieved, but that expression is soon replaced with one of worry.

“How are you doing? I know that was hard for you. And forgive me for saying so, but your eyes are red. Have you been crying again?” he asks so gently that a region in your abdomen gives that funny little lurch again.

You shrug, both as an answer to his question, and an attempt to shoo away the reactions your body had to seeing him. “I haven’t been crying, but I don’t really know how I am right now,” you confess. “I’m sure the grief will come in waves, but I don’t know how to feel when those waves aren’t cresting.” Your lip trembles as you will yourself not to cry, and this causes more words to keep tumbling out of your mouth. “And I just… I miss Nellie. I never even got to say goodbye to her.”

This realization finally causes a traitorous tear to fall from your eye, and you wipe it away furiously. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel obligated to comfort you again. It obviously made him uncomfortable and beside the point, you were still a bit cross and confused about what had happened between you two earlier in the hall.

He frowns at your statement however. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for all you had to give up for me,” he says after a long pause. “I fear sometimes I’ve become so used to my own family dynamic that I forget others can actually get along and love can develop there.” He has a deep scowl on his face now as he recalls what is likely a painful memory. You knew how touchy of a subject this was, but you still felt the urge to pry.

“Mrs. Ryan told me your mother can be… difficult,” you say slowly, carefully gauging his reaction. He looks mildly surprised, but not angry, so you push on. “Is there truly no one in your family you get along with? Not even an aunt or uncle, or cousins perhaps?”

He just shakes his head. “I have an aunt and uncle on my mother’s side, and I don’t like either of them, and they didn’t have any children. And my father was an only child so there’s no family on that side at all.” Once again, he can’t meet your eyes when he discusses his father. There has to be more to the story there, but you feel you’ve probably pushed your luck far enough for one night.

“I’m sorry for bringing up unpleasant memories,” you murmur. No matter your slight ire, you didn’t want the evening to end on a sour note.

He’s brushing away your apology before you’re finished with it. “It’s fine. I’ve learned you’ve got an inquisitive mind, so it’s only natural you would be curious about my odd family situation. I’d do the same, were our positions switched.” His mouth twists a bit, a gesture you’ve come to understand means he’s thinking carefully about something. “I suspect that by asking questions of me, you’re trying to distract yourself from your own negative feelings?” he hesitantly guesses after a moment.

You blink at his deduction, then realize that subconsciously, that’s exactly what you had been doing. “Perhaps a bit,” you admit. “I don’t like thinking of Nellie and what might be happening to her. I’m praying with everything in me that she isn’t being punished for helping me. She could claim she knew nothing, but I fear my mother might be willing to lash out at anyone.”

He gets the same look on his face he did the last time you mentioned Nellie, like he ‘s trying to decide something. But whatever his plans, he does not share them with you. “Sleep,” he instead insists. “Things will not seem so bleak in the morning.”

You can't deny that sleep doesn't sound divine. “Get home safe,” you whisper to him just before he leaves. He turns back to you and inclines his head, a small smile adorning his face, and then he leaves, and you suddenly feel quite alone and vulnerable.

Everything will be better in the morning, you remind yourself of his advice before you turn out the lights and lay down, sleep claiming you before your head even hits the pillow.

****

You feel as though you could've slept for another several hours when you're woken in the morning by Maggie pulling the curtains back, letting the morning sunrise bleed into the room. There's a slight pounding in your head, no doubt due to the dehydration you suffered yesterday, but thankfully, there's a glass of water on the nightstand next to the bed. You grab it and gulp it down, not caring about manners for once, and it helps your head immensely. You feel ten times better already.

As you stretch and really commit to staying awake, Mrs. Ryan comes into the room, already dressed, and she holds a simple day dress in her arms. “This might be a little big on you,” she says with a furrowed brow. “I've had you in my daughter's old things, and she inherited her father's height, but it's still in style at least. Maggie, would you be able to get some things hemmed while we're out this morning?”

As Maggie agrees, you look up curiously. “Out? Where could we possibly be going?” you question. 

“It's Sunday, dear. Church,” Mrs. Ryan answers simply, making you blanch. Of course Sunday meant church, but with everything that happened yesterday, you hadn't even thought about it. While not a huge event, church was still something social, which was the primary reason most of the peerage attended. As such, the church you'd gone to your whole life was the same as everyone else's, including Mrs. Ryan and the Hunte's. It was also a feeding ground for gossip.

Mrs. Ryan must notice your terror, because she sits next to you. “I highly doubt Dot will be there,” she consoles quietly. “But it would do good for you to go. You did nothing wrong and shouldn't act like it. So you'll go in on his arm and keep your head held high, you hear?”

This statement just confuses you further. Despite being a social event, and despite people talking if you missed, you'd never seen him at church before. “He's… coming too?” you ask, just to ensure you heard her properly.

“Yes. He should be here soon, so Maggie's going to hurry and get you dressed.” At those words, Maggie springs into action, and you find yourself in the familiar busy routine of getting ready for a day as a high-born lady of New York.

It was strange though, that even though your morning, in all technicalities, began like any other, it was still starkly different. It wasn't Nellie gathering your hair into a quick but pretty updo. It wasn't your own mother chastising you for being late, not this time and likely never again.

All of it only added to the crushing psychological torment that you were now disowned. If not for your fiancé's protection, you would be forced to fend for yourself. And as history so often showed, women in that position almost never survived once they were reduced to that. You were positively blessed in that regard.

Still, even knowing you were so much more fortunate than others did not make the situation any easier for you. You already wanted to curl up in shame from the stares and whispers you knew were going to be coming your way, and you hadn't even made it out the front door yet.

Time itself seemed to be against you, hastening to the hour of judgment. In the blink of an eye, you were ready to go, and Mr. Onceler had arrived to escort you to the firing squad.

The chapel wasn't far, so the three of you opted to walk. Mr. Onceler kept your arm firmly tucked in his elbow, and good thing too; you felt as if you'd lose your balance without the extra stability. The walk was in silence for the most part, as your concentration was on trying to calm your frantically beating heart.

It wasn't until you were only a couple of blocks away and were starting to see others of society that Mrs. Ryan spoke up. “Don't worry much, dove,” she soothed. “Remember, Dot probably won't be in.” You can only nod in response, words lost to you as you reach the foot of the stairs leading to the church. Mrs. Ryan marches up, but before you can gather the courage to follow, Mr. Onceler turns to face you.

“We did nothing wrong,” he reiterates in a low voice. “Don't let them get to you. They don't matter. Chin up. I would hate to lose that fire of yours so quick into our engagement.” He takes one of your hands and squeezes it gently before he turns, and you're once again facing down the building.

His words hadn't transformed you, but they'd done enough. You give him a resolute nod, and arm-in-arm, head inside together. Ready or not, you had New York to face, but at least you could face knowing he would never leave your side. With him, you could survive this.

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite Chapter 8

So... there's angst here, and it's big here.

TW:  Abuse from a parent to their child. Starts at "Your mother holds herself in until the front door opens and closes" and goes until "Mr. Onceler doesn't let either one of you get another word out."

The next few days, you found yourself constantly on pins and needles. You had no idea if he was going to show up unannounced, or try and get a note to you somehow. You knew what was coming, and each day that nothing happened made you more and more nervous.

Finally, less than a week after the ball, Nellie came to deliver the morning post to your mother. As your mother fretted over something or another, Nellie gave you a meaningful look that you were able to decipher immediately. There was a note for you, and no prizes for guessing who it was from. It was time.

“Mother, I’m beginning to feel a bit of a headache coming on. I’m going to lie down for a while,” you murmur, though you’re unable to meet your mother’s eyes. You can’t afford to have her call you out on your bluff. 

Luckily, in your mother’s experience, headaches were very serious indeed, and you were forever glad you didn’t suffer them as often as she did. She gives you quick permission to lay down, and insists Nellie escort you to your room. Unwittingly, she’s giving you exactly what you want.

You and Nellie hasten to your room, and as soon as the door closes, she grabs a letter she’s hidden in the pockets of her dress. “It’s from him,” she whispers as she hands you the envelope.

You take it greedily and swiftly open it. You shake the letter open and are greeted by his now familiar elegant script.

Today, 2 o’clock in the afternoon, by the Queensboro Bridge. I’ll see you shortly.

Queensboro Bridge… that was going to be a bit of a walk. You lived on fifth avenue, just like the rest of your circle, and that was squarely in the center of the city. Queensboro Bridge might be the closest bridge to you, but it was still a fair bit out of the way.

But meet him there you would. You didn’t want him thinking you’d second guessed everything and were backing out last minute. Slowly, you look up at Nellie.

“I…” you trail off, almost unable to say what you know you need to do. You take a couple deep breaths to steady yourself. “I need you to help me leave the house without my mother noticing.”

Just saying the words left a bitter taste in your mouth. You’d always been a proper daughter, never getting into trouble. All of the famous “rebellious stage” had suddenly come to surface, culminating in you leaving the house under your mother’s nose to enter into an engagement she had not agreed to. The guilt of it all had yet to pass.

To her credit, Nellie doesn’t waste time offering advice or bringing down judgment. “Right,” she nods, a determined look on her face. “Give me about an hour, I’ll distract her with a question about how she wants to approach Christmas this year. With any luck, I’ll be able to steer her into the kitchen, which should give you an opportunity to leave.” You swallow heavily, then nod in assent.

The next hour is spent frantically getting you ready. What did one wear the day one became engaged? You were vain enough that you wanted him to like the way you looked. You settled on your favorite day dress, while Nellie gathered your hair in a simple but pretty hairstyle that she could easily fit a hat over. Before you knew it, it was time.

“Give me five minutes. That should give me enough of a chance to distract her. Good luck,” Nellie whispers before sliding into the hall. You wait the five minutes out, your only company, your rapid heartbeat, before leaving yourself into the blessedly deserted hallway.

Whatever Nellie had done to distract your mother seems to have worked; you meet no one on your way to the front door. Without giving yourself a chance to second guess everything, you slip out onto the streets of New York.

Even though you’ve lived in the city your whole life, you’re not as familiar as you’d like to be with navigating the city on foot. You get turned around several times, to the point where you start to fear you’ll miss your two o’clock deadline. It’s only by asking for directions a few times that you eventually make your way to your destination.

He’s already there when you arrive. He’s leaning over the railing, looking out over the river, a pensive look on his face. He’s so engrossed in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice you until you clear your throat a few feet away from him.

He whips his head towards you, and a wave of visible relief washes over him. “For a moment, I was afraid you weren’t going to make it,” he murmurs as you come up to him and mimic his posture overlooking the water. “I was worried that maybe you got cold feet, or that your mother would get that note before you did.”

“No. Thankfully, our mail is sorted by our maid before my mother gets it,” you explain. “She knows everything that’s been going on, and I confess I could not have done this without her. Nellie’s a dear friend, the best I have.”

He responds with a wordless hum, then there’s silence. You both knew what was coming, but it was up to him to initiate it. You would wait this silence out until he broke it, no matter how uncomfortable you grew.

After a minute, he takes the plunge. He clears his throat a few times, and when you look over at him, you’re shocked to see his cheeks are dusted with a light shade of pink. You’d never seen him flustered but any measure before. It was quite endearing.

“I… I don’t know how you want me to do this,” he mutters lowly, his voice trembling ever so slightly. “Do you want a speech? I confess I haven’t prepared one, but I could come up with something–”

“No,” you cut him off. “I don’t need some big speech or dramatic gesture. I just… I want it to happen. I want to stop living a lie. I want to stop having to be passed around at events like I’m some kind of trophy. I want to start this with you. I’m ready.” For once, you actually believe what you’re saying. Surprisingly, this is the calmest you’ve felt since you first met him. You didn’t know what would come next, but you were as ready as you’d ever be to face it, and you knew he’d stand through any trial or tribulation with you.

“Alright,” he says, his voice getting a bit stronger. He draws himself up to his full height as he swallows heavily before pulling a case out of his pocket. He flicks it open, and there sits a lovely golden ring set with a single diamond. “Marry me,” he whispers.

The moment wasn’t like it was described in your favorite Austen and Brontë novels. There was no big declaration of love, which you were glad for; it would have felt disingenuous. And yet, you can’t stop the fluttering feeling in your stomach, nor the shot of glee that courses through you as he makes the offer to you.

“Yes,” you breathe out, unable to make your voice any louder. Though you knew it was coming, the moment was still overwhelming. Still, you felt more confident than ever that this was indeed the correct choice.

He smiles briefly as he gently takes your left hand and delicately pulls your glove off, one finger at a time. When your bare hand is free, he fits the ring over your fourth finger, where you stare at it in awe. It’s incredibly surreal, to the point where you fear it will disappear if you look away for even a single second.

He gives you back your glove, but you choose to keep it off, leaving your ring shown and obvious. Your mother would notice it immediately when you returned home, but you wanted her to. She would have to be told today, by you and him together, before she heard through the gossip grapevine.

As if reading your thoughts, as he eerily often did, Mr. Onceler offers his arm out to you. “Shall we go tell your mother?” he asks. “Or will she be inclined to murder me if I’m present for that conversation?”

You roll your eyes at him even as you start the long trek back home. “You do not get to get out of that,” you warn. “You knew my mother was going to be an obstacle the moment you decided to court me. You can’t avoid being with me to tell her now. You promised me that we would tell her together, and I’m afraid I’m going to hold you to your word, sir.”

He lets loose a light chuckle. “Don’t worry, if you want me there, I will be. I just don’t want our engagement cut short by my future mother-in-law’s wrath. I’d actually like to live through the fruits of my efforts.” The two of you walk in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and you find the walk much shorter now that you aren’t constantly stopping for directions. He seems to know exactly where he’s going.

“She’ll be livid, but she’ll do nothing more than throw angry words at us,” you murmur after a while. “Words are nothing I cannot handle. She initially won’t be pleased, you know that, but she’ll come around, especially once she has the reassurance that you will not be squandering your new-found wealth.”

“Good,” he sighs. “Despite my actions thus far, I have never wanted her as an adversary. I would have attempted to speak with her myself, but Matilda warned me that I would get nowhere with her. I was more than willing to eschew tradition if it meant getting what I wanted.”

You can’t help but notice the slight possessiveness in his tone. Despite his assurances that you were more than an object to him, he still very much thought of you as ‘his,’ that much was obvious. He had clearly been jealous that he had to share you with others, though you could not fathom why. He had said himself that there were no feelings of affection in your arrangement.

Your reminder to yourself that he had not courted you due to any burning passion hit you with something that felt like disappointment. But that was absurd. You’d known and agreed to his terms from the very beginning. And despite what Alice might think, you most certainly were not in love with him.

A small but vicious thought shoots through your mind, nagging at you until you acknowledge it. You may not be in love with him, but could you be in like with him?

The fact that you can’t answer that question with an immediate, resounding ‘no’ worries you.

You stay in your mind, lost wrestling with difficult questions, until he stops you abruptly. You’d reached your home without even realizing it. You take in a breath, shaky as it is. There was no stalling anymore. The storm had come, and you had no choice but to meet it head-on.

Keeping your hand firmly in his arm, you march up to your front door and open it quietly, stepping through the threshold with him in tow.

Nellie darts around the corner, and you’re startled to see her face is white as a sheet. “Miss,” she whispers desperately. “There’s a problem–”

“Nellie? Who’s at the door?” you hear your mother calling from the sitting room. For the first time in your life, Nellie fails to answer right away. Sensing that something was very wrong, but unwilling to let her get in trouble for your sake, you answer for her.

“It’s me, Mother,” you call as quietly as you can as you move towards the sitting room, holding up a finger to signal to Mr. Onceler to let you enter first.

You turn the corner and freeze. “Did you step out for a moment to get some air for your head?” your mother’s asking, but you barely hear her, because she’s not alone in the room. Sitting in front of her is none other than Thomas Hunte, whose head has swiveled to look towards you.

Never, not even in your worst nightmares, did you imagine you’d have to deal with this. This was what Nellie had been trying to warn you about. Not only were you going to have to break to your mother that you were already engaged to a man she loathes, but you’d also have to deny a courtship that she’d probably already agreed to with the son of one of New York’s most influential families. There was no chance the news of your scandal would go unnoticed for a while. You would be the subject of intense gossip for weeks.

“Dear? You know young Mr. Hunte. He’s expressed interest in courting you,” your mother beams, and you’re utterly speechless, unable to refute her.

But just as Thomas Hunte rises, presumably to speak to you, you feel a warm hand on the small of your back. “Unfortunately, that’s not going to be acceptable,” Mr. Onceler says with a pleasant enough tone, but there’s just a hint of a threat underneath it. “The young lady and I are engaged; you understand, of course, that a courtship would be utterly inappropriate.”

You couldn’t decide whose face was more absurd; Thomas Hunte, who had gone red from embarrassment and was standing there with a slack jaw, or your mother, who was also red, but that was from a mixture of anger and abject horror. Her mouth was making motions like she wanted to shout, but no sounds were coming out. Her line of sight darts to your hand, taking note of the ring on your finger.

Her eyes bulge, going up to your face. You knew from past experience that her temper had been ignited, and was on a short fuse that was moments away from blowing. To avoid collateral damage, you turn to Thomas Hunte. “I’m sorry you travelled all the way here, only to be met with disappointment, but my engagement is final. I wish you every happiness.” Despite his clear dismissal, he still seemed too dazed to act right away. It’s only when silence lingers for over a minute that he blinks several times, reaches for his hat, and just barely manages a hasty bow to your mother before ducking out. 

Your mother holds herself in until the front door opens and closes, then she turns her full attention to you. You tremble slightly under the weight of her stare, but hold your ground for the most part. “What have you done?” she hisses. Before you can answer, she rounds on Mr. Onceler.

“You!” she screeches. “You’ve taken my daughter in, hoodwinked her… you… you… you ruined her!”

Her implications dawn on you, and you jump to his defense. “Mother, no! He did not… I’m not with child. He has only ever acted honorably towards me.”

She looks at you like she almost doesn’t believe you. You let her slowly take in the reality that you had chosen this with no coercion or threat of being an unwed mother factored in. Her lower lip trembles before she speaks again. “What have you done?” she repeats in a whisper. “I did not raise you to be deceitful. This… this will destroy us. You know the importance of making a good marriage, and yet you still bandied about with… with him! How could you do this to me?”

And there it was. As much as you did believe she cared for you, her primary concern was for her own well-being, and you knew it always would be. You’re not angry at her for it, you simply pity her. She was raised as a product of her times, and she did not allow herself to be open-minded enough to change her views. “Mother, I did the best thing for us,” you say, trying your best to stay calm since she was in near hysterics. “He has more than enough to sustain not only me, but you as well. Our financial troubles will be solved.”

Her face blanches; the flippant way you spoke of your money woes has shocked her more than anything else so far. “He knows… you told him… oh, you stupid girl, how could you do this?!” She lunges for you like she wants to throttle you, but Mr. Onceler steps in between you, making it clear that he will be a firm protector should you require it.

“Madam, with all due respect, I will not allow you to lay a hand on my fiancée,” he snarls, eyes flashing dangerously. “Your vitriol is with me, not her. If you want a target for your anger, turn to me. Leave her out of this.”

“Do not speak to me,” she spits out venomously. “How dare you make an offer to my daughter? How dare you even look at my daughter? We are practically American royalty and you… you’re nothing. And you,” she turns back to you. “You will answer me why you threw yourself at him as though you were nothing more than a common whore.”

Her words stung more than you wanted to admit. You knew she’d be angry, but you never imagined she would launch such vulgar accusations at you. “Mother, just listen,” you plead. “I’m only thinking of us. He already has enough money stored away to support a family for life. We are not royalty. He is no different from us, no matter his upbringing. There is no guarantee that he will throw everything away. My father was from an old family, and he left us with nothing. Your father left you with nothing. I’m not ruining us, Mother. I’m saving us.”

Her stone eyes remain unchanged, even during your impassioned speech. “I would never have expected this of you,” she says, her tone the same as her eyes. “Sneaky, deceitful, disobedient… this is not the girl I raised. We had a plan. You were going to marry Mr. Hunte, and your life would be set.”

“No, it wouldn’t!” you shriek, finally losing your composure. “That would have been your life, lived vicariously through me. I am no fool, and I refuse to be controlled by you any longer. Your choices would have left us with nothing, and I shall not stay silent about it. This is my life, and I will not be your puppet.”

She staggers into a chair at your words, and for a fleeting moment, you think you might have managed to convince her. But then she looks up at you, and her expression is as icy as ever. “If you intend to continue this infantile fraternization, you’re no longer welcome in my house. Get out, and never darken my doorstep again, either of you.”

Tears prick at your eyes as your greatest fear begins to unfold before you. “Mother… please,” you whimper. “I don’t want to be estranged from you. You’re my mother. I love you.”

Her expression remains unchanged, and yet you still hold on to the faintest glimmer of hope that she might soften. “I have no daughter,” she lashes out instead, breaking both your hope and your spirits.

You can’t hold back your tears any longer as you throw yourself down on your knees at her feet. “Mother, can we please talk? I did this for us, we will be safe–”

You’re cut off abruptly as she turns and strikes you across the face, causing you to fall to the ground. Before you can even process what just occurred, Mr. Onceler’s arms are around you, helping you to your feet and forming a protective cage around you. “I told you not to touch her,” he growls.

“I care not!” your mother wails. “You are beneath me, I shan’t listen to a word you say. Take her, if you still want her, disgraced as she is. I’ll have nothing to do with either of you for the rest of my days, I swear it.”

Mr. Onceler doesn't let either one of you get another word out. With an air of finality, he takes you and leads you out of the house, while still somehow remaining gentle with you. Tears still stream steadily down your face, and yet at the same time, you're almost numb. Even now, you're not quite sure what just happened. 

It's not until you're outside and feel the soft touch of snowflakes hitting your face that you're able to move on your own. The snow confuses you; it hadn't been doing that before. But you look up, and sure enough a light flurry is falling down, far too beautiful a thing for the wound that had just been wrenched through your heart.

“She… she doesn't want me anymore,” you whisper, and by hearing it out loud, that gravity of what she'd done fell on you all at once, almost sending you to your knees. Hysteria overtakes you, and you cling to Mr. Onceler, the only lifeline that's available to you right now. He stumbles backwards a bit, no doubt a bit surprised by you throwing yourself into him, but he recovers quickly enough. He holds you and says nothing; he just lets you weep into the lapel of his jacket.

You can't tell how long you linger on the doorstep. You don't care that you're causing a scene, likely making your scandal worse. All you care about it getting a shred of comfort in the midst of your insurmountable grief, and his hand, which moves methodically up and down your back, is doing the job. You don't think you could survive if he stopped.

Eventually, you exhaust yourself to the point where you pull away from him, face stinging from the tears that continue to leak at irregular intervals. Your throat burns, and you're desperate for something to drink, but it doesn't look like that's an option at the moment: unbeknownst to you, you've somehow ended up in the backseat of a taxicab.

“W-where are we going?” you rasp. Even this simple sentence made your throat sting even worse. You decide to say as little as possible for the time being.

“Somewhere safe,” he murmurs while glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, probably to see if you're going to lose your composure again. “I'm not taking you to my home, however. That'll just further rumors that you're pregnant. We still want to take as much of the moral high ground as we can.”

Almost against your will, you can't help but notice that he sounds either angry or annoyed. You didn't know him well enough to differentiate those two moods of his yet. Either one was hardly a good sign for you, though. “I'm sor–” you begin before he cuts you off.

“Good Lord, what are you saying sorry for?” he asks incredulously. “You did nothing wrong, and I'll not have you thinking you did.” As he speaks, the vehicle comes to a halt. “We've arrived. Let's go.”

He steps out first before offering you his hand. You take it and stumble out, still a little unsteady on your feet. He puts his arm around you without a word, as you duck your head in an effort to avoid being recognized. He leads you to the front door of a lovely house, and the door opens almost the second he knocks.

“Heavens, child, what did you do to her?” The voice is familiar to you, but you can't quite place it through the fog of your barely held back torment. But as you're led through the entrance, you're able to force your eyes to look up and see Mrs. Ryan, who's examing you with great concern. You sigh in relief. He could have brought you to no better place.

“I did nothing. Dorothy was… less than understanding,” he evades. “Do you have ice? I want to get something for her face.”

Your face? Oh, right. Your mother had hit you. You bring your hand up to where your mother had struck, but you almost immediately withdraw, wincing. Your face stung more than you initially realized.

“I'll get her cleaned up,” Mrs. Ryan promises. “As for you, make yourself scarce. The poor girl just lost everything for you. You'll just confuse her right now. I'll take it from here.” Her tone left no room for argument. 

And yet, even as she leads you away, you can't help but look back at your fiancé, wishing he and the inexplicable comfort he brought would be remaining with you.

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite Chapter 7

“Alice, keep your voice down!” you growl at her, while glancing at your mother to see if she heard anything. She hasn’t exploded, so it was unlikely. One small miracle. You turn back to Alice to face the matter at hand.

“How did you find out?” you ask in a low whisper, causing Alice’s eyes to widen.

“So you are courting him,” she breathes. Damn her. You should’ve known better than to fall into one of her traps like that. “I knew there was something between the two of you,” she continues. “He had neither the eyes nor the patience for anyone else when you fainted. And when you were speaking to him outside, your body language was far too relaxed for being very nearly alone with a man you had only claimed to have met once before.”

You’re speechless when she pauses to draw breath. Her perception must have only sharpened while she was away. You yourself hadn’t even noticed some of the things she pointed out. Were you really that relaxed around him? You certainly didn’t feel that way.

“Oh, why did you not tell me?” Alice wails, causing you to wince and attempt to shush her again, but to very little avail. “A fine joke you’ve made of me! You let me go on and on about how I fancied him, while you were having a laugh behind my back.”

“Alice, it wasn’t like that at all,” you try to assure. “Please, quiet down. The only reason I said nothing is because I’ve told no one. It’s not a very public courtship, and we’d very much like to keep it that way. I had no intention of teasing you, I promise.”

Alice furrows her brow. “Oh, alright. If I can believe that of anyone, it would be you. You’ve never been malicious. But how in heaven’s name did you get your mother to agree to the courtship in the first place?”

You shift, guiltily, which is enough of an answer for Alice; she gasps and covers her mouth. “She doesn’t know?” she realizes. “You entered into a courtship without telling your mother? Your mother?! What on earth possessed you to do that?”

“We both knew she wouldn’t agree,” you start, but you’re once again interrupted by Alice. She puts her hand up to pause you, then calls for another drink. You stay silent until you’re relatively alone again. “If you want me to explain, you’ll have to actually let me talk,” you point out with a roll of your eyes.

“If I’m going to hear all the details about your salacious love affair, I need a drink,” Alice states boldly.

“There’s no love affair,” you groan. “I’m not in love with him. He chose me because he needs to marry into an established family, and I accepted simply because I do not need to be a perfect little housewife with no voice of her own to please him. He lets me speak my mind without holding my tongue, and I’ve found it refreshing. That is all.”

“That’s so boring!” Alice pouts, but before long she narrows her eyes at you. “You wouldn’t risk ruining your relationship with your mother just for someone who lets you speak however you want. There’s more to it. You absolutely fancy him, whether you realize it or not yet.”

“I most certainly do not,” you insist stubbornly. “But I can get along with him well enough, and I believe he’ll give me a good life. That’s all I could ask for.”

Alice just scoffs at you. “I don’t believe you for a minute,” she declares before glancing towards Mr. Onceler. He’s back into a corner of the room, and has resumed staring at you. She sighs in defeat. “Well, I concede to you. I doubt anything will sway his affections for you. I shan’t waste my time by pursuing him further.”

You let out a deep breath of relief. “Thank you Alice. Truly. But you mustn't tell anyone. This must stay quiet and away from my mother’s ears until we’re engaged,” you stress.

“Oh, you have nothing to worry about on that front. I can keep a secret,” she insists, but you’re still skeptical, and for good reason. Despite her assurances to the contrary, Alice was horrible at keeping secrets. If a thought entered her mind, it was almost certainly going to come out of her mouth.

“It looks as if we’re starting dinner,” Alice points out. “I guess that’s our cue to rejoin everyone else. And I shall see if I can’t find another handsome, rich man for myself.”

“Mr. Hunte is free,” you tell her under your breath as you thread your arm through hers and make your way over to the table where her parents and your mother have already taken seats. “It would be wonderful to not have to worry about him approaching my mother, and I’m sure your charms will be enough to endear him to you.”

“Sorry to make things more difficult for you, but he’s not my type,” Alice shrugs as you take your seats. “Call me vain, but I’d like to look at my husband. Sorry dear.”

“It’s alright,” you sigh. “It’s not your job to make my life easier, or to fix the consequences of my actions.” You keep your voice down since you’re now around others. Your table soon fills, with Mrs. Ryan and Thomas Hunte joining you, your mother, and the Eaton’s. You were hoping Mr. Onceler would join you as well, but he’s across the room from you, once again making powerful friends and associating with powerful men. That’s clearly where he thrives, and things probably won’t change once you’re married. You sigh briefly, then do your best to focus on the situation at hand.

Predictably, if not a bit disappointingly, your mother is doing her best to speak with Thomas Hunte as much as possible. You knew she wanted you to marry him, but it would never happen. And if you were being totally honest with yourself, the longer you thought about it, the more lucky you considered yourself. You’d always have to watch yourself with Thomas Hunte. With Mr. Onceler, not only were you given the gift of choice, you were also given the freedom to be true to yourself. He’d already seen you at your rudest and most uncouth, and he’d still chosen to be with you.

And yet, the hindrance of Thomas Hunte’s preference for you lingered. You didn’t know how to stop it without being rude to him, which would only be as a last resort. Despite not wanting to marry into the family, you absolutely did not want to make enemies of them either.

And yet, that might be inevitable. Even though Mrs. Ryan was doing her best to help you and keep his attention otherwise occupied, he made a considerable effort to engage you in conversation. You tried to end these conversations as quickly as you could, but there was only so much you could do with your mother sitting right there.

And when the music playing began to shift to something more lively, and as people got up to dance, you knew you were going to have to do something. You could see Mr. Onceler from the other side of the room begin to stand and make his way over to you. Mrs. Ryan could distract either Mr. Hunte or your mother. She couldn’t do both.

That left one option. “Alice!” you hiss in her ear, praying with everything in you that no one else would hear you. “I need you to distract my mother for a moment, please?”

“Why–” Alice looks up and sees Mr. Onceler heading in your direction. “Oh fine. But you owe me.”

You nod a hasty acceptance of her terms as Alice calls your mother and launches into a discussion about the latest fashions in Europe and how she and yourself could start the fashion in the States. It gives you just enough time to surreptitiously leave the table and meet Mr. Onceler halfway.

He doesn’t even bother to ask you the question. He simply takes your hand and escorts you out with the other couples dancing. Even as you get into hold and he starts waltzing with you, he stays silent, simply staring down into your eyes.

“Are you planning on keeping me to yourself for the rest of the night?” you tease. “I would think that would send a bit of a message if you do.”

“I’m fully aware of that,” he says. “Though if I had it my way, I would steal your full attention for this evening and all the rest that follow. As you might have surmised by now, I’m afraid I’m not fond of sharing. Jealousy may be a sin, but it’s one I haven’t yet been able to conquer.”

“Jealous of what, pray tell?” you question, enjoying the banter between you two for once. “My time? My attention? You cannot possibly claim to want all of either of those things of mine.”

“I can claim it, and I will,” he declares. “When I see you with other people, especially other men, I find I burn inside. I don’t quite understand it, but I do suppose I’ve never liked it when other people put their hands on my things.”

That statement makes you raise your eyebrow at him. “I’ll have you know that I’m not your property,” you sniff.

He curls his lip down at you, making you feel a lurch in your stomach that you don’t have a name for. “No, you aren’t my property. Not yet, anyway. Once you become my wife, you’ll find the whole world will view you as belonging to me.”

Your mouth twists at his words. You were very much aware of how the world still viewed women, despite the fact that women were starting to fight back. However, once you get over your initial ire, you notice something about the way he worded his statement. “The world may only ever see me as belonging to you,” you start cautiously, then continue when he doesn’t stop you. “But is that how you shall see me sir? Just another possession in your collection?”

“I tend to think living beings have a bit more autonomy than objects,” he replies, his eyes sparking. “And I would certainly never think of caging a pretty thing like you.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” you say immediately, not backing down. “You’ll have to do better than just calling me pretty to distract me from seeking the answer I want.”

He actually laughs out loud at that. “Ah, this is why I picked you,” he muses before looking directly at you. “Well, let me be clear then. No, I don’t see you as my possession, and that will not change upon our marriage.”

“Now, was that so hard?” you ask, flashing him a deceptively sweet smile. “For someone who claims to dislike mind games, you seem to me to be a liar in that regard.”

“I’m not,” he denies. “I don’t like the mind games society often plays on each other. You, on the other hand, are simply amusing to tease, and you can give it right back to me. This particular ‘game,’ as you call it, I get great enjoyment from.”

“And why is it that you delight in vexing me so?” you continue your barrage against him. “I would think, considering that we are going to be spending a great deal of time together, that you would want to find yourself with my good opinion of you.”

He raises his eyebrow at you. “‘A great deal of time?’ We’re going to be married. You can call it what it is. Unless of course, you’re afraid to acknowledge the truth.”

His words stun you; you hadn’t anticipated him coming back at you with that at all. But as you give it a little bit of thought, you’re forced to admit to yourself that he’s not entirely wrong. You wouldn’t say you were scared, but you definitely hadn’t fully grasped the situation yet. In your mind, of course, it was very simple; you had all but actually said yes to marrying him at this point. But knowing that, and absorbing the enormity of that decision, were two different things entirely.

“I’m not afraid of it,” you say softly. “I just don’t think it’s completely… sunk in. Understand, I have been told my whole life that my entire purpose is to find a husband and have a family. And now that it’s actually happening, the change is almost overwhelming.” You do your best to explain, but you aren’t happy with your own words. Your feelings about the situation seemed impossible to accurately describe.

“You and I are coming from opposite ideals imposed on us in our upbringing,” he notes, almost making you start. Other than getting annoyed when you brought up Atlanta, he had never said anything about his childhood. You pay close attention now, not wanting to miss a word.

“What were you taught?” you ask carefully. “I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with what education gentlemen receive.”

He lets out a short, barking laugh. “I don’t know what that’s like either,” he snorts. “You’ve pointed out several times that I am New Money, and that is more true than you could have imagined. Most families who make their money the way I have are part of the middle-class. My family is thoroughly lower than that, having to work since young childhood to even get food on the table.” His face darkens for a moment. “At least, most of us are working. My mother has never worked a day in her life, no matter how destitute we were, and I don’t think she ever intends to.”

“Does your father do all the work then?” you ask. But as soon as you mention the word ‘father,’ Mr. Onceler suddenly can’t meet your gaze, and the tips of his ears redden.

“No. My father died when I was young,” he mumbles, still unable to look you in the eye. You don’t understand why that comment would trigger an almost embarrassed response from him. Your own father had died when you were young as well, and you suspected early death was even more common in the working class.

“That’s something we have in common,” you murmur. “My father also died when I was small… leaving us with a mountain of debt and nothing but an old name that my mother pretends has more value than it actually does.”

“You’d be surprised at the importance of names,” he says, and interestingly enough, he still seems perfectly genuine, not a hint of sarcasm bleeding into his tone. “Of course, in this company names can open doors and create opportunities, but they’re more than that. They’re the first bit of identity we have to carve ourselves from.” As he’s speaking, you notice he has a faraway look in his eye, almost like he’s talking more to himself than to you. Intentional or not, he was revealing something huge about himself: who he was, and how he fit into this world, was of vital importance to him.

You allow him to stay lost in thought as long as he needs, and it’s not long before he snaps back to the here and now with a slight shake of his head. “Enough about that,” he mutters. “I think you were asking me what I was taught as a child? What education I had as a poor boy from Atlanta?” The smirk is back on his face now. He clearly wants you to think he’s debonair, without a care in the world. You’d play along for now, but you knew better. There was depth beneath the surface, and you fully intended to get him to open up to you, but only when the time was right. If you pushed too hard now, he might close himself off forever.

“Oh stop,” you tell him with a good-natured roll of your eyes. “I’m not attempting to look down on you for not being raised in the same society that I was. I’m simply trying to learn more about the man I am to marry. Do you not agree that our lives would be easier if we become, at the very least, friends?”

His eyes narrow ever so slightly, though he can’t stop a small curl of his lips, and you think you might have just impressed him with your wit. It certainly was nice to play with him at his own game. “I can’t fault you for wanting to know me better,” he starts slowly. “However, I must warn you, if you continue to insist on digging, you might not like what you find.” He leans closer to you, making your breath hitch for a moment. “I’m a difficult man to like.”

You take the smallest breath in order to steel yourself. You wanted to prove to him that you weren’t going to run. What was more, his words only inflamed your curiosity. The desire to know more about him was addictive. He was an enigma, one that you desperately wanted to solve, and you’d given up trying to understand why at this point.

You pull away from him so you can look him in the eyes. “And I’m a difficult woman to scare,” you say, your voice low. He meets your gaze and you hold steady, determined to not even blink. You will not break before he does.

A minute passes, and for that minute, even though you can vaguely hear the music and feel yourself moving along the floor, your world has been narrowed to the ocean of his eyes. Is he moving his face closer to you? You can count every one of the faint freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks…

But the minute passes, and he closes his eyes with a soft chuckle. “What’s so funny?” you ask him, a bit annoyed that the moment was over, and also annoyed at yourself for liking it so much.

“Nothing,” he murmurs. “I'm going to have to let other people enjoy the pleasure of your company soon though. I'm not looking forward to that.” As if on cue, the music comes to a slow stop, and you must go. It's too risky to spend any more time with him, although you don't relish the thought of finding a new partner either.

You carefully curtsey while he bows to you, before raising his head as you prepare to walk away. But before you can make it two paces, he grabs your hand and pulls you back.

“I can't pretend much longer,” he whispers, and you're shocked by the sudden desperation in his tone. “I don't even know if I can make it through this infernal evening. I know you agreed to a short courtship, but would you be terribly scandalized if we sped it up even further than we originally planned?”

You feel your eyes widen. He can't seriously be thinking… he couldn't possibly be about to propose now? In front of the entire peerage?

Your terror must be clear on your face, for he hastens to explain himself. “Not right now,” he clarifies. “But the next time I see you. I don't know if I have the capability to wait much longer than that.”

Your heart rate slows when you realize that the moment isn't quite upon you, then races again when you figure out how quickly it will come. You could ask him to wait, you're sure he would honor that decision, but do you really want that? Waiting only gave others the opportunity to figure you out for themselves. This way, at least you would have a small semblance of control over the storm that was surely coming.

Besides, what was the point in dragging this out further? You were already prepared to give your answer. Might as well do it as soon as possible and get it over with.

“Alright,” you whisper. All of the tension visibly leaves Mr. Onceler's body at that one word, and for once he doesn't even attempt to hide his delight and relief.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Good.” He glances around the room, specifically over your shoulder where you both knew your mother and Thomas Hunte sat. “Well, I suppose I have no more reason to take up more of your time tonight.” He bends to kiss the back of your hand. “Until I see you again,” he whispers.

“Until then,” you whisper back, and then finally he lets you go. And the second he does, you find yourself craving his presence yet again.

But you can't indulge in what you want. At least for the rest of the night, you must play the part of a girl who was unattached. Your only solace came from knowing that this would be the last time you'd be forced into this role you were coming to despise.

You don't know how you make it through the rest of the evening. It's a blurry haze to you. You vaguely recall more dancing, and definitely with Thomas Hunte at one point, but you couldn't remember any conversation or anything else. All you knew for sure was that, whenever you could risk it, you would sneak glances at Mr. Onceler. And every single one of those times, you found him looking back at you as well.

And as much as the change of fully moving on from your youth into an adult life, and all the responsibilities that came with it, terrified you, you couldn't help but yearn for the next time you would see him. It wasn't exactly the thought of getting engaged that you were so looking forward to, it was more of the fact that you just wanted to see him again. Despite everything, you were quickly growing to enjoy his company.

It was unnerving. You'd gone from a total indifference of him to ready to say yes to his impending proposal in just a couple months. And what was more, you'd been in complete control of the whole affair. The situation was as much your making as it was his.

But as the evening draws to a close, you can't find it in you to regret anything you'd done, even with your mother's wrath looming over you, getting progressively closer, you knew you could deal with it.

You glance at him one more time before you leave, a strange sense of calm coming over you. Next time you see him, he'll become your fiancé. And you could handle the storm with him at your side.

Next chapter's going to be a big one. I'll see you then.

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite Chapter 6

The day of the Hunte’s ball, you were nearly beside yourself with worry, although you were doing your best to conceal that fact. This was the ultimate test. Could your secret courtship survive a huge, New York style event? Or would you be found out, far sooner than you were ready for?

At least you looked decent this time around. You were actually allowed to wear a color now, so you’d chosen a dress of light blue. The corset your mother had once again insisted on was nearly constricting you, but you were a little more used to it, and you could breathe easier than you could at your debutante. It was a small victory, but you would take it.

Since the Hunte’s lived on the other side of the upper-class neighborhood from you, your mother had actually sprung for a vehicle rather than fighting your way through the light flurries of snow that were beginning to fall. You were hoping you were close. The constant motion was aggravating to your stomach.

Miraculously, it seems your prayers are heard, for mere minutes later, the automobile comes to a stop and the driver exits to help you and your mother out. For better or worse, it was time.

From there, it's a short walk to the foyer of the Hunte’s grand estate. There's a small line of people preparing to enter, and you could see the whole Hunte family waiting and greeting their guests at the entrance. You follow your mother into the queue, as you attempt to be discreet while looking for Mr. Onceler. You were sure he’d be there. Society always had to invite other members of society, no matter if they were new money, or even if you disliked someone. Manners and etiquette ruled supreme in this world, and most followed the rules strictly and exactly.

As you reach the front of the line, you can’t help but notice that Thomas Hunte’s eyes seem to follow you. He smiles warmly as he and the rest of his family greets you, causing your mother to get an awful smug look on her face. You tried faking cordiality as much as possible, but you couldn’t stop the pit that's quickly forming in your gut. You had a strong feeling that this was going to cause a problem.

But thankfully, the problem could be postponed, at least for a little while. You had made it inside, while he was still stuck at the front. You resume your careful scan of the room, eyes searching for Mr. Onceler, but before you get far, you hear a voice call out “Darling!” from behind you.

You turn on your heel and spot Alice Eaton, who, after Nellie, you’d probably consider your closest friend. Your parents and her parents had been close as well, so you’d spent a decent amount of your childhood with Alice. However, you hadn’t seen her in over a year since she’d gone to England with her family so her father could collect an inheritance from a relative who’d passed away.

“Oh, Alice, it’s lovely to see you!” you smile, genuinely happy to see her again. “You should’ve written to me, I hadn’t known you were back yet.”

“Oh, where’s the fun in that?” Alice laughs. “I would have said something, but we only arrived back in the states a week ago, and when Mother told me about this invitation, I thought it would be a fantastic idea to surprise you here.”

You beam at her. “Well, your mission has succeeded. I’m thrilled you made it back in time.”

Alice smiles back at you before beckoning you over to the side a bit. You knew exactly what was coming next. Like many New York women and girls, Alice simply loved to gossip.

“Do you see that man in the corner? The tall one with the dark hair?” she giggles as soon as you’re close enough. You have a very shrewd suspicion as to who that could be, and sure enough, when you glance in the direction she points out, you finally find Mr. Onceler, standing in the middle of a group of men, smoking a cigar.

He’s also blatantly staring right at you.

You quickly turn away and back to Alice, though you can still feel his gaze burning into your back. “Yes, that’s Mr. Onceler. I met him about a month ago at my debutante,” you say, doing your best to keep your voice even.

“Then you’ll know exactly how rich he is,” Alice trills. “Father’s been absolutely pressuring me to start seriously thinking about getting married now that I’m out, and I think I’ve found my preference. I mean, look at him. Wealthy and handsome? I don’t think it can get much better than that!” She takes out her fan and gives herself a bit of a breeze, seemingly unaware of the surprising agony her words just put you through.

“You’re not worried about your father rejecting him? He is new money after all,” you say, probably too quickly to sound natural, but Alice doesn’t pick up on it. She’s too busy waving away your words before you’re even done speaking.

“That won’t matter to my family,” she insists. “At least, they’ve never brought it up before. I know your mother has lectured you on the ‘dangers’ of new money, but it’s an archaic way of thinking. We’re both eventually going to be rich in our own rights with no brothers to steal our inheritance, so it doesn’t matter if husband’s are bad with money. We’ll be protected.”

You feel an unfamiliar hot streak run through your body at her words, and it takes you a moment to realize the feeling is jealousy. It doesn’t make any sense as to why you would feel that way, however. You knew Alice’s family was absolutely not experiencing financial worry, and she didn’t know that you were. It had never bothered you before. Why would you suddenly care now?

Then she glances towards Mr. Onceler again, and that hot streak flashes through you once more, making you start from shock.

Oh. Oh no. That can’t be right. You couldn’t possibly be getting jealous over her obvious interest in Mr. Onceler. That was absurd. Besides, there was nothing to fret over. Alice, though indeed a good friend, could be a bit flighty, and she was also perfectly mannered around men. She didn’t seem like she would be his type.

And yet, your reassurances to yourself still couldn’t stop the twinge of jealousy. Alice was regarded as a beauty, one of New York’s brightest jewels. You weren’t plain-looking, but you knew Alice’s beauty far exceeded your own, and her ever-present smile fit her playful personality. By contrast, you were a bit quieter, preferring to sit on the side and observe every once in a while. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility that he would take notice and at least consider her…

God, what was the matter with you? Poor Alice had done nothing to earn your ire; she had no idea the two of you were courting. And you certainly didn’t care if he thought someone was fairer than you so long as he didn’t break the courtship. You weren’t trying to gain his utmost affection. So long as your arrangement went through, he was at perfect liberty to fancy whomever he pleased.

You must just be having residual doubts that he would actually go through with the courtship if another girl caught his eye… yes, that was the only explanation. Your sole concern was for the security he promised you, nothing more.

At least, that’s what you were telling yourself. And you would continue to do so until you were fully convinced of it. Because it had to be the truth. There was no other possible reason.

Meanwhile, during your turmoil, Alice was still chatting away, as if she noticed nothing. “I’ve seen him looking this way several times. I hope that means he likes what he’s seeing,” she sighs. “I very much hope he asks me to dance first.” She hums happily at this thought, while you’re made more and more uncomfortable. “Although, speaking of men, I’ve also noticed a certain young Mr. Hunte glancing in this direction a few times as well,” she grins devilishly. “He’d be one to meet your mother’s one requirement. The Hunte’s are one of the most established families in New York, and rich as far back as anyone can remember. He’d be such a lovely match for you.” She sighs dreamily again, seemingly unbothered by your lack of response. 

Still, it was probably time you offered one anyway. “Alice, your ability to dream is remarkable,” you say with a soft laugh so that she would know you were jesting. Mostly.

Alice flashes another grin at you. “Well, as Mother’s always reminding me, we’re only young and beautiful once. We have to enjoy it and all the perks that come with it while we can.” She calls over one of the wait staff and grabs two glasses of champagne, one of which she hands to you. “To a night of thrilling romance as befits us!” she toasts.

You raise your glass with her, though you’re unable to match her smile. It seemed as though she, your mother, and probably several of the more observant members of society, had already decided you were a perfect match for Thomas Hunte. Perhaps a month ago you would have thought the same, but no longer. You’d never done anything remotely scandalous in your life, and yet here you were, carrying a secret that could become the source of gossip for months.

And the more people who seem determined to box you in, the more likely it was that this secret would be revealed. If Thomas Hunte approached your mother, you would have no choice but to tell her you were already in a committed courtship, and that you had done so without her consent.

It was too much to bear. Your vision starts to tunnel, the edges going black… your head feels fuzzy…

The next thing you’re aware of, you’re looking up into the bright lights of the ceiling, countless featureless faces hovering over you. You blink a few times before it registers that you must have lost consciousness. But instead of lying on the hard floor, there’s a pair of arms encircling you.

And sure enough, when your vision slowly starts to come back into focus, the face that’s by far the closest to you, and looking more concerned than all the rest combined, is Mr. Onceler.

“Are you alright?” he asks, worry coating every word. Something about his tone made you feel as though you were the only two people in the room, even with just that simple sentence.

God almighty, what was he doing to you? The more you were around him, the more you seemed to lose your mind.

You stare up at him blankly for a moment, trying to control your emotions, before you realize he’s probably waiting for an answer. “Um, I’m fine. It’s just hot in here,” you mumble. “I think I just need some air.”

“Of course,” he says as he gingerly helps you to your feet. Several other people surge forward to help, Alice and Thomas Hunte among them, but he brushes them off without a second glance. Keeping one hand firmly holding yours, the other hovering near the small of your back, he leads you out to a blessedly deserted balcony, though he’s careful to at least keep the door open so you’re in view of the rest of the party.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks again the second you’re alone.

“I’m fine,” you reiterate, a bit stubbornly, but you weren’t lying. The cool night air is revitalizing, and all you really feel is embarrassment that you fainted in the first place. “There is one thing I don’t understand,” you say, mostly to stop him fretting over you. “How did you reach me so fast? The last I saw you, you were on the other side of the room. I doubt I was unconscious for more than a couple seconds, and lack of pain tells me you must have caught me before I hit the ground.”

“I noticed you growing pale,” he murmurs. “Therefore, I hastened over as quickly as I could. I’ve noticed that high-class women are particularly prone to swooning. Thankfully, I reached you in time to catch you.”

The swooning comment makes you glare at him. “It’s only because of the corsets,” you huff indignantly. “They very much constrict our ability to breathe. I assure you, this is not a common occurrence for me.” He still looks a bit amused at your assertion, so you turn away from him. He really did delight in vexing you, but you were in no mood for it at present.

It’s quiet for a few moments before he speaks up again. “I fear I might have given our situation away,” he says haltingly. “Your friend was giving me odd looks when I escorted you out of there. Is she likely to figure us out?”

“Possibly,” you sigh. Alice was sharp as a nail when it came to how people interacted with each other. She was a whiz at spying who was having affairs amongst your peers. “Her look could have just been jealousy, though. She’s quite determined to have you for herself.” You glance in his direction to try and gauge his reaction to this revelation.

“Is she?” If anything, his amusement only grows. “Well, if that’s the case, I’m afraid she’s going to be disappointed. I have no intention of breaking off our arrangement to pursue her.” You have to work hard to conceal the delight his words give you, which bothered you a bit. It was far too extreme of a reaction for a courtship of convenience.

“She’ll be most upset,” you say, hoping to sound blasé. “I don’t know if I can continue with this, knowing I’ll be hurting a dear friend of mine.”

“You have the power to end this, if you want,” he says, though he’s smirking as he does so. He knows you’re bluffing, and he’s also fully aware that you have no desire to end this either. You’d see this through to the end, to secure safety for yourself and your mother. And hopefully, she would soon see that your choice would indeed save you.

But seeing this through meant… oh, God, you just realized something. This man next to you was going to be your husband. You knew from the moment you said yes to having him court you where it was leading, but this was the first time you’d actually fully understood what that was. This was not just someone you were in a courtship with. Despite not being engaged just yet, there was no doubt in your mind that Mr. Onceler would indeed be your future husband.

Something about your face must have changed, because he quirks an eyebrow and takes a step closer to you. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice lower than usual. “You don’t feel lightheaded again, do you? Do you need to sit down?”

“No… no, I feel fine.” Had his eyes always been so blue? They were deeper than the Long Island Sound. “I'm perfect actually,” you hear yourself whisper.

The change in the atmosphere is palpable. Something had happened between the two of you, though you weren't quite sure what it was just yet. But you're certain it's there, for he seems to feel it too; his eyes darken and he takes a tentative step closer to you.

“There you are!” The loud voice of Mrs. Ryan rings through the night, making you snap your head over to her, and utterly shattering whatever moment had been building between the two of you. “You better get out there if you want this to remain a secret; your absences have been noticed,” she says while gesturing for you both to follow her back in.

Mr. Onceler reaches her before you do, and she uses the opportunity to grab him by his collar and drag him down to her level. “You better propose to that girl quickly after the mess I just had to clean up for you,” she hisses. You think that was supposed to be meant for his ears alone, but you hear every word.

You can't figure out his reaction, however. He keeps his face carefully away from you and declines to give a verbal response as he stands to his full height, straightens out his jacket, and heads back into the room. Mrs. Ryan shakes her head after him.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with that boy,” she sighs before turning to you. “Alright, honey, I think we need to have a quick conversation if you intend to keep this from your mother until you get a ring on your finger.” She beckons you closer with a stern look, though beneath it she still gives off a motherly aura. You sigh, but figure it’s better to keep her happy. She was an ally, and one that you did not want to lose.

You walk over and the two of you reenter the party together. “I know you didn’t faint on purpose, but you need to be careful,” she stresses in a surprisingly quiet voice; you can only just make her out. “There was no way to stop him from catching you, that’s not in his nature. But you could’ve just thanked him and gone about your night, and it would’ve been fine. But when you go off on your own after such a spectacle, well, everyone’s bound to notice that. It took everything I had to convince your mother that nothing was going on, and that he only wanted to make sure you wouldn’t pass out again. You can’t afford any more public spectacles until you’re declared for each other. Dot’s not a stupid woman, and he has not done a good job of hiding his preference for you. She knows that he’s interested, and that terrifies her. You need to get engaged quickly, or she will catch on, and it will cause a state-wide scandal,” she warns with massive gravity.

Her words cause you to wilt a bit. “I know she doesn’t approve,” you say carefully. You can’t be as free with your words with her as you are with Mr. Onceler. “But I am a woman grown, and I must have the liberty to make my own choices. He has afforded me that opportunity. I shall not go back on my choice now.”

Mrs. Ryan gives you a look, and for a moment you fear she’s going to remark on your bluff. His giving you the power of choice was only one reason you had agreed to his courtship, and not even the primary reason. But Mrs. Ryan couldn’t know about the financial aspect… could she? Had he told her?

But the look passes, and she says nothing. You can breathe freely once again. Instead she just says, “I’ll help you in what ways I can, but I can only do so much. I told him, and I’ll tell you again: the quicker you get engaged, the better.” She tips her chin in a direction behind you. “Your mother’s coming. Be careful,” she insists before she waves her hand in acknowledgment of your mother. “She’s fine, Dot. I’ve got her here, and she’s right as rain.”

You turn to face your mother, who’s more frazzled than you’ve ever seen her in public before. “Yes… thank you,” she mutters to Mrs. Ryan before turning her full attention to you. She takes your arm and pulls you to the side. “What were you thinking? Causing a scene like that! And then going off with him,” she hisses in your ear.

“It’s not like I planned it,” you huff. “I told you before we left, the corset was too tight.” Your mother at least has the decency to look abashed at that comment, as well as being offended that you would speak to her in such a manner. But she was going to have to get used to it. If you could learn to stand up for yourself now, you’d be better prepared for when you told her of your relationship (for want of a better word) with Mr. Onceler. And speaking of him…

“I did not know he was behind me when I fainted. How could I?” you say, hoping that by speaking the truth now, it would make your pending lie more believable. “I didn’t even realize who I was with until he led me to the balcony. Even then, he only stayed to ensure I did not faint again. It was all very cordial, I assure you.”

Your mother now seems quite taken aback, so you can only assume you’ve convinced her. However, true to form, she recovers to scold you again in record time. “Whatever might have happened, you must work doubly hard to ensure Thomas Hunte that he has your affections. We are on the precipice of what will save or ruin us. You cannot allow foolish mistakes to lead us to ruin, especially not with New Money.”

“I know perfectly well what I am to do, Mother,” you say coldly. “I fully intend to secure our fates, and I know what I must do for it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to rejoin the evening. I can’t give us a future from here.” With that, you turn your back on her, leaving her looking more affronted than ever. You even think you spotted the tiniest hint of shame.

Head held high, you walk back into the throng of people, and before a minute has passed, you see Alice, looking to be well on her way to accosting you next. “I’m fine, Alice, really, don’t make a fuss–”

“Why did you not tell me you and Mr. Onceler were courting?” she interrupts, acting like she didn’t hear a word you just said. You feel your eyes go involuntarily wide.

Oh no.

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite Chapter 5

I know this is late, but this chapter was a bitch to write. But, I've managed something I'm happy with, so I hope the wait will have been worth it.

As the day of your next scheduled meeting with Mr. Onceler loomed closer, your mind grew ever more scrambled. You’d carefully laid out the pros and cons to both accepting and declining his offer, yet this didn’t bring you the clarity you seeked. No, if anything, it only made you more confused.

On one hand, this would save you. He could keep you from poverty. There were no pretenses with him, no guessing as to what he wanted. He was honest. In the wolf's den of society, true honesty was a rare gift indeed. The truthfulness might be brutal at times, but it was still present.

Could you live with him? Most likely. As insufferable as you often found him to be, he wasn’t vile. You could have conversations with him, and you didn’t even have to worry about minding your tongue; you couldn’t do that with anyone else in the world other than Nellie. He was also young, which was a huge boon for you. Your fears of being forced to marry an old man would be alleviated. 

You could only find one real con; unfortunately, it was a severe problem. Your mother would never accept it. You could lay out all of the explanations Mr. Onceler had given you, as well as any of your own, and still she’d never be swayed. For as much as she often complained you were stubborn, she was even worse in that regard. Doing this behind her back might be so big a betrayal as to cause an estrangement.

You didn’t want that. As much as your mother could annoy you at times, as much as she attempted to dictate your life, she was still your mother. You still loved her. You recognized that she was the way she was because she didn’t know any different. You also didn’t want to leave her alone if this did lead to an estrangement. You would attempt to support her, no matter what, but would she even accept Mr. Onceler’s money? How deep did her prejudices run?

As such, your week was nothing short of agonizing. You felt as though your mind changed at least once an hour, and even sleeping brought no respite; you woke several times in the night, tormented with indecision.

Of course, you couldn’t keep this from Nellie, who was quick to notice and call you out on your new behavior patterns. At first, you attempted to keep it from her, insisting you were fine. But on the third day after Mr. Onceler’s proposition, after she threatened to tell your mother you hadn’t been sleeping, you broke down, weeping in her arms, and telling her everything.

“Nellie, I don’t know what to do,” you moan after your explanation. “He’s offering me more than I could ask for, and I never thought the decision would be mine. And now that it is, I find myself almost wishing it wasn’t. It’s too much, Nellie, what if I make the wrong choice? What if I say no and we never get another shot and we’re left on the street?” you wail.

Nellie sighs heavily. “Miss, you know the choice you want to make. We both know it. You’re just scared of actually making it, if you don’t mind me saying. You’re scared of declaring your decision out loud since you’ve never had that luxury before. But I think you might need to,” she says gently.

Once again, she’s able to articulate your thoughts much better than you can do it yourself. And yet, the fear is still there, causing your lip to tremble. Nellie reaches out and covers your hand with hers. “Talk to your mother,” she advises. “The relationship will be easier to mend if you take steps now instead of hiding this from her until she can’t stop it.” With that, Nellie takes her leave, leaving you thoroughly admonished.

If you said yes, how on earth were you ever going to tell her? And yet, how could you keep it from her? She would hardly fail to notice if gifts came for you, or if you left the house for seemingly unexplained hours to meet with him, and of course, she would be eagle-eyed to his preference for you at any event. If these steps weren’t taken and you announced an engagement without a formal courtship, that would be a scandal to all of New York. You didn’t know if it would be easier to let her know as soon as possible, in which case she would do everything in her power to end it, or wait until an eventual engagement did come, deal with the scandal, but give her less opportunity to ruin the one and only choice you’d ever been given.

Or you could simply avoid it altogether, reject him, and let your fortunes fall where they may. But even with the preference Mr. Hunte had clearly shown you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Mr. Onceler was giving you the best offer you were going to get.

Nellie clearly thought you were going to accept. That was obvious from her initial advice, and from her insinuations in the following days. Any chance the two of you were away from  your mother’s ears, she’d make some sort of mention that the two of you, together, needed to tell her sooner rather than later. The very thought of doing so made you sick to the stomach.

And before you were ready, before you could make a definitive decision, Saturday arrived, and he would be waiting for you at Central Park. You had to meet him. Whatever you ended up choosing, you felt you at least owed him an answer to his face at this point.

Fate decided to smile a little on you, at the very least. Saturday found your mother bedridden with one of her frequent headaches. While you normally felt sorry for her, today it was a blessing in disguise. It would make leaving the house so much easier. You didn’t like to think of what you were doing as sneaking about, but that wasn’t far from the truth.

You were more nervous than you’d ever been in your life, even more than prior to your debutante, as you had Nellie pin your hair into a hat. Your mind was still split in two, and no last minute certainty came to you. In the face of your choice, your future was murkier than ever.

“I suppose that’ll do, Nellie,” you sigh as she finishes, finding no more reason to stall. You couldn’t be late, you didn’t want him to think you weren’t coming at all, but you also wanted time to slow, even cease altogether. You were beginning to be a little too accustomed to being in two different frames of mind simultaneously.

“Good luck, miss,” Nellie hums. “You’ll make the right choice. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders; it shan’t let you down now.” You simply nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you head out the door, being mindful to stay quiet so as not to alert your mother. You keep your head lowered, hoping that the wide brim of the hat you’d insisted on would help give you a little bit of anonymity. If your mother was going to find out about this, it would be much better coming from you than gossiping with the other ladies of New York.

Far too quickly, you make it to the park, and your feet carry you along the path as though they have a mind of their own. And there he is, sitting on a bench, and you still aren’t sure of what you’re going to say.

He stands when he sees you approach, not exactly looking surprised, but definitely pleased. He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything you blurt out, “Why me?”

You can tell that the question catches him off guard, and you didn’t know until you saw him that you needed it answered. You hasten to explain yourself. “There are dozens of girls in New York alone with good names, and I find it impossible to believe all of these families have squandered their fortunes. I can offer you nothing but a name, and with an antagonistic mother, I must be more trouble than I’m reasonably worth. So before I make my decision, I must know. Why are you so determined to win me when you could have anyone?”

He looks utterly taken aback, the first time you’ve seen him in such a state, but he recovers quickly. “I’ve met several upper-class women over the past year,” he says slowly. “When I wasn’t growing my business, I was at some event or another, attempting to bolster my reputation. And all of the single women were exactly the same: vain, vapid, and giggly. They couldn’t string two intelligent words together if their lives depended on it. I confess, it drove me mad.”

You frown slightly at him. “It sounds as if you are an utter tyrant towards women, sir,” you say, your tone turning a bit icy. “It’s a wonder you want to be married at all.”

“I’ve already explained my reasons for needing a marriage. I’m not going to repeat myself,” he huffs. “Now, back to the point at hand. As for why I chose you, you were the first socialite I’ve met who had brains along with a pretty face. I would like to be able to come home at the end of the day and be able to have an intelligent conversation with my wife. You may delight in insulting me, but I would take insults and wit over vapidity any day.”

“I still believe you’re being too harsh,” you sniff. “I’m hardly more intelligent than my peers. I’m just worse at controlling my tongue than they are.”

His lip curls into an amused smile. “Perhaps. But I’m not guaranteed their tongues would loosen upon marriage, or if I really would be marrying someone completely useless. With you, I know exactly what I’m getting myself into. Now, I have given you my answer. What is yours?”

You can feel the word ‘no’ rise to the tip of your tongue. Now that it’s come down the moment you’ve been dreading, it suddenly seems very easy. You simply can’t face estrangement from the only family you’ve ever known to gamble your lot with who remains essentially a stranger.

“Yes.”

The word flies out of your mouth before you’re fully aware of what you’re saying. And when your mind finally does register the enormity of what you’ve just done, you almost take it back.

But you can’t. You can’t make the words come out of your mouth. And now that you’ve accepted his offer, you don’t want to take it back. And for the life of you, you cannot fathom why not.

Mr. Onceler, however, seems to either not notice or he’s choosing to ignore the chaos you’ve just caused inside yourself. The first real smile you’ve seen from him splits his face, which only further solidifies your decision, before he’s able to school his features back to neutrality. “Excellent,” he says simply, but his façade has been broken, even if just for a moment. He was genuinely happy.

Which makes you feel guilty when you know you’re about to dampen his enthusiasm. “We should probably decide quickly what we’re going to do about my mother,” you remind him. “She’s not going to like this. And we can hardly keep a formal courtship a secret; she’s bound to notice. Unless you were planning on keeping the entire courtship a secret until a possible engagement and cause a scandal, which I sincerely hope was not your plan.”

“For starters, I don’t plan on having a long courtship before getting engaged,” he says, the devilish smirk returning to his face. Insufferable as ever. “And while I don’t feel the need to have a formal announcement, I would like some of your attention at any events that might come up. As long as your mother is sufficiently distracted, I should be able to steal some of your time.”

“And how do you propose to keep her distracted?” you huff impatiently. “My mother still treats me like a child. She watches me close as a hawk.”

“Fortunately, I have a friend who’s more than willing to help,” he grins. “I’ve already learned that this friend is quite good at distracting your mother, as well as anyone else who happens to be in my way.”

You’re about to ask what on Earth he means, but the answer dawns on you before the question falls from your lips. Mrs. Ryan. Of course. Any time he wanted your attention at the last event, she had initiated a conversation with either your mother or Thomas Hunte, leaving Mr. Onceler free to steal you away. While not a foolproof plan, it was something, and Mrs. Ryan could talk for hours. As long as you weren’t overt, you might just get through your courtship without your mother suspecting a thing.

“I suppose that can work,” you acquiesce slowly. “However, if she does begin to suspect something, I would like to tell her, before she hears it through gossip. And we must say something if we do get engaged. If she hears that from someone before we go to her, it will cause an estrangement. I would like to avoid that at all costs.”

“Of course,” he agrees, though there’s still a twinkle in his eye that you’re not sure how to interpret. “I shall defer to your judgment in regards to your mother. I’m not trying to make an enemy of her, but I must say, I hold you and your opinion in much higher regard. You’ve somehow escaped the usual socialite curse, despite your upbringing. That gives me hope that your mother will eventually see sense.”

You wish you shared his optimism. You knew that when you said yes into entering this courtship, your mother would be furious when she inevitably found out. You can only hope and pray that your circumstances would prevent her from cutting you off altogether. You couldn’t bear losing her like that. Which reminded you of something…

“I should be getting home,” you murmur. “She doesn’t know I left. I don’t want to raise her suspicions so soon.”

“Allow me to escort you home?” he asks, offering his arm to you. You almost decline before remembering the deal you just made. Courtships were meant to lead to engagements. To end one could permanently damage your reputation. You didn’t want to give him any reason to end things, and thus, you had no reason to not accept his offer.

Therefore, after just a moment’s hesitation, you place your hand in the crook of his arm, allowing him to lead you out. You say very little, but the silence is comfortable rather than suffocating. Your thoughts were loud enough; you didn’t think you could handle a full conversation.

It seems like a very short time indeed before you reach the door of your home. You glance up at the windows, but your mother’s bedroom still has the curtains drawn tight. You let out a small, almost inaudible, sigh of relief.

You turn to Mr. Onceler, expecting a goodbye. “I hope I shall see you soon,” he murmurs, and you lift the back of your hand for him to kiss it.

He doesn’t. Instead, he bends and places a soft, swift kiss to your cheek. Before you can even process what on earth just happened, he puts his hat back on his head and walks down the street, leaving you beside yourself.

You lift your hand to the spot where his lips had touched, as if they had made a mark you needed to cover. You can feel your face burning crimson. A kiss on the back of the hand was one thing. A kiss on the cheek was something different entirely, and for him to be so brazen as to do it in public… oh, you could just melt from embarrassment right where you stood.

Oh, Lord, what were you going to do if someone saw that? There was no way it wouldn't get back to your mother, and such an ostentatious display would mean you would have to marry him sooner rather than later to protect any shred of your dignity, whether she liked it or not. No one else would risk another courtship, much less an engagement with you, if that went through the gossip mill.

And a small, nagging part of you wonders if that's exactly why he did it. For as much as he parroted that this was your choice, he was marking you as his. That choice, which you still weren't 100% certain of, was now permanent.

You're still standing, frozen as a statue, when Nellie opens the door a crack. “Miss! You must get inside,” she hisses. You blink, then manage to turn and slip in the house.

“Thank goodness,” Nellie breathes as she closes the door. “I've been checking every five minutes for you for the last half an hour. The mail came, and I'm not sure how much longer I could have stalled from bringing it to your mother.”

“Why didn't you?” you question as you take off your wrap. “I hardly think that delivering the mail would cause such a fuss.”

“You'll want to hear this first,” Nellie insists as she presses an envelope into your hand. Your curiosity piqued, you take the letter out and shake it open. Your eyes scan over its contents, though it takes a few read-throughs for the information to fully sink into your mind.

“Oh,” you say softly as you finally grasp the reality of the situation. The letter was an invitation for a ball for you and your mother to attend, your first major event since your debutante.

And the ball was being hosted by the Hunte's.

“What was your decision?” Nellie whispers. “Is this… going to be a problem?”

“Yes. It will,” you confirm. “I agreed to the courtship, but we both decided to forgo a formal announcement. If my mother finds out before we're fully engaged, she will try to stop it, no matter the harm it could do to my reputation. We had a plan in place to stay quiet at events, but if Thomas Hunte makes an offer to my mother, she will accept. And it would rock l all of society, trying to smoothe over the kind of scandal that would cause.”

“I told you, you should have already spoken with your mother,” Nellie chides. “How much damage could she do, realistically? You've already accepted his offer of courtship. Could she really change that when you've already given consent?”

You nod grimly. “If I stay in the courtship after she denounces it, or declares that it was made without her prior approval, I fear she would never speak to me again. I must wait until this reaches an engagement. She would not risk breaking something that big. That would ensure our destruction. And then, I'll just have to try and convince her to stay private with her displeasure.”

Nellie sighs heavily. “Well, you must do what you think is best. I just hope that this will not turn into a situation you regret. I still say you're playing with fire.”

“I know I am,” you murmur. “I realize how delicate the situation is. And I'm doing my best to manage it. But if I had done things the way she wanted, we might have been left off worse than we are now. How many other men would agree to a marriage after realizing I barely have a dowry. How many others would agree to support my mother for the rest of her life? He's giving me more than I knew to ask for, and keeping our financial worries discreet. I would've been a fool not to accept.” As you speak, you realize you're not just convincing Nellie, but yourself as well. And it is working. At this moment, you feel very assured in your decision.

Why you feel that way, however, you aren't entirely sure. By all rights, you should be feeling worse than ever. You knew you were going to be coming up against extremely challenging weeks, perhaps months; however long it took him to propose. You didn't like lying; you had never given much of an opportunity to practice.

And yet, there was some comfort given to you, this overwhelming feeling that you would come out alright on the other side. Despite your mother's best attempts to squash certain things out of you, you'd always been an advocate for women being afforded more rights than they were often given. Now that you'd met someone who was giving you even a small taste of freedom to make your own choices, you found yourself clinging to it. With Mr. Onceler, you might have a small chance of having a bit of a say in your own life. With that in mind, you turn back to Nellie.

“Nell, whatever you say, I've made my choice. I've never been allowed to do that before,” you attempt to explain. “My new courtship, as fragile as some of the conditions surrounding it are, is at least giving me choice. I must keep it. It is a blessing that I had not realized I desperately craved.”

Nellie sighs heavily again. “You know you always have my support,” she begins slowly. “So, I shall help you in whatever way I can. If this is so precious to you, I shouldn't like to see you lose it.” She chews her lip, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “It's just… do you love him?” she asks in a whisper.

It's your turn to let out a sigh of your own. “No,” you state blandly. “But I don't need love. I never imagined marrying for love. He's giving me security, which is the most important thing, and even a little bit of a voice. And though he vexes me from time to time, I believe I can live with him. It's more than I expected. I shall not be so selfish as to wish for love on top of everything.” You give Nellie a quick hug, something you'd never do if your mother were there, but you couldn't be bothered to care at present. The confidante Nellie was to you was priceless.

And whatever happened next, she would stand with you. It was a rich thing, to know you wouldn't be going into this alone. For it was indeed into the unknown that you were surely travelling.

[xxrainshadowsxx]

I absolutely love your fics and I can't wait for the update to New Elite! What inspired you to write them?

Short answer: The Onceler. Long answer: My Too Much Gene kicked in, started hyper-focusing on the 1910's for some God forsaken reason, and nobody told me no. Also, The Onceler. I'm so glad you're enjoying, and I'm hoping to update this coming Saturday.

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite Chapter 4

For the next couple of weeks, things were quiet. Not much of your daily life changed, save for the fact that you had to pin your hair up every time you left the house now. But there were no more balls, and no men to call on you.

According to your mother, it wasn’t a cause for worry… yet. Apparently, it wasn’t uncommon for men to wait a few weeks, or even until a second event, to call on someone. It was the first sign of courtship after all, and most men needed to be sure that was a step they wanted to take before making so bold of a move. However, if a second event or a couple months passed and you heard nothing, then there was trouble.

Two weeks to the day after the ball, you were sitting with your needlework with your mother in the drawing room when Nellie announced herself, carrying a bouquet of lilies. “These just arrived for you, miss,” she explained excitedly. Before you could even process her words, your mother was out of her seat, the same hungry look she had at the ball back on her face.

“See if there’s a note,” she demanded of you, as you were still trying to set down your needlework. You attempt to hasten, though you’re still quite a bit perturbed, as you look through the flowers for a card of some sort.

Eventually, you find something nestled in the middle of the bunch. Being mindful not to disturb the lilies, you pull out the card and read it aloud.

“‘I hope I’ve been on your mind as frequently as you’ve been on mine. I should like to see you tomorrow and will call on you in the afternoon.”’

“Well? Who is it from?” your mother pesters over your shoulder.

“Um… it doesn’t say,” you mutter, which isn’t a lie, but you’re also glad you’re facing away from your mother at the moment, for you know your face has gone white as a sheet. The card might not bear a physical signature, but you instantly recognized the handwriting as belonging to Mr. Onceler.

You weren’t going to reveal that information, however. She knew nothing of the note you received from him and you planned to keep it that way. You’d have to feign ignorance until he showed up at your doorstep tomorrow.

Your mother peers over your shoulder, like she can’t believe the note isn’t signed, then turns to poor Nellie. “And the delivery man said nothing about who it’s from?” she asks, completely aghast.

Nellie confirms that the delivery only stressed that you were to be the recipient. “A fine game, to leave us all guessing!” your mother declares. “If this is indeed from young Mr. Hunte, he had better come prepared with an explanation.”

His last name would be explanation enough for you, you think waspishly. It’s a bit childish, you know, to be this harsh on your mother, but you also know you’re correct. The name of Hunte would be enough for your mother to forgive Thomas of manners as dreadful as she judged Mr. Onceler’s to be.

Oh, you can picture her face now when he shows up tomorrow. It might be enough to have her faint in the entryway.

“Nellie, can you be a dear and get these into a vase and put them in my room?” you ask her with a meaningful look, making your mother’s mouth twist a bit. Mother didn’t like it when you were overly friendly with the staff, but Nellie is the only real friend and confidante you have. 

“Of course, miss,” she says, and based on the look she gives you in return, you knew she figured out exactly who those flowers were from, and had every intention of discussing it with you later.

When she leaves, your mother rounds on you and grills you about how you’re supposed to behave on outings, and spends an equal amount of time bemoaning that chaperones have largely gone out of fashion in America. You’d never be caught alone with a man, of course, but unlike in England, as long as you were in a public place, it was no longer the norm to have someone follow you around the whole time unless they were invited. You couldn’t say you were upset about that. Mr. Hunte would probably have invited your mother to join you. You’re fairly confident Mr. Onceler won’t.

When you finally manage to get away and make it back to your bedchamber, Nellie is waiting for you. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” she cautions. “Your mother’s patience should not be tested for long, you know this. The longer you keep this secret relationship from her–”

“It’s not a secret relationship!” you cut her off hastily. “I don’t have any sort of relationship with Mr. Onceler, nor do I want one. If there’s any interest, it’s entirely one-sided. I might have to agree to a few things for the sake of being polite, but I still have some power afforded to me. My mother would never agree to a courtship. And if he attempted to circumvent her and ask me directly, I am perfectly within my rights to refuse. And I shall be making my lack of interest quite plain tomorrow.”

Nellie doesn’t look completely convinced. “Forgive me for saying, miss, but I don’t think you’re as disinterested as you would like to believe. He’s the only gentleman you’ve spoken of by name since your debutante.”

You were about to protest that you’d brought up Mr. Hunte, but as you thought more about it, you realized you hadn’t. It had always been your mother who was the first to speak of him, and you never mentioned him in private with Nellie. Her brutal honesty made you squirm uncomfortably. “He… made an impression on me,” you admit haltingly. “I won’t deny that. However, it wasn’t necessarily a good impression. He’s very uncouth, rude even. And as I’ve said before, Mother would never allow it even if I was interested. He’s New Money.”

“Women have more choice than they have in years past,” Nellie muses as she begins turning off the lamps. “If you speak with her now, she might be willing to agree on an engagement down the line.”

You’re shaking your head before she even finishes speaking. “She’s far too set in her ways for that. She’d never agree. And you’re missing the main point, Nellie. I don’t fancy him. I’m not delusional enough to believe I’ll get to marry someone I love, but I would prefer to at least like the man. Mr. Onceler does not fill that particular requirement,” you huff with an air of finality. You were very much inclined to finish speaking of Mr. Onceler for the night.

“All right, miss. Whatever you say.” Nellie backs off, although you can tell that despite your stubbornness, you still haven’t fully convinced her just yet. It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting enough sleep, in an attempt to prepare for what was sure to be a maelstrom of a day on the morrow.

Sure enough, your mother has Nellie wake you earlier than usual so you can sit through the tedious journey of getting your hair both curled and neatly pinned up. Today took even longer than usual, since your hair had to be pinned into a hat. You didn’t know how your mother managed this every day. The pins plus the hat pulled your hair so tight you were sure you’d have a headache before the day’s end. 

Getting you ready took most of the morning. The card didn’t specify at what time you should be expecting company, it just vaguely mentioned ‘in the afternoon.’ That potentially left a few hours of nothing to do but wait.

You would have preferred to spend the time reading to calm your nerves, but now that you were grown, your mother seemed to think that wasn’t an acceptable use of your time. You were left with one of two options: either do your needlework, which you’d become sick to death of, or practice piano. Piano won wholeheartedly.

At two o’clock on the dot, the doorbell rings, and you immediately cease your playing to join your mother in the drawing room as Nellie runs to get the door. You hold your breath, waiting to see if your mother lets hell break loose.

If your steadily growing nerves are evident on your face, your mother thankfully doesn’t comment on them. You’ve chosen a seat that faces away from the entrance of the room, but as the seconds pass, you can hear two sets of footsteps coming down the hall. Ready or not, this was about to happen.

“Ma’am?” Nellie’s voice comes from behind you, and you can nearly feel your heartbeat stop. “There’s a Mr. Onceler here to see you.”

Your mother’s reaction almost makes this whole situation worth it. Almost. Her face changes from that hopeful, hungry look she sported at the ball to the color of beets faster than turning a light on or off. You can see all of her hopes and dreams for you going up in smoke in her eyes.

But if there was one thing your mother knew how to do, it was keep her manners, even if her world had been turned upside-down. She knows he’s just around the corner and can hear every word being said. “Of course,” she says, though she doesn’t bother to keep the ice out of her tone. She might keep her manners, but that didn’t mean she had to pretend to be happy with the situation. She was a master of toeing the line of societal niceties and true disdain.

But for now, it’s your turn to also play a part, and convince her that his arrival was a surprise to you as well. You crane your neck to look behind you just in time to see him enter the room. He removes his hat and makes a short bow to the two of you, but when he stands, he has a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that immediately puts you on your guard.

“Good afternoon,” he murmurs, looking directly at you. “I hope I’m not causing too much of a wrench in your plans for the day with my visit.”

You wait for your mother to answer, but it’s abundantly clear he’s not speaking to her. You glance at her out of the corner of your eye and find she’s not at all happy about being ignored; her gaze has narrowed to a hard glint. It does, however, leave the burden of answering him on you. “Not at all, sir,” you say coolly, attempting to convey your indifference in your tone.

If he notices, he’s not put off in the slightest. “Then I was wondering if you might accompany me for a stroll around Central Park?” There it was. Your mother was going to be utterly livid.

However, this was your chance to end things before they had an opportunity to begin. You didn’t want him to scare away any other potential matches. “Of course,” you say haltingly as you grab your wrap.

Your preparation from earlier that day means there’s little you can do to stall leaving. With one last breath, you turn to face him. He holds his arm out to you, and you place your hand in the crook of his elbow. You get in a hasty goodbye to your mother, then he’s whisking you out the door.

Your house isn’t far from Central Park, though there are still busy streets to traverse. New York was nothing if not alive, and you knew for certain someone was bound to see the two of you today, and rumors that he was officially courting you were going to be inevitable. Your mother was going to be furious.

You’re silent until you actually reach the park. You certainly weren’t going to speak first, and he seemed to have no interest in doing so either. It’s only when you begin walking the long path through the flora does he finally open his mouth. “I trust you received the flowers I sent?”

You loathed that ever-constant smirk he was wearing. Insufferable man. “They were lovely,” you say, though you allow no emotion, not even confusion, to creep into your tone. “I’m assuming you won’t tell me why you sent them?” you presume, allowing yourself a hint of haughtiness at this point. 

He raises an eyebrow. “I would have thought that obvious from my note. You have been on my mind, and I daresay I think I made enough of an impression that I’ve been on yours. You didn’t seem at all surprised to see me today.”

“I recognized your handwriting,” you scoff. “In case you’ve forgotten, that was not the first note you’ve given me, sir.”

He laughs at that. “You have been paying attention, haven’t you,” he muses, and for the first time, you notice something about his dialect. He tries very hard to mimic the accent of yourself and your peers–a unique blend of an English and New York accent–and he usually does very well, but it suddenly becomes clear to you that it isn’t his native way of speaking. You don’t know why you suddenly notice it now, but you can’t unhear it.

“Do you have a natural Southern accent?” you blurt out, derailing the conversation, and clearly catching him by surprise. If nothing else, doing that, at least, was an accomplishment.

But on the other hand, you also think you’ve finally managed to offend him; a deep scowl mars his face. “Of course not,” he claims, highly affronted. “And if you’re hoping for me to display hidden Southern charm, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. I hold no love for Atlanta, and I have no intention of ever returning. How did you even know that’s where I was from? It’s not something I discuss often, especially not among society.”

“Mrs. Ryan mentioned it,” you murmur. Out of habit, you almost apologize before you remember you don’t care if you offend him or not. In fact, it will probably help in your unique circumstance.

“Damn gossip,” he mutters, probably in response to Mrs. Ryan. “I can’t tell that woman anything unless I want everyone to know about it the next day. And that’s a piece of information I would have preferred to keep to myself for a while longer. I didn’t intend to tell you until later.”

That wording immediately makes you suspicious. “Why would you intend to tell me at all?” you ask carefully. “We’re hardly acquaintances; you owe me no answers about your past.”

Now the sarcastic grin has returned to his face. “I told you before, I don’t like playing mind games. You know perfectly well the answer to your own question. So shall we make this easier on each other and agree not to be coy and speak plainly?” You study his face, trying to discern any hidden motive, but find none. In response to his question, you simply nod once.

“Then you and I both know that I have made my interest quite clear. I have every intention of courting you,” he states bluntly and even though you were expecting it, it still causes a lump to form in your throat.

“My mother will never allow it,” you whisper. “You’re New Money. She would never accept a courtship, much less an engagement, from anyone that is New Money. And I have no interest either.”

That just makes him laugh again. “Your mother can pretend all she wants that I’m not good enough for her type, but I’ve seen people like her before. I know exactly what your family situation is. There’s no money left, is there? All you have is a name and nothing else.”

You can feel your face blanche the longer he speaks. You’d never spoken to anyone about your financial situation. You hardly even speak of it out loud to your mother–that would mean forcing her to accept that the problem exists. How could he possibly have known…?

Apparently the question is clear on your expression, for he answers your unasked question but a moment later. “You remember the Spire family? They had the same desperation in their eyes to get their eldest daughter married off as soon as possible to someone rich. The look in your mother’s eyes was the same as Mr. and Mrs. Spire’s from events I attended with them. It’s easy to find once you know the signs.” Unfortunately, you knew exactly what he was referencing. Poor Abigail Spire was barely older than you when she was forced to marry a widower in his sixties. He’d died from a heart attack on their honeymoon before his will could be changed. His children wrenched his money away, leaving Abigail with nothing, and it was revealed that the Spire’s were penniless. Abigail was working as a seamstress now, so you heard. The scandal had rocked New York, and your mother had been terrified that the same might befall the two of you.

“Your mother won’t let that happen to you, or more importantly, her,” Mr. Onceler remarks, eerily answering your thoughts again. “Eventually, she will agree to sell you off to the highest bidder, New Money or not. And I fully intend to remain that highest bidder.”

“You don’t get it. As long as there is another option, even if the money is slightly less, she will pick that,” you insist. “And there is another option that she is far more partial to.”

“Have you not noticed something that I’m being very deliberate about?” he asks quietly. He stops walking altogether and turns to you. “I’m not asking her. I know she’s too stubborn and set in her ways to allow you to have free will at first. You’ve got a much brighter head on your shoulders. You know half of the families who inherited their wealth rely on nothing more than their names or stocks. It could be gone in an instant. I have enough money set aside already that I could live off of for the rest of my life if I needed. It’s real, not behind some old promise. I can keep you safe. I’m not asking for your mother’s permission to court you. I’m asking for yours.”

You thought your knees were going to give out under the weight of his implications. There was no mincing words, there was no playing games, there was just a black-and-white offer on the table for you to accept if you so chose. But there was also a nagging at the back of your mind.

“What do you want from me in return?” you say lowly. “As you’ve noticed, my family fortune is… it’s gone. So what do you have to gain from this union? What do you want from me?”

“Besides the usual heirs that a man expects from his wife?” Oh, Lord, he was serious. This was not some casual courtship for him, he fully intended to see this through… “As much as I detest it, I cannot deny that the vast majority of society, not just in New York but in all of New England, believes the same as your mother. They value an old name over hard work. You have an old, respected family here. Marrying you would open up doors for me that would otherwise be closed, bring a new level of respectability to my own name. They are entirely selfish reasons, but we have agreed to a mutually beneficial relationship, have we not? This is not for love, do not make the mistake of thinking so.”

You close your eyes briefly, weighing everything he just laid on you. This was your choice, he was making that clear. But after eighteen years of having very little choice in the world, suddenly being asked to make one that would determine the course of the rest of your life seemed like the most daunting obstacle that could be placed in front of you.

“Can I… have some time to think on it?” you plead. “You must understand how huge of a decision this is. I don’t want to make it in an afternoon with emotions running high. I want to have a level head.”

“I’d think less of you if you didn’t,” he commends. “Meet me here in a week’s time to let me know. And if you don’t come, I’ll never bother you again. I promise.”

You nod once, and without speaking, you both turn in the direction of the exit. You somehow manage to keep yourself composed the whole way home. There’s so many thoughts racing through your head, you feel as though you’ve gone numb out of self-defense, but you knew that wouldn’t last forever.

“Until I see you again,” he whispers before kissing the back of your hand. After one last, lingering look, he disappears down the streets, and you have no choice but to reenter your family home.

“Well? What happened?” your mother demands the second you cross the threshold. You blink, then decide.

“It was fine. I explained my lack of interest. There will be no future problems,” you lie. “I am tired though. I’ll take my supper in my room, then retire. If you’ll excuse me, Mother. I’ll tell you more tomorrow.” You slip past her down the hall, ignoring her look of slight astonishment that you would speak to her in such a way.

Whatever choice you made about Mr. Onceler, it would be yours and yours alone. She would not influence you. It was thrilling, finally having the freedom to decide something for yourself. 

But if you chose wrongly… you’d have no one to blame but yourself. That knowledge was as terrifying as it was intoxicating. You had to make sure you chose wisely, for your whole future hung in the balance.

[xxrainshadowsxx]

Okay okay okay! I cannot tell you how MUCH I'm loving The Elite! You had me swooning so much and I just think this is fantastic!! You are a wonderful writer and please! Keep up the amazing work!!

Thank you so much! I'm so glad you're liking it, because I'm having a really good time writing it. I'm hoping to get a chapter out at least every two weeks, maybe sometimes once a week, so I hope that's fast enough!

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite Chapter 3

The music from the previous dance has just ended as you make your way to the dance floor, and an elegant waltz has begun. That’s good. You could dance a waltz in your sleep, even with your nerves as frayed as they are. It will be one last thing to have to worry about as you try and decipher Mr. Onceler’s motives in asking you to dance.

You’d thought the man was completely disinterested. During your brief introduction before, he’d hardly even bothered to look at you, let alone speak with you. Every other person you’d met that evening at least had the courtesy to acknowledge your presence. But to him, you might as well have been part of the wall… up until the moment he stole the first dance with you.

You settle into hold, one of your hands in his, the other placed delicately on his shoulder. His free hand was light as a feather on the small of your back; you almost didn’t feel it. The music starts properly and your feet methodically go through the steps you know by heart, while you wait with bated breath for him to say anything, anything at all.

For the first minute or so, there’s silence, and it’s nigh unbearable. Finally, he asks a question. “Your family… how long have they been in New York?”

 The question is so bizarre it very nearly throws even your precise footwork off. “Um, four generations,” you murmur. “My family has been in the United States longer than that. We moved over from England before the Revolutionary War, but we originally settled in Philadelphia. It was during the Jefferson administration that we moved to New York.”

“And how far back can you trace your family lineage?” he presses, though you can’t fathom why he’s so obsessed with your family line. He’s looking at you intently now, waiting for your next answer. You almost preferred being ignored by him. This intense scrutiny was almost too much for you to bear. You swallow heavily and clear your throat before you manage to find your voice.

“My family made a name for themselves during the War of the Roses,” you explain, and miraculously, your voice doesn’t quiver. “An ancestor of mine was an ardent supporter of Henry VII, so when Henry won and took the throne, my family was given a place in court. We were favorites until coming to America. Reportedly, my great-great-great grandfather disliked George III, and didn’t enjoy the same privileges we were once afforded. He decided to try American society over British society, then helped efforts during the war.” You were probably revealing too much about your family line at this point, but it was a subject you knew rather a lot about. Your father, when he was still alive, was obsessed with his ancestry, and ensured you knew exactly where you had come from.

“You know quite a lot about history,” he remarks with a smirk. “Pray tell, is this an actual passion of yours, or is it just yourself you’re interested in?”

You narrow your eyes at him. You could be vain about your looks, you admitted that, but you didn’t find your worth through who you were related to. He asked the question, and you gave him an answer. “History is fascinating, sir,” you say, choosing to answer his question instead of lashing out just yet. You would take him down a peg, but you’d do it like a lady. If this was anyone else, you wouldn’t dare do this, but he was infuriating you, and you didn’t need or want his good opinion anyway. “If one doesn’t learn from history, one is doomed to repeat it. It’s necessary for women to know this, for I’ve yet to see a man who understands this lesson.”

Oh, your mother would scalp you if she could hear you. She hates it when you unleash what she calls you “razor tongue,” and society would be scandalized by some of the things that come out of your mouth, but you couldn’t be bothered to care at the moment. This man had lost the opportunity for your good opinion, and if he wanted to insult you, you were more than happy to let him have your razor tongue.

You expect him to get quiet, perhaps offer you a glare, and drop you as soon as possible. You’re not expecting him to throw back his head and laugh, but that’s the reaction he gives. “A socialite with a mouth? I do believe a call to the Vatican is in order to report a miracle,” he chuckles. His mirth just vexes you further, and you’re left as the one glaring at him. Being annoyed that he insulted you isn’t a cause for a miracle, it’s basic logic.

“Tell me, do you enjoy being a tyrant?” you hiss. “I don’t know what I’ve done to earn your ire.”

He raises an eyebrow at that. “You haven’t. If you’d earned my ire or my scorn, trust me, you would know, and you would know exactly why. I’m not in the habit of playing the mind games society seems to favor.” His mouth twists even as he says these words, as if to leave no room for doubt. Yet his words and his actions hardly match up.

“You say you dislike mind games, yet you delight in playing one with me, sir,” you accuse him. 

Yet again, his reaction confuses you; instead of denying it or even admitting his guilt, he simply looks even more amused. “Please, tell me how I’ve been playing with your mind,” he says, his eyes sparking with the challenge. “Because I assure you, my dear, I’ve been quite upfront with you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. You don’t particularly want to whine about how he ignored you; it sounds petulant even in your mind. Instead, you decide your best course of action is to play coy. “You know very well what you did. I shall not give you the satisfaction of spelling it out for you,” you say, lifting your chin just slightly. You would not allow him to think he had damaged your pride.

The hand on the small of your back twitches for a moment, and you think you might have finally succeeded in throwing him off of his game. However, before you can revel in your victory, he pulls you closer to him, causing your breath to catch in your throat. “A socialite with a mouth and wit to boot. I think that is a miracle indeed,” he whispers just before the orchestra plays the final note of the song. His hold on you almost releases, though he still keeps one of your hands in his. “Thank you for honoring me with that dance,” he smirks before bending to kiss the back of your hand again. It couldn’t be more different from the last time he did this–he keeps eye contact with you the whole time and his lips linger. Surprisingly, you find you don’t mind much (which in and of itself is concerning).

You dip into a hasty curtsey as he finally releases your hand, then make your way back over to your table, looking straight ahead but seeing nothing. You can feel his piercing blue eyes staring at you from behind, and it takes every ounce of your willpower not to look back at him.

Of course, there’s another formidable force waiting for you back at your table–your mother still sits there, and her expression is ice. There was nothing you could have done differently, you’d only shared one dance with Mr. Onceler, but you hope she won’t find a way to place the blame for his sudden interest on you. You had done your very best to express your disdain for him, though why it only seemed to make him more interested, you couldn’t fathom. But you had sincerely tried.

Before you can take your seat again, your path is intercepted by Thomas Hunte. “I wonder if I could have the honor of the next two dances with you, milady?” he offers with a somewhat charming smile. You don’t particularly want to, seeing as your feet are already beginning to ache, but you have a shrewd suspicion that the rest of the night is going to consist of getting passed between various men for dances with very few chances to rest. So you force a smile on your face and accept, allowing him to lead you back to the dance floor.

It was supposed to be easier this time around. It was supposed to be better this time around. You’d accepted that you had to look for a husband, and as far as your options went, Thomas Hunte was definitely a good choice. He was a good conversationalist, pleasant enough, and there were no glaring flaws that you could detect. He was a bit older, yes, but he wasn’t a decrepit old man. He also fit all of your mother’s qualifications, and seemed interested in you. By all rights, you should be pursuing this with your whole heart.

But for some deranged, unknown reason, you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing into a corner, where Mr. Onceler had joined other men to drink brandy and smoke cigars. You didn’t even like Mr. Onceler. So why did you keep staring?

What was worse, no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t help yourself from comparing Thomas Hunte and Mr. Onceler. The former, though he kept a good conversation going, spoke almost solely about himself, whereas Mr. Onceler said very little about himself and asked about you instead. You knew you shouldn’t blame Thomas for this, it was expected for men to make themselves seem important, but secretly, you thought you liked Mr. Onceler’s way better. You’d felt heard, which was a feeling you’d only ever experienced with Nellie before. Insulted, yes. But still heard. And for a woman, that was a rarity indeed.

There was also the physical aspect. While you knew the most important thing was personality, and that would ultimately be the most important factor if you got a say in your future husband, you were still a young woman and you weren’t immune to liking attractive men. Thomas wasn’t bad looking. Far from it. But you preferred Mr. Onceler’s dark hair to Thomas’ sandy coloring, and the former’s height was also an advantage. And of course, there was also those striking blue eyes that Mr. Onceler possessed, which Thomas’ brown ones could never hope to compete with.

But you must stop these thoughts. Personality was the most crucial thing after all, and Mr. Onceler’s was atrocious. He’d belittled you and refused to give you a reason for his hot and cold behavior. Even with the desperate times your family was in, you deserved better than that.

It was all a moot point anyway. Your mother would never agree to that union even if you were interested. Mr. Onceler was New Money, and that fact was his death knell.

He didn’t ask to dance with anyone else, however, which you found odd. There was no shortage of young women there, who your mother regarded as your competition. He stayed with the other men for the most part. The only other woman he spoke to was occasionally Mrs. Ryan.

You didn’t have too much opportunity to scrutinize his behavior, though. Just as you predicted, now that dancing had started, you hardly had a free moment. You managed to plead exhaustion once or twice, but for the most part, you were on your feet, being passed through so many partners it was impossible to keep track of all their names. You could tell some of them had more preference for you than others, but by the end of the night, you knew you should be focusing your attention on Thomas. You could tell your mother liked him too, which was a boon. It meant an easier time if it came to a courtship.

Finally, Governor Dix called for peace and quiet as he and Mrs. Dix took center stage for speeches. You took a seat next to your mother, almost out of breath from the hours of dancing you’d put yourself through, and you did your best to look as though you were paying attention.

But out of the corner of your eye, you spot Mr. Onceler on the other side of the room again. He’s nursing a drink and not bothering to even pretend to be paying attention. Instead, he’s staring directly at you, his expression unreadable.

You try and train your focus back on the Dix’s, but the intensity of his gaze makes it impossible for you to stop your own eyes from flickering in his direction every few seconds. You're sure he notices since he never stops looking at you, and the smirk that appears on his face all but confirms that.

He was insufferable. Utterly infuriating. You hated that he was occupying so much of your thoughts. You were being stupid, you were painfully aware of that, but try as you might, you couldn't seem to expel him from your mind.

Therefore, it's a relief when the Dix's finish their speeches. That means the ball, as well as your never-racking debutante, has come to an end. You're sure your mother will want to linger a bit to offer people she considers important a farewell, but the time to leave was so close you could almost taste it.

You stand, and sure enough your mother grabs your arm and immediately makes a beeline for the Hunte's, though she's waylaid by Mrs. Ryan. You almost giggle at the stone-cold look on her face, and only just stop yourself in time.

But as your mother's distracted, for the second time that night you feel a hand on your shoulder, and this time you instantly know who it belongs to. You force yourself to remain stoic instead of flying into a panic as instinct is telling you, then turn to face him.

Mr. Onceler stands there, as you knew he would be. He makes a short bow to you, and you incline your head back, being mindful to hold your tongue, but to also appear aloof. Even though your mother was distracted, she was still within earshot, and wouldn't be happy with you being too rude or seemingly interested. You would have to play this carefully.

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance tonight, my lady,” he says, though his eyes are still sparking with mischief as he takes your hand to kiss it for the third time that night.

“And yours, sir,” you say coolly, pulling your hand back as soon as you're able. As you close your hand, however, you feel something in your palm that wasn't there before. Covertly, you glance down and find he's managed to put a slip of paper into your hand.

You almost unfold it, but he gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head, and at the same time, you hear your mother manage a goodbye to Mrs. Ryan. You quickly shove the paper underneath the hem of your glove just before your mother turns back to you.

“‘Bye, ladies! I'm sure I'll be seeing much, much more of you,” Mrs. Ryan calls with a twinkle in her eye before finally taking her leave. Your mother has a near permanent grimace on her face now.

“Oh, I loathe that awful woman,” she despairs. “Hurry now. We must catch the Hunte’s before they leave. If we’re lucky, Thomas Hunte will be calling on you within the next few weeks. You did well to make an impression on him.”

You simply nod, and follow her lead to say your farewells to the Hunte’s and the Dix’s. The whole time, the note Mr. Onceler gave you is burning a hole in your skin, giving you even more of a reason to want to get home. Your curiosity to what it says is simply eating at you.

After the eternity of the evening, the buggy returns, and ten cold minutes later, you’re home, where you nearly collapse into Nellie’s arms. You expect a scolding from your mother for that–it’s not at all proper behavior–but she manages a small smile. “You must be tired. I know I was after my own debutante. But you did well tonight. You managed to capture the interest of the Hunte heir… even with that awful Mr. Onceler trying to steal your time.” She suddenly pulls a face. “I hope you did nothing to encourage him to pursue things further with you?”

“Of course not,” you assure her with a sigh. “I was polite but very cool to him, Mother, I promise. I tried much harder to gain the affection of Mr. Hunte.”

“Good,” she nods in approval. “That would be a highly advantageous match, as I’m sure you know. Well, get you to bed. You need to recover; I expect young Mr. Hunte will be calling on you soon, and we must get you ready for that.”

You have no arguments there. You feel nearly ready to pass out where you stand. However, you allow Nellie to lead you to your room, where you collapse at your vanity. She starts undoing your hair and removing your jewelry, letting you sit in silence for a few minutes before speaking up. “So, I hear you managed to catch the eyes of a few gentlemen tonight,” she smiles warmly. “You must tell me all about it. Who is in your favor?”

You’re about to say Thomas Hunte’s name, but the words stick in your throat. Though you’d spend the night convincing your mother, and indeed, yourself, of your interest in the man, telling Nellie the same suddenly makes you feel sick to your stomach, like you’re lying to her.

“I-I’m not sure,” you say instead. “It was only one night, and I think I need more time to process everything, so I can really comprehend all that happened.”

“Well, I suppose that’s fair,” Nellie acquiesces with a little hum. “Can you give me your arms, please? I’ll take your gloves.” You wearily do, but as Nellie removes the right one from your arm, the slip of paper from Mr. Onceler falls out, surprising the both of you; you’d nearly forgotten about it. Nellie leans down to pick it up, but for once you’re faster than her. You snatch it up from the ground quick as lightning, your sleepiness quite forgotten.

“I think you might’ve had a better night than you let on if you’re already getting secret love notes from gentlemen!” Nellie trills, but you ignore her as you open the note to an elegant script.

I expect I shall see you quite soon. Until then, I hope I can occupy a part of your mind, my lady.

What on earth was that supposed to mean? He would see you soon? He couldn’t possibly be planning on attempting to court you, could he? 

Only one thing was certain. He had absolutely cemented a place for himself in your thoughts. And you couldn’t decide whether or not you were happy about that.

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite, Chapter 2

Was this supposed to be out last week? Yes. So... sorry. Mental health decided to be a bitch. So, I won't waste any more of your time and let you get on with the chapter.

The following week passed by in a blur, and before you knew it, Nellie was waking you up on the morning of your debutante. You take in a deep, shuddering breath and she draws the curtains back, letting in streams of sunlight. You didn’t feel ready, but that did not matter. Ready or not, you had to do this.

“What perfume would you like for today, miss?” Nellie asks as she bustles about. “I know it’s not something we usually use, but seeing as it’s such a special occasion, I don’t think your mother would object.”

“Rose,” you decide after little consideration. It was a comforting scent to you, and in no way scandalous, so your mother had no reason to disapprove. “But Nellie, isn’t it a little early to apply a scent? It’s only morning.”

“I’m going to iron your dress with it, miss,” she explains. “It’s mostly already finished, it won’t take long now, but we really want that scent to stick with you all night. You best be getting along to breakfast now, you know your mother doesn’t like it when you dawdle.” She tweaks your nose affectionately before dressing you for the morning. You don’t pay much attention to the attire she selects. You’ll be changed out soon enough anyway.

All throughout your meal, your mother prattles on and on about what you’re to do and how you’re to behave yet again, nearly causing you a headache.

“Remember, the first thing you’re to do is speak with Mr. and Mrs. Dix, and congratulate him on his election as governor,” she’s saying for the umpteenth time that week. As if you could forget. This whole part happened to the celebration for Mr. Dix being elected as governor, and it also happened to be the first major event for New York society after you turned eighteen. In old times, your family would have had to have hosted your debutante themselves, but such customs weren’t standard anymore. And according to your mother, you couldn’t have asked for a better event to come out at. All of New York society was sure to be there.

As far as you were concerned, however, you would have taken any other event. Even though this was a political outing, it would largely be attended bipartisan; it would be considered an insult to not come. Even Mr. Stimson, Mr. Dix’s opponent, was invited as a sign of good faith.

So in addition to everyone being there, half of the attendees would be unhappy. Unbeknownst to your mother, you had followed the election closely, being a secret champion of women’s suffrage. The election had been a tight one, from what you could gather from under your mother’s ever-watchful nose.

“After breakfast, I want you to practice the newest dance,” your mother says with a meaningful stare when you’re very nearly done.

“Oh, Mother… I’ve rehearsed it until my feet have bled,” you protest. You’re not exaggerating either; Nellie has had to take special care with the blisters that have formed on your feet from the endless dance lessons. “Can’t I have the morning to myself?”

She raises an eyebrow, and you know before she starts speaking that this simple gesture means all hope is lost for you. “Certainly not,” she sniffs. “Have I not impressed that this is the most important night of your life? You can never be too prepared. How would it look if nerves betrayed you and you forgot the steps? You must have them mastered beyond any chance of fault.”

You sigh, but say nothing further. It seemed that you were to be doomed to both a morning and an evening of pained feet. At this rate, you’d have arthritis before you reached thirty.

Thankfully, you manage to get through the morning without reopening any of your blisters, though the arches of your feet are throbbing. You rub them the entire time Nellie is putting the finishing touches on your dress, before your mother can come in.

But far too quickly, the sun starts to set, and that can only mean one thing. It’s time to start getting ready. You’d take a thousand days of sore feet to put this off, but that’s not an option. All you can do is take one last breath for strength before Nellie puts on the accursed corset.

Since making the finishing touches on your dress the previous week, getting dressed goes quickly enough, and then mercifully, you can sit while Nellie pins up your hair. This process does take some time, since you simply have so much hair to pin.

At least you didn’t have to wear one of the increasingly large hats your mother favored. Being unmarried, you could still show some of your hair. Nellie decorates it with a few pretty, and most importantly, not ostentatious, feathers.

You hardly recognize yourself when you’re finished being made up. You don’t appear quite so young as the first time you put on the dress, but instead you’re caught somewhere between youth and being grown. You don’t love it, but your mother is fawning over it, and of course it’s far too late to change.

“Milady, the buggy has arrived!” Nellie calls, spurring you into action. You pull your gloves and shawl on, then follow your mother to the foyer. “Tell me how it goes,” Nellie whispers just before you cross the threshold, and she closes the door, and your old life, behind you.

You take the footman’s offered hand as he helps you into the buggy, then he sits at the reins and you’re off. You’d told your mother that most people would be arriving in automobiles, but, ever the traditionalist, she’d insisted on doing it this way. Probably because it was cheaper.

However, it’s not a far distance. You only have to brave the New York winter for a matter of minutes. And when you do arrive, you’re far from the first ones, and true to your prediction, most of the transportation you see are indeed automobiles. Focusing on details like these helps keep your mind off of what’s about to take place.

But of course, the buggy stops, and the footman comes back around to help first you and then your mother down the steps. Ready or not, it’s time.

“Chin up,” your mother hisses as a final form of instructions before you follow her inside.

It’s not so much a different world; you’ve grown up with the elite of New York since birth, but always on the fringes due to your age. The room is a glittering white, only a few shades darker than your own gown. An orchestra is playing soft music in one corner, though it’s obvious that the dancing has not quite begun just yet. Supper was to happen first, and there are tables lined with gleaming plates, silverware, and stemware.

For the moment, however, the attendees are milling around, greeting each other. Mr. and Mrs. Dix are easy to spot in the center of the crowd as everyone is expected to make their way to them as soon as possible, and sure enough, it’s towards the two of them your mother steers you towards.

She finagles your way through the crowd expertly, managing to seem casual while constantly moving the both of you closer to her target. As soon as an opening presents itself, she plants you right in front of the Dixes, and she and Mrs. Dix greet each other like old friends, although to your knowledge they were merely acquaintances at best.

And then came the dreaded words out of her mouth. “I don’t believe you’ve met my daughter before?” she says as she gestures you forward.

You dip into a quick curtsey. “It’s lovely to meet the both of you. Congratulations on the results of your election, Mr. Dix,” you say with the quiet confidence that’s been drilled into you. Both of the Dixes regard you politely.

“Is this your first event of the season, dear?” Mrs. Dix asks you. You hope it’s only because she noticed the color of your dress and not because of any social ineptitude.

“Yes. I only turned eighteen a couple of weeks ago,” you explain, willing your cheeks not to become pink.

“Well, we’re honored to host your debutante,” Mrs. Dix says, and you hope she isn’t faking the warm smile on her face. It can be so difficult to tell in high society what is fake and what isn’t.

“Well, we won’t take up any more of your time at present; I’m sure you’re quite in demand this evening,” your mother laughs. “But I do hope we’ll have further opportunity to speak later.” You smile your own farewell-for-now to the Dixes before following your mother into the rest of the throng.

“Well done,” she whispers, and you feel an enormous sense of relief wash over you. “Now come. There’s several families I wish to speak to before supper is served–”

“Dot!” a voice calls out, making your mother stop in her tracks and also causing her to wince; you know she hates the nickname because of how informal it is. Nevertheless, she turns, only to find Mrs. Ryan, a woman who Mother thought scandalous for a number of reasons. She had originally been from a middle-class family when she married an Irish immigrant, and though they weren’t divorced, they were amicably separated and living different lives. You were quite sure her husband was not at the event tonight. He might not even be in the same country.

But the worst thing about Mrs. Ryan, at least according to your mother, is though she’d grown up middle-class, she was unbelievably rich now because her husband had discovered a wealth of oil a few years back. And that made the Ryans ‘New Money,’ a blight your mother could never forgive.

But, loathe as your mother was to admit it, Mrs. Ryan was part of society now, which meant your mother had to put on her best manners. She smiles at Mrs. Ryan, though you can tell the smile is far from genuine. “Matilda. How are you this evening?” she asks, her voice strained.

“Oh, just the same as always,” Mrs. Ryan laughs before she notices you. “This your daughter, Dot? My, you’ve grown up from the last time I saw you. You look a vision, dear. In fact, I’ve got someone who you should meet.”

She shouts again across the room, though you don’t quite catch the name. Your mother seems to, however, and judging by her reaction, she’s not at all pleased. Her face goes stark white, and she can’t keep up the fake smile any longer; it slides from her face like quicksilver.

But before you can do more than shoot her a covert questioning look, an extremely tall man makes his way over to the three of you. “This is Mr. Onceler,” Mrs. Ryan introduces, and suddenly your mother’s reaction makes sense. You knew who Mr. Onceler was. All of New York knew who he was. He had come from nothing until inventing and selling a fashion item, the thneed, which half the attendees, Mrs. Ryan included, were wearing.

But coming from nothing meant one thing, and it was the only thing that mattered to your mother. He was New Money, and your mother was terrified of New Money monopolizing your time and scaring other, ‘better’ prospects away.

Mr. Onceler, however, doesn’t look like he’s interested in taking up all of your time. Studying his face, he looks quite disinterested in being here at all. When Mrs. Ryan finishes her introductions and you give your hand to him as courtesy demanded, he only just barely brushes the back of your gloved hand with his lips, not looking at you once.

“Mr. Onceler’s just gotten back from upstate, where he’s built a new factory,” Mrs. Ryan says proudly, as if she’s listing off the achievements of a son instead of a mere acquaintance.

“I can’t take all of the credit for that, Matilda. Your husband was one of the people who convinced me to do it,” Mr. Onceler says, and you can tell, despite his slightly dismissive tone, that he and Mrs. Ryan have genuine affection for each other. It could very well have been the case that she introduced him into the world of society. “And as much as I would love to stay and chat–”

“Yes, yes, go and talk about important things with important men, don’t stay here and gossip with us ladies,” Mrs. Ryan says with a wave of her hand. Needing no further invitation, Mr. Onceler leaves, barely inclining his head towards you and your mother as a farewell.

Mrs. Ryan turns to you. “What do you think, eh? Handsome, isn’t he? And he’s young too, only twenty. He’s the most eligible bachelor in the state right now.”

“But his manners!” your mother blurts out, though she can’t bring herself to raise her voice any higher than a whisper. It seems she couldn’t hold back any longer, even in the company of one she considered inferior like Mrs. Ryan. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a man so rude!”

Mrs. Ryan waves her hand impatiently again. “Come off it, Dot. He’s had all the cards stacked against him. He hasn’t had his money for a year yet, and he’s not even used to northern society as an outsider; he’s from Atlanta. It’s a wonder he’s doing this well at all. And manners matter less and less these days. Cash is the only thing that speaks, and trust me, he’s got plenty of that.” She gives the both of you a meaningful look. “I’d keep that in mind before immediately writing him off.” She gives you an extra look, one that you can’t quite read before saying, “Well, I expect I’ll see both of you later.” She grabs your hand. “You look effervescent, dear. You’re only young once. Enjoy your night.” With that, she takes her leave.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, your mother starts hissing in your ear. “The nerve of that awful woman!” she bemoans. “How dare she imply that my daughter can’t do any better than him? His manners were worse than hers! He barely acknowledged you at all–”

“I think that means he’s not interested in me, Mother,” you remind her as gently as you can. “We have nothing to worry about if he doesn’t like me. As you said, there are much better options.”

Miraculously, your mother actually manages to calm down. “Of course,” she murmurs, collecting herself again. “Of course. There’s no use worrying about his opinion of you. He’s new money. He’s not worth expending energy over.” You can’t help but wince as she says that. You very much hope no one else heard her. You’d never admit it to her, but there was nothing wrong in your eyes with New Money. Mrs. Ryan, for example, you actually liked very much for her bluntness. Your mother was just so old-fashioned, and had an inability to understand differing viewpoints. You’d learned this long ago, and didn’t bother arguing with her much over it. It was easier to pretend you agreed with her most of the time.

“Well, let’s get moving. There’s still people we need to speak with before supper,” Mother decides before whisking you back into the room. The next half-hour or so is filled with conversation much more suited to your mother’s preference–polite and removed. To you, it’s empty. Just vain people speaking of the same things over and over again.

You also can’t help but notice that everyone your mother speaks with is an old New York family, and that they either are or have a son that is an heir to a large family fortune. She pushes you in front of these single men, and to your slight dismay, you can tell that some are indeed interested in you, specifically in your last name. Several of these people felt the same way as your mother–that a family name was far more important than being a decent person.

Finally, after you don’t think you could stand another stiff introduction, you’re called to dinner. You know it will be more awful, forced conversation, but at least you won’t be shown around like a prized animal at a fair. You find your seats, and discover Mrs. Ryan is also at your table, which clearly displeases your mother.

You didn’t think she had too much reason to complain though. Also seated with you is the Hunte family, one of the most respected in New York. Their son and heir to the fortune, Thomas, was seated right across from you. He was quite a bit older than you, being nearly thirty, but at least he wasn’t a widower in his fifties. Your mother seemed almost hungry when she looked at him, and you would practically feel her willing the two of you together.

And for the moment, you think you’ve managed to make a good first impression. Though conversation flowed quite easily (to your slight shock) between all at the table, Thomas Hunte did make a point of speaking directly to you on a few occasions. And you were on your best behavior, not bringing up topics your mother forbade and directing the conversation back towards him, so that he could feel important. Men did like to feel important.

Just as the dessert course is beginning to come to an end, the orchestra starts playing tunes you’re familiar with; the dancing has clearly begun. You look up at Thomas, sure that he’ll invite you to dance, but his immediate attention has been captured by Mrs. Ryan, who has asked him a question. Before he’s free to speak with you, you feel a hand on your shoulder.

You turn, and, with no small amount of surprise, you find Mr. Onceler there. You're sure the shock must register on your face, and you can't even find any words to say, but he doesn't comment on that. “I was wondering if you would join me for the next dance?” he asks instead, without any sort of preamble.

To say you're flummoxed is an understatement, but the drilling of your manners mean they're able to return to you, even through your confusion. “Oh… yes, of course,” you murmur. Mother won't be happy, and sure enough, she's stone-faced when you glance at her. But what else can you do? It would be beyond rude, practically unthinkable, to refuse. One dance meant nothing. Everything would be fine.

So, you stand, take Mr. Onceler's proffered hand, and allow him to lead you to the other side of the ballroom.

A note on some of the characters:

The Hunte's are purely my invention. Mrs. Ryan, while fictional, is based on Molly Brown, who wasn't born into society but her husband became rich, and was always considered uncouth. John Dix, however, was real and was elected governor of New York in 1910.

Also, apparently Americans used the word buggy instead of carriage. I hate that very much.

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite, Chapter 1

Here's the beginning of the new fic. Very different from Interpersonal, it is a period piece, and I have researched it to hell and back (Lord knows why I didn't pick a period in history I already knew a lot about), so hopefully it's mostly accurate. No Onceler in this chapter, but this has to be here to set things up. Also, I'm working on getting a master list set up, hopefully by next weekend.

“Tighter, Nellie. This is going to be her grand entrance into society, she needs to be seen.” You take in a sharp breath as the already near-suffocating corset is pulled even tighter as per your mother’s firm instructions. You don’t bother trying to argue with her. You’d learned from past fruitless attempts that it was pointless.

“Stop fidgeting so much,” was her next admonishment, this one directed at you. You did your best to stay still–dress fitting was nothing new to you–but all too often your frayed nerves got the best of you and caused frequent trembles.

This wasn’t just any dress fitting for you. This was the fitting for your debutante, your formal introduction to the high society of New York. Of course, you’d been surrounded in it your whole life, but always protected, never left to fend for yourself. Now, you were to be thrown to the sharks, and had to pray you had the education necessary to survive.

And of course, the most important part of your debutante was that you were going to be introduced to society as a viable marriage option. And, according to your mother, your whole life has been leading up to making a good marriage.

She wasn’t entirely wrong. While there were parts of the world that were starting to see that marriage and childbearing was not the ultimate goal for a woman, it was not so in your circle. And of course, your mother wasn’t excited for your marriage for you. No, she was pushing it for her own survival.

You sigh through a grimace as Nellie tightens the last few strings of your corset. You really couldn’t blame your mother for pushing this on you, even though you selfishly wanted to. It wasn’t just her survival that hinged on it; yours did as well.

Still, you couldn’t help but resent the fact that the burden to keep the two of you afloat fell solely on your shoulders. Every appointment to get you ready for your debutante, every dance lesson, and especially everytime your mother made you recite the “rules” for the ball in the coming week that would serve as the vehicle for your debutante, made you want to scream and rip your own lovely, painstakingly-manicured hair out from the roots.

And there was no back-up option. As Mother was quick to remind you if you voiced even a hint of dissent, you were the one and only card the two of you had left to play. According to her, a lovely young girl with a good name could attract anyone she so chose, as long as she kept her charms about her. That was exactly the role she expected of you.

So she spent money you were sure you didn’t have in an effort to get you noticed. She made it clear that she fully expected you to end your first season engaged at the very least, and kept dropping increasingly less-subtle hints that this was the last chance you had to keep your family’s name and legacy in New York’s good graces…

Nellie finally finishes with your corset, breaking you momentarily from your melancholy for a whole new type of misery. You cautiously take in a breath as deep as you’re able as your mother is busy instructing Nellie on the correct way to handle your dress. To your dismay, Nellie did far too good a job at tying the corset; your breaths can’t loosen it even an inch, and inhales you can take are far too shallow for your liking.

But then Nellie comes over with the dress, and you have to hold yourself together and lift your arms as she places the delicate material over you, and then she and your mother immediately begin inspecting it for any flaws. As they fuss over the details, you glance at yourself in the mirror and sigh. You hate the pure white you’re in. You’d seen one dress with just a hint of light blue feathers on it that would have done wonders for your complexion, but Mother had deemed it far too scandalous. Women at their debutante wore white, and only white. To wear any other color was to suggest one wasn’t a maiden, and that wouldn’t fall in line with your mother’s master plan.

Get introduced into society. Catch the eye of some rich man and get engaged and married in quick fashion. And suddenly, all of your problems would be solved. If only it were that simple and not have so many hidden rules and regulations in between the lines.

“Darling, what gloves were you thinking?” your mother asks as she finally decides your dress is passable. Before you can voice your own opinion, she gives hers. “The ones with the pearls at the top would be simply lovely.”

“I was thinking that as well.” You absolutely weren’t–you actually fancied an ivory pair with lace just so you could have something that wasn’t pure white–but you’d learned long ago that agreeing with your mother is far easier than trying to change her mind about anything. Besides, it would take an act of God to convince her that ivory would be acceptable.

She hands you her preferred gloves, and you slide them over your hands and arms. “Well, I think that besides the hair, this will be what we go with,” she declares, though she’s still scrutinizing you for the most minute flaw. “I see no reason why you shouldn’t attract the attention of most men.”

You can’t help but notice the fact that she simply says ‘men’ instead of ‘young men’ like she used to. That meant widower’s twice or even three times your age were probably acceptable options to her as long as they had enough wealth and a respectable name. It takes all of your control to suppress a shudder. Your worst nightmare was being forced to marry some fifty-year-old man in a year’s time. He’d probably have children of his own older than you at that point.

But if your mother thought men of any age were appropriate, then it meant your family’s financial situation was even more dire than you originally thought. This really was the last ditch effort you had to restore yourselves.

Well, restore yourselves to the life you were accustomed to. So many people were still living less fortunate lives than you, and you recognized that. But to even suggest to your mother that either one of you should start selling things, or worse, get a job, would destroy her pride. There would be no way to hide the money situation if you did either of those two things, and slowly but surely, you would both be shunned from society. She couldn’t handle that, and you hadn’t been brave enough to broach the topic with her just yet.

Turning away from these unpleasant thoughts, you instead turn to look at yourself in the mirror. You can’t exactly say you’re thrilled with the sight that greets you. All the white makes you look younger than you are, which isn’t conducive for being seen as a marriage option for the men of New York. Your hair at the moment didn’t exactly help matters in terms of looking your age, but you weren’t exactly thrilled about that coming change, either. At present, your hair hung in long curls down your back. While contributing to your youthful appearance, you didn’t like the idea of putting it up whenever you went out, but that was one of society’s rules. From your debutante forward, your unbound hair was a gift for your future husband.

As usual, though, your mother doesn’t share your opinion. “You look a vision, my dove,” she croons. “Well, I think that about does it for today. Nellie, come get it off. Keep it safe for the ball. And have it steamed beforehand.”

“Of course, milady,” Nellie murmurs before going to help you out of your entrapment of a dress, which thankfully, you know would be a good deal quicker than getting it on in the first place. 

As she works, Mother pierces you with a meaningful stare. “You remember what we talked about in terms of how you are to behave, correct?” How could you forget? She’d drilled it into you for the past six months. You simply nod to try and avoid another verbal repetition, but the rules flash across your mind just the same.

There was to be no talking about topics you were actually interested in, like women’s suffrage or the growing political turmoil in Europe. Music and art were acceptable, but only if men brought up the subject first, and there was to be no intentional disagreements. You were to accept a dance with any eligible man who asked, but excuse yourself quickly if he wasn’t up to your mother’s standards for a suitable husband.

And what would disqualify someone from your overwhelming list of potential future husbands? There was only one thing, and it was your mother’s most important rule: Never associate with New Money for longer than socially acceptable.

To your mother, the worst thing someone could be in society was New Money. Her greatest fear was that your only marriage proposal would be from someone who was classified as New Money. She honestly might rather take the two of you being destitute over you marrying into New Money. It was anyone’s guess at this point, and you weren’t confident on which way she would go. It could very well change with her mood each day.

As soon as the garment was off your body, your mother had more rules. Of course she did. “Well, early to bed with you. You’ve been far too pale lately, we need to change that. I don’t want to have to use too much cosmetic on you for the ball. Nellie, draw a bath will you? Bed after that.” She beams at you before leaving you to follow Nellie to a bath.

She means well. You know that, deep down, she just wants to save you from a life on the streets, and this was the only solution she knew of. But you also know she loves her comfort, and her motivation was out of self-preservation as much as your own protection. And though she didn’t know it, you found the rules and regulation of her precious New York society to be just as suffocating as the tightest corset.

As you sink into the mercifully warm bath Nellie has prepared for you, your thoughts turn again to an unknown future husband. You know full well your mother will agree to a proposal from the richest suitor with the most respected name, without giving a second thought to their character. That wasn’t a consideration given to her, and it still wasn’t a common practice among the upper-class, so you know your actual feelings about someone won’t be a factor in your marriage. You’d be lucky to get engaged to someone you liked. You knew it was a fool’s hope to believe you’d actually be in love by the time of your wedding.

And then there was the other factor, the one that scared you more than even marrying a stranger: being forced to bear his children. Women died in childbirth frequently, even with new drugs that claimed to help with the pain, and the infant mortality rate was even higher. That was something you knew all too well. Your mother had had several pregnancies both before and after you, all of which had resulted in either a miscarriage or stillbirth. You had been the only healthy child.

Well, the only healthy legitimate child. Perhaps due to your mother’s inability to produce an heir to his liking, your father had a number of extramarital affairs. You didn’t know if you had any half siblings as a result of those affairs, but it was certainly a possibility. And of course, because it happened to her, your mother told you it was likely to happen to you, too. You were supposed to pretend you didn’t know about it.

That was one task you weren’t sure you’d be able to manage if it did come to pass. Unless you ended up married to a truly horrendous man, you didn’t want him to suffer the same fate as your father, who’d died from a venereal disease he’d contracted from one of his affairs. If your own husband was doing the same, you might not be able to hold your tongue.

“Miss? You’ve been so melancholy today, one might’ve thought a funeral was impending,” Nellie comments, once again pulling you from your doldrums.

“I’m scared, Nellie,” you sigh. Though employed as a maid to your family, she was the closest thing you had to a friend and confidante, and you trusted her to keep your silence from your mother. “This is unknown. And while I recognize the privilege my name has given me, this is the price I pay for it. The burden of upper-class women is no easy one. I think I should find a funeral far easier than my own debutante, for then I would at least know what to expect.”

“Hush now with those morbid thoughts,” Nellie scolds, though she manages to sound much more affectionate than your mother. “You’ll be the brightest young star at the ball, and have any number of young gentlemen interested. Surely one of them is bound to catch your fancy? Now let’s get you washed and out of the water before you start to prune.” You allow her to help you finish your bath and step out of the water and into your night things before returning to your room, where Nellie started running a comb through your hair to detangle it.

There was nothing that could be done for you. Your father left you with nothing but piles of debt, and while the old family fortune had seen you through a few years, it was depleted now. Your marriage truly was the last hope you had to keep yourself and your mother off the streets, penniless. With no man to care for them, women were vulnerable, and that was simply the truth of the world. 

So as much as you detested it, you would play your part. It was the only way to keep you alive.

[xxrainshadowsxx]

Family Affairs

First family therapy session and the return of angst. Takes place a few days after Jack plants the seed. DISCLAIMER: None of the advice given in this chapter is professional. I am not a therapist, and any advice given is my own personal take on my characters and their situation.

(Also I kind of have an important question down below so please make sure you read that note too!)

Rating: T

Warning: Tiny bit of language, and some heavy topics

“Do we really have to do this?” Jack whispers as the three of you walk up to the quiet center. “All they’re going to do is ask me about planting the tree again.”

“No, she won’t. She’s not here to do that, she’s here to help us learn how to be a family,” you say softly yet firmly. “This is a huge change for all of us, and she’s here to help us through it.” Jack doesn’t complain further, but you can tell he also doesn’t completely believe you. And you can’t blame him for his bad mood. Ever since he’d planted the seed earlier that week, he’d been hounded by just about everyone in the city. It was overwhelming, and while he didn’t regret planting the seed, he was desperate for people to leave him alone again.

Jack wasn’t the only one who was uncomfortable. Onceler had been almost completely silent since you had told him where you were going. He, too, had been receiving intense levels of scrutiny after coming back into the public light to help Jack plant the seed. You thought he’d be used to the attention by now, but he seemed to hate it more than Jack did, and you guess you could understand why. He used to be adored. There was a lot more hostility this time around.

But you had to give them both a lot of credit. Despite their complaints, both Jack and Onceler did recognize the importance of this appointment. There were a lot of emotions to sort out, and no one wanted those emotions to become overwhelming in an already delicate situation. Anything that could alleviate the stress was welcome, and at this point, necessary.

Onceler holds the door open for you, and you step inside a quiet waiting room. This particular therapist’s office mimicked a home setting, which you liked; you didn’t want anyone to feel like they were going to a doctor’s office for these visits. You smile a thanks at your fiancé and take a seat on a soft loveseat, Jack right next to you. That left Onceler to sit in the single chair across from the two of you.

You don’t have to wait more than a minute or two before a woman with shoulder-length chocolate hair comes out. “Welcome,” she says in a soft voice and with a soothing smile. “Please, follow me to the back.” You take one of Jack’s hands in your own, and Onceler’s in the other, and lead your family to the woman’s office.

The back room is set up much like the front, with a distinct home-like setting. However, there’s a much longer couch back here, and the three of you are all able to comfortably sit side by side, while the woman sits across from you.

“My name is Emily,” she says in her calming tone once all of you are settled. “And I understand that the three of you are in a very unique situation. I want to impress upon you first and foremost that this is a judgment-free environment. You can speak your mind here, and I will not think less of you for it. And this is your family. We can work on being comfortable speaking the truth to them if you’re not already.”

Her words are exactly what you need to hear, and you hope she’s been able to calm Jack and Onceler as well. You still have one hand of theirs in each of your own, and you give them gentle squeezes as Emily continues. “I know we’ve spoken before,” she says, addressing you. “But I would love to meet the rest of your family.”

Jack takes a deep breath, but decides to go first. “My name is Jack,” he introduces. “And this is my mom… and my dad, I guess. Well, he is my dad, but I’m still getting used to having a dad…” he trails off here, his cheeks turning pink, but Emily, true to her word, doesn’t seem to mind. She simply smiles and nods before turning her attention to Onceler, who shifts uncomfortably under her gaze.

But, despite his discomfort, he also introduces himself to Emily, and confirms that he is indeed Jack’s father. Emily nods again, then consults her notes that she’s already begun compiling.

“So, based on what I know about this, and what I’ve discerned so far, I’ll want to do individual sessions with all of you in time, but today I think it’s best to remain together,” she decides. “And just to make absolutely sure I have all of my facts together, Jack, you grew up with your mother your whole life, until just recently when your father came back into the picture. And Onceler, you were unaware of Jack’s existence until then. Am I correct in all of this?” All three of you nod in affirmation, making Emily lean back and sigh. 

“Well, this is a complicated situation, that’s for sure,” she comments, but there’s no judgment in her statement, just an acknowledgment of the bizarreness of the whole thing. “And I can imagine that everyone’s emotions are going a bit haywire.” She turns to you. “If you’re comfortable, can I ask why you didn’t initially tell Onceler about Jack? Do they already know why?”

Now it’s your turn to shift under her gaze. As nice and comforting as she was, the topic was never fun to revisit. You quickly explain to her that you wanted to tell Onceler about your pregnancy, but weren’t able to get in touch with him. To her credit, she doesn’t dig into this point for now, just adds it to the list of very weird circumstances that surrounded all of you.

“Wow,” she comments when you’re done speaking. “Yeah, you three are going through quite a lot. But the important thing to remember is that despite all of these obstacles, I’m getting an abundance of love in this room. There might be hurt, and there might be confusion, but most importantly there is love, and I want all of you to remember that, particularly if things get challenging. We’re probably going to get pretty deep during our sessions here, but there’s no shortage of support for each and every one of you.” She gives another kind smile, and this time, you can tell Jack and Onceler are starting to become more accustomed to her presence, and thus more likely to open up.

“And one more thing that I should probably address,” Emily adds, glancing down at her notes. “I understand that all three of you have been or are currently in the public eye, particularly Jack and Onceler. This might come into play later, but for now I don’t think it’s a big deal, nor do I think it’s something that will drastically affect your family dynamic. So unless I’m proven wrong about that, I’m going to leave the fame firmly behind us for the time being.”

Next to you, you can feel Jack visibly relax. That had been his biggest worry, and it had quickly been alleviated. Onceler, on the other hand, was still a bit cautious, which you understood. You were sure his experience in the spotlight was going to affect him and need some working through far more than either you or Jack would need. 

Emily next asks Jack about himself, and while it seems an innocent enough question, you’re sure she’s also doing her job. Sure enough, you can see her making notes as Jack speaks. When Jack mentions his love of music and his newly formed agreement with his father to learn guitar, Emily apparently reads a lot into that; her pen is practically skating across the journal on her lap.

After Jack, Emily turns next to you. “And what makes you, you?” she asks, the same question she posited to Jack. Unlike your son, you have much less to say.

“I mean, I’m a mom. That’s been my primary role ever since Jack was born, and I like to think I’ve done a good job at it. Jack’s a great kid,” you shrug.

“Yes, but you are more than that,” Emily explains patiently. “You’re not just defined by your relationships with others. You’re more than a daughter or a sister. You’re more than Onceler’s fiancée, or even Jack’s mother. You seem to have forgotten that.”

All you can do is blink, words lost in your throat. You want to refute her because of course that’s not the case, but as you start actually thinking about it… she’s not wrong. For the past decade, you’d delved so deeply into motherhood to numb the pain that was there so now, that was all you knew.

“It’s alright,” Emily comforts gently. “This happens to several women after kids come along. I’m not saying that your kids shouldn’t be your first priority, or that you’re in any way a bad mother, just that it’s not a bad thing to focus on yourself as well. In fact, it’s a necessity.”

Well shit. For as nice as she was, she pulled absolutely no punches. You trusted that this would make your family stronger on the other side, but the journey was going to be even more arduous than you were anticipating.

Finally, Emily turns to Onceler. This was the part that you were really interested in. Since coming back into your life, you had seen him return to life, but there was still a deep rooted self-loathing there. He’d already made it abundantly clear that he thought you were too good for him, and had insinuated that Jack might even be better off without him. You’d done your best to stop these insidious thoughts in their tracks, but it was beyond clear that he, more than even you or Jack, needed the professional help.

And sure enough, as Emily asks him the same question as you and Jack, his line of vision finds the floor. “What am I supposed to say?” he mutters after a moment. “That I’ve failed at everything in my life? That I haven’t even been able to raise my son? I haven’t done anything right. I don’t know why she still wants me around. They deserve a better husband and father than I can be.”

For the first time, Emily puts down her journal and instead scrutinizes Onceler for a few moments. She then asks a question that you never would have thought to ask. “Do you want to lose them? And I need a brutally honest answer.”

“Of course not,” Onceler answers, looking and sounding almost offended. “I love them. They’re all I have.”

“If you love them, but keep telling them they deserve better than you, knowingly or not, you’re putting an idea in their heads that you don’t want to be around,” Emily says bluntly. “Everyone messes up. But no matter how grievous the offense, you can become a better person. You’ve committed no acts of violence against your family, so I see no reason for you to be separated from them. Believe it or not, I see this often. You made a mistake, yes. But no matter the size, your son and fiancée believe the best in you. Instead of trying to convince them they can do better than you, you need to become the man you think they deserve. But you can’t be that unless you forgive yourself first.”

The silence in the room is heavy, a palpable presence after her words. You’ve talked to Onceler about forgiving himself before, but you’d never been able to achieve the same punch that Emily has just given. Whether he likes it or not, this is what he needs.

“I… I don’t know if I can forgive myself,” he whispers, his voice thick with sorrow. You can tell he’s working hard to hold back tears. “What I’ve done… I’ve hurt so many people. And it’s my fault I wasn’t involved in Jack’s life at first. I made the decision to leave. There was so much I did wrong.”

“Then start with something you did right,” Emily advises. “And I know it’s hard to think of anything you did right when your mind keeps bringing up all of your mistakes, but that’s what I’m here for. I can give you the tools. You just need to choose to use them.”

“And as for something you did right,” you start nervously, looking to Emily to make sure you’re allowed to say this, but she nods encouragingly, so you continue. “As soon as you found out about Jack, you wanted back in his life. And you’ve done everything to be an attentive father since then.”

“It’s not near enough,” Onceler insists, but this time, Jack interrupts him.

“I like having a dad much better than not having a dad,” he says quietly, but in the silent room, it might as well be as loud as a gunshot.

He also manages to completely shut Onceler up. How could he continue arguing after that? He just hangs his head, letting his son’s words sick in as you run your thumb over the back of his hand, offering him what crumbs of comfort you can.

“See?” Emily says, finally breaking the silence. “Your family loves you. They believe the best of you. If you can’t believe in yourself just yet, borrow theirs. I don’t think it’s wrong to have other people as your primary source of motivation, initially. In time, I want you to want to better yourself for you, but if you can’t do that yet, that’s okay. As long as you aren’t using others as emotional support crutches, they can be helpful in terms of motivation.”

“And you can always lay your burdens on me,” you add quickly. “We’re going to be married, and that’s what being married is about. Your joys are mine, your sorrows are mine. And I want to help you with whatever pain you’re going through, even if all I can give is a listening ear.”

“And I want to do the same for you,” he sighs emphatically. “I’m just not sure I know how.”

“That’s why we’re here,” you remind him with a small smile. “We don’t have to know everything right away. We’re here so we can learn how to support each other.” You turn to Jack to include him as well. “All three of us. And believe me when I say, you support me better than you know. There’s so much I could never have gotten through if you hadn’t been there with me.”

“You told me when planting the seed,” Jack says carefully, “that everyone deserves a second chance. I think you should give yourself one, too.”

At yours and Jack’s words, the tears that had been threatening him finally spill over Onceler’s blue eyes. “Thank you,” he says, pulling both of you into his arms. “I don’t know how I ever got lucky enough to get you. Both of you.”

Emily lets the moment linger a while before speaking up. “Well, I think that should do it for today,” she murmurs, seemingly satisfied. “Same time next week? And I think we’ll start with individual sessions then.” You confirm the details with her before leading your family out.

You weren’t perfect yet. None of you would ever be perfect. But you were mending. And you were confident that with each other’s help, you would become as strong a family unit as you were able to be.

OK, question time. My Too Much Gene decided to kick in yet again, and this time... she wants me to write another OncelerxReader multi-chapter fic. The difference is that this one is heavily AU, and set in the 1910's. And the MC isn't the same MC as the one in Interpersonal, if that makes sense. Like, there's no Aurora, her mother isn't dead, little things that make it not the same character. My question is, would any of you actually be interested in reading that? I'll probably write it regardless, but whether or not I post it depends on if y'all would actually read it.

[xxrainshadowsxx]

Tis the Season

So, this isn't late or anything, not at all. Oops. In all seriousness, happy holidays, and to celebrate, here's a Christmas themed chapter for you.

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild innuendo and not so mild language

“Mom! Dad! Come on, wake up!” A weight that was paired with a very excited voice made it into your bedroom that morning, pulling you away from a lovely deep sleep. After raising your head and groggily blinking a few times, you see that Jack is the perpetrator, but you can’t find it in yourself to get annoyed with him. It’s Christmas morning after all, and it’s your son’s favorite day of the year.

“Jack, give us a minute. We were up half the night wrapping presents,” you yawn, giving him a half-truth. You’d definitely been up most of the night, but it wasn’t to do any last minute wrapping; you’d finished that early enough.

“Still, hurry up! Aunt Aurora made cinnamon rolls, and she said they’re going to get cold soon,” Jack enthuses as he finally exits the bedroom. You hear his feet run down the hall before disappearing, presumably to rejoin Aurora in the living room with the tree and presents.

“How much sugar did Aurora give him?” Onceler wonders as he sits up and stretches. “He’s never got this much energy in the mornings.”

“It's not sugar,” you mumble through a stretch of your own. “It's Christmas. He's always this excited on Christmas. Honestly, I cherish it because I don't know how many more he's got in him before he turns into a jaded and moody teenager.” You stumble out of the bed and make your way over to the dresser, pulling out a blue sweater and white sweatpants, glad that you'd gotten them ready the day before. You change into them, still half-asleep.

“You alright, darling? You've been exhausted lately,” Onceler notes, concern flooding his tone as he changes into comfortable loungewear of his own. You manage to throw a tired smile in his direction.

“It's just the holidays,” you evade. “It should get better once Christmas is actually over. Now I don't have to buy anything anymore.”

“Alright,” he backs off, though still with an air of caution. “But if it doesn't, will you promise to go see the doctor? I don't like the idea of you not getting enough sleep?”

You pull him close and give him a quick peck on the lips. “Promise,” you say. “Now, we should probably go downstairs before Jack comes back up here with full intent to murder us.” Without waiting for a response, you take his hand and lead him out of your bedroom, pulling him along to the stairs of your new house.

You'd only moved in a couple months ago, but already this place felt more like home than anywhere you'd ever lived before. It wasn't as big as Onceler's old mansion, but that suited you just fine. That place had been too massive to ever truly feel like home. Here, you felt comfortable, while still having plenty of room for all four of you.

Down the stairs and a few turns sees you in the sitting room, your Christmas tree in one corner and stockings above the fireplace. Jack and Aurora are already here, and your sister wastes no time handing you a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

“To wake you up,” she explains with a smile. You flash her a grateful look before taking a long sip, savoring the way the drink warms your whole body from the inside out. You didn't like coffee and you didn't like to rely on caffeine to keep you awake, so hot chocolate was usually your go-to.

You take a seat on the sofa, and Onceler sits next to you, casually draping an arm around your shoulders. Jack, who's chosen to sit on the floor, has been watching the whole exchange impatiently and is practically vibrating in anticipation. You can't help but smile. While he's always loved Christmas, he hasn't been this excited in a few years, and you have a very good idea as to why this year is different: it's the first Christmas the whole family has been together. You yourself are certainly the happiest you've ever been as well.

“Should I start handing out presents?” Jack asks, inching closer to the base of the tree.

“Not much point in that,” you tell him with a shrug. “Most of those are for you. Why don't you just start opening some and if you come across something that's for one of us you can hand it over?”

Jack needs no further convincing. He tears into his gifts with the kind of enthusiasm only a ten-year-old boy on Christmas can muster. You'd done your best not to go overboard, but restraint had proved difficult for you when you'd been given an unlimited budget thanks to your husband. Christmas wasn't about money, you knew that, and you wanted to ensure Jack knew that as well, but it sure had helped after years of struggling to make ends meet in December. 

Still, you didn't want to spoil him too much. You made sure to buy your son things he needed as well as things he wanted. Such as… “Oh good, new basketball shoes!” he shouts gleefully as he rips the paper off the first present he grabs. 

“Well, your old ones were falling off your feet,” you point out. “I know these aren't name brand, but they're a bit sturdier. You'll be able to beat them up while you're playing.”

“And if you follow my growth pattern, you'll be needing new shoes every few months soon anyway,” Onceler adds.

“Thank you!” he enthuses as Onceler goes to grab a trash bag for the used wrapping paper.

For the next several minutes, you mostly watch as Jack opens his own present, occasionally interrupted when he comes across one that's not addressed to him and hands it out. Aurora absolutely cackles with glee as she opens your present to her.

“Do you have any idea of the menace you've just unleashed on this town?” she crows as she puts on her new hat, which simply reads “Fuck The Straights.” “You know I'm going to wear this in public, right?” 

“Oh, I know you will,” you answer lightly. “But you're enough of a menace already that a hat isn't going to make much of a difference unless you wear it inside Jack's school for whatever reason.”

“Don't give me ideas,” she laughs, eyes sparkling. “Anyway, I think there's still two more left under there. Who are they for, Jack?”

Jack pulls both out. One of them, which is huge and was an absolute bitch to wrap, is for him. The other, which is shaped like a brick, is apparently yours. Jack passes it to you, and it's surprisingly heavy. It's also from your husband.

“Don't worry, I didn't go overboard,” he murmurs into your ear. “And I know it's something you actually want. But we can let Jack open his first.”

You don't have much of a choice on that score. Jack has already started tearing into his last present, his face lighting up more by the second as he sees what it is.

“No way! I got a guitar?!” he shrieks in delight. He opens the case carefully, in stark contrast to his unbridled, feral enthusiasm when actually taking the wrapping paper off. Once the case is open, he picks up his new, dark blue guitar out of the case and looks at it with something close to reverence.

“We figured you deserved your own with how much you've been playing mine,” Onceler says casually enough, but his face is beaming with pride. They had bonded over their mutual love of music, and it always made your heart swell to hear them playing together.

Now, there was only one present left, and it was the one on your lap. The room looks at you expectantly, so you quickly take the paper off. And in your hands sits a beautiful, embossed copy of all of Jane Austen's works. It had been something you'd mentioned an offhand interest in to Onceler when out shopping for Jack, and he'd clearly remembered.

“Thank you, love,” you smile as you lean over and kiss him briefly.

“I think that's it,” Jack comments as he searches under the branches for anything he might have missed. After a moment, you decide the time is right for you to speak up. 

“Jack, there's an envelope in the tree,” you say, trying your best to keep your tone as light as possible.

Jack finds and grabs the envelope immediately. “It's for Dad, from Mom,” he announces. Onceler raises his eyebrow at you, but when you're not forthcoming with any further information, he takes the envelope from Jack, dragging his finger through the top to open it, and spilling its lone parcel into his palm.

His face instantly goes slack and drains of all color. His mouth makes motions like it's trying to form words, but no sounds are coming out. Finally, he looks over at you, his eyes misty. “Really?” he manages to breathe out. You simply nod, beaming yourself at this point.

“What is it?” Jack demands. At his words, Onceler simply shows him and Aurora what's in his hand: the positive pregnancy test you'd taken five days ago.

“We're having another baby?” he whispers as Jack and Aurora stare at the pregnancy test, Jack in astonishment, Aurora in amusement and satisfaction.

“We're having another baby,” you confirm, and not a second later, his arms are around you, kissing you senseless. You're only too happy to return his kisses.

“Alright!” Aurora calls after a moment, causing you to separate. “Other people want to congratulate you too. As long as this one was actually planned… for the love of God, tell me you actually talked about this one?” You sigh, but nod. You hadn't exactly been actively trying, but you had agreed together that you weren't going to do anything to prevent it.

“I'm going to be a big brother?” Jack asks. You turn to him. His reaction was the one you were the most nervous about. You didn't want him to feel like this new baby was yours and Onceler's chance to “get it right” since Jack's own early years had been so turbulent.

“Yes. Are you okay with that?” you ask apprehensively.

A grin splits his face. “It's awesome when is the baby gonna be here?” he asks eagerly, and you breathe a sigh of relief. There might be issues down the road, but not today. Today, things were allowed to be perfect, and for the first time, all of you could bask in the glow of the prospect of becoming a family of five.

Later that night, when you're settling down to sleep, Onceler turns to you as you're climbing into bed. “Do you think I can do it? Be a good dad, I mean?” he asks quietly.

You reach up to caress his face. “You're already a wonderful father to Jack,” you remind him. “And I know our new baby is going to be so lucky to have you as their dad.”

He pulls you into his chest. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “This means everything to me. There's no greater gift you could have given me, even though I thought I had everything with you and Jack. But now I can't wait to meet our new little one.”

You look up to kiss him once, smiling brightly. “Merry Christmas, love.”

I will be taking a break until the new year, and I might have a new project in the works come January. We'll see. I'll see you then and have a good end of the year.