Miss Chloe Bennett

Lover of theatre and poetry.

[therailroadheir]

Junho is watching her carefully as she speaks to him. He could tell that she didn't... fully want him around. Though he hoped with time that she would change her mind about him. He carefully put his hands behind his back while they walked. He had an almost carefree way about him- even though he was filled with stress- the only thing that would really give it away without him talking was his bags under his eyes.

He waited until her parents left before he laughed. He let her hold onto his arm. "I wouldn't be offended if you had said no," He promised her. "I know that I'm probably not the most romantic man... sorry," he told her because as they headed closer, he could see that it looked rather romantic....

"I know I'm not- perhaps there was someone else you wanted to ask you?" he wondered because he could sorta see the disappointment on her face.  He wondered who she wanted to be with. He is always amazed by romance and is always eager to learn and be a listening ear. Maybe if he hears enough people, he'll to understand and notice it when it happens.

He thought for a moment. "No...I did not win any games' he winced as he thought back to the games he played. "I actually played and failed...each time..." He sighed. "It was the worst. I think i spent too much time trying..." he had a soft pout on his face as he remembered the pitiful look on the stall operator's face when he realized how bad Junho was at the game.  

Even though it sounded dry and clearly she was angry- it wasn't at him; he's sure of it because this is the first time they properly talked...He was always giving someone a chance- he'll let Chloe decide how she wants things to go.

"What about you, Miss Barnett?" he asked. " do anything exciting? Hopefully you are much better at games than I was." He had such a soft gaze, and he was looking at her like he was eager to listen to whatever she had to say....

[chloe-bennett-rp]

Chloe felt her guilt like a heavy rock in her stomach. She had not thought her body language would be that obvious, but the man had clearly caught on to her discomfort. She had heard nothing but great things of Junho Lytton, and it was not fair that he had to feel lesser than simply because she was frustrated with the state of the world.

"It is not you... it is..." She began. And shook her head. "No, I shall not even finish that sentence. In fact, it is neither of us, Lord Lytton. My mood is not a reflection of you, nor the lack of another." A lie, but a lie she was determined to cover.

"Aah, yes, the romantic man. The better half of the two lovers." She said with a sarcastic huff. "You are in good company then. I do not care for romance. It is not as if the gentlemen promenading the ladies under these lanterns hung them there themselves. They are just taking advantage of romance served on a silver platter. It is empty and meaningless."

She looked at his arms, which were tucked behind him, rather than offered to her. The gesture felt strange, but perhaps it was the American way. Most men she had promenaded with had offered her their arm. Perhaps it was another sign that he meant it was a friendly stroll.

"I am glad to have your company, truly." She said with an apologetic smile. "You are not as I expected." Her smile turned into an intrigued smirk, as if he was suddenly a riddle she wanted to solve. He had been honest, refreshingly so. About his lack of wanting to court her, about romance, and about being terrible at fair games.

"I fear I have not won anything but a ring toss against an opera singer." Chloe admitted with a self-deprecating giggle. "I lack the coordination for anything but a gentle waltz, or unromantic lantern walks with suitors who speak of friendship."

Her green eyes searched his, finding no ill intent in them. Only kindness and respect, and a surprising eagerness to hear her every word. It was not something the blonde debutant was used to. Most men were far to interested in the sound of their own voice. She was starting to see why her sisters enjoyed his company.

"May I ask you why you did not offer me your arm?"

[lavieenton]

Ceara let out a deep sigh, mulling over her interactions with Mary and any mention of Frederic. Their initial meeting and the sorrow interwoven with fear and anger.

"No," she admitted finally. "While I cannot speak for your sister, I do know that she still speaks kindly of Frederic. She holds no ill will towards him. Even...Lord O'Connor. I have not heard her speak unkindly of him, but we also try not to discuss either of them during our meetings."

She didn't want to delve further into the reason why discussing Frederic and Dominic was painful for them both, respectively. For once, she was set on keeping the secret close to her heart, the way she'd done for seventeen years until she set foot in Mayfair. It didn't surprise her that Dominic was adamant about not regretting what he'd done. She only heard Frederic and Mary's side of the situation. The hurt of the engagement ending, the public humiliation that it was printed in the paper. *Their* paper. Dominic made his decision, and that was all she could say for him.

"Someone like Lord O'Connor would rather move on than admit to something being wrong," Ceara said, gnawing on her lower lip. "I am not sure what it would take for him to see his wrongs. But I am sorry you had to endure his stubbornness."

She did let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, there will be many who cannot see past the turn of the century. And I fear that will always be true in the coming years. Tradition overrides any semblance of progressiveness, does it not?"

[chloe-bennett-rp]

The deep sigh, and the comment that Mary and Ceara did not discuss Frederic or O'Connor at their meeting, made it clear to Chloe that she wanted to change the topic.

Chloe gladly obliged. She knew better than to push and probe, yet she could not help but wonder why she was so eager not to discuss the O'Connor family. Was there something beyond just worry for Mary?

"Yes, you are right. Men like Lord O'Connor would rather move on, because they have the privilege to. And thus, us women must move on as well." She rolled her eyes gently. "That... or run away like Rosalind. Then again, she was banished... A banishment that was a blessing in disguise, was it not?"

She sighed, and looked over her shoulder, making sure no one was listening, but no one seemed to care enough about a Barnett and a Dempsey speaking in the corner of a theatre.

"I admit..." She began, speaking more softly now, her tone hushed. "I have sometimes dreamed of running away, to carve my own path in this world. To become a governess, or a teacher, like you. I know it is not... all roses and butterflies, I do, but at least you get to govern your own life, earn your own living. Have something that is truly yours, something earned and labored for."

She let out a nervous sigh, her hand coming up to rub her neck awkwardly. "I... Forgive me... I often speak before I think and... I guess I just wanted to know... if... if you thought me capable of such a feat."

[lavieenton]

Genevieve did not realize the gravity of her words. The command behind it, rather than a gentle request. Although she had been attempting to mingle with all the citizens of Mayfair alike, she tended to forget that she was not one of them. She was a princess, a figure above them all from birth. A request for an answer or a walk through a fair meant more than it was supposed to.

Taking in Chloe's words, she hummed thoughtfully. Jewels were artificial; that was true. Flowers were all the same, especially that of the fated rose. And poetry? Well, reciting Byron to a person one fancies is not exactly ideal. She had been looking at this all wrong, but her heart told her that Edgar's romantic gestures were better than that. More meaningful than a transaction.

"Well, he planted my favorite flowers at his home with his own bare hands," Genevieve admitted, cheeks flushed at the thought. "And he is learning French for me. His accent is atrocious, and I could not help but offer to teach him." That brought a sweet laugh out of her, one so light it might as well have been as gentle as windchimes. "But he has not given me jewels or spoken prose to me. His time has been enough."

Her thoughts floated at the thought of the heir presumptive. His gentle smile, charming wit. Chloe's words pulled her from them, causing her to shake her head. "Not exactly. I also have not given anyone else much attention, if I may speak so bluntly. But I do not think I would want a man going to great lengths for me, not with the knowledge that I am noble, being the exclusivity of it."

It was the easiest excuse she had for why she had omitted the truth from Edgar. If he knew who she was, would he go to all these troublesome lengths to impress her based on title alone? Genevieve sighed and interlocked her fingers, frowning. "You gave me much to think about, regardless of my limited knowledge on this topic. But you've said you are not familiar with love and romance. Not even a crush?"

[chloe-bennett-rp]

"Does he happen to have any brothers?" Chloe jested with the princess. Yet there was some truth to it. The romantic gestures she spoke of were far beyond anything Chloe could imagine a man ever doing. Planting her favorite flowers with his own hands? Learning a foreign language? Those were deeply personal things and required far more effort than Chloe ever thought any man to be capable of.

"Well, if what you say is true, and I believe, from the look on your face, that it is, then you are a lucky woman. He sounds like a national treasure. A diamond of the highest order, if such an honor could ever be bestowed upon men."

She turned quiet for a moment, contemplating. The idea that gestures such as those were even possible was starting to challenge her perspective of the world. How many times had she not silently wished she'd be a lesbian, and never have to deal with the lot of them? Yet here she was, yet to feel attracted to one.

"I admit, you have given me much to think about as well, Your Highness," Chloe said with a polite smile, which only widened and brought upon a warm blush as the princess asked her if she had not even had a crush.

"Ugh, look at me, blushing like some wide-eyed schoolgirl. Well, yes... there might have been one." The words were spoken as if they belonged to an annoyed teenager who did not get her way, as if her feelings were as much a cause of frustration as they were a source of joy. "It is... frustrating. My mind wanders to him every chance it gets. I cannot focus on anything these days. But it is early, far too early to know if anything will ever come of it. And... well... I have known his family for a long time, and he mine."

She took a deep breath, her mind wandering back to the theatre, to the candlelit prop room, to his body pressed against hers, and the way his eyes glistened, reflecting the literal flame between them.

"Recently, however, I got to speak with him alone... and... well... it was as if our souls spoke the same language. As if he truly understood my mind and the way I experience the world. I have never experienced anything like it. If such a thing as a twin flame ever exists, then it must be him. He was also humble, and kind and..." She let out a soft sigh, bordering on a chuckle. "He was clumsy. And he crashed into me, but instead of making some crude joke or ignoring it entirely, he asked if I was alright and apologized to me. Yet I fear our family's history makes it all very... complicated."

[chloe-bennett-rp]

Closed starter for Peter Drake @namenotyourown

Who: Chloe & Peter Where: Barnett House

Chloe was grateful for Peter helping her family when they needed it most. It had been a saving grace after the scandal Dominic O'Connor had forced them into. Still, there was an emotional distance within her. She knew in her heart that Elizabeth did not love him, that her marriage to him was a sacrifice for her family. It had to be. And so, he was partially her family's saviour, but also partially her sister's jailer.

He was also another man she had to submit to. And as much as she hated it, money was what made the world go around. So she knocked on the door of his study, waiting for permission to enter.

As he called her in, she opened the door gently and left it open. It felt more secure that way. He was still a stranger, and she dreaded being alone in a room with him. "Mister Drake." She said, and gave him a respectable curtsy. "Thank you for letting me in"

She gnawed gently on her bottom lip, her hands clasped in front of her. She hated asking for money, but still, she wanted her dress for this upcoming ball to be grand. To impress suitors. To impress Edgar O'Connor.

"I suspect you have heard of the Garden of Night Blossoms Ball." She said with a nervous smile. "I... I know I said I do not care for marriage or courtship... but... I am getting older, quickly, and I thought I might give it a fair chance. And thus... I was wondering... if it was possible... if you would be so generous... I might receive an allowance to have a dress tailor-made for the event."

She paused, gathering the courage to make the final request. "They want us dressed inspired by flowers, and I had this idea for a dress inspired by the petals of a bluebell." She fluttered her eyelashes a little and tried to make herself look more innocent and childlike. Or rather, like a woman who would be more difficult to say no to.

[edgaroconnor]

Her hand came to rest upon his arm, and Edgar felt the lightness of it before he allowed himself to think of anything else. It would have been easy to make some remark. Too easy, perhaps. Instead, he only adjusted his arm beneath her hand and led her from the edge of the reading with the calm assurance of a man doing nothing improper at all. "Beatrice March," he said under his breath, just as they reached the door. "I shall remember." The promise was quiet, but not careless. He knew the worth of a borrowed name. Knew, too, that sometimes a false one allowed a person to be truer than they ever could beneath the weight of their own.

Edgar followed the small pull of her hand without protest. The door opened upon a room crowded with indistinct shapes. Shelves, crates, a table, perhaps. The hallway light reached only far enough to show the edge of disorder. Then the door closed. Darkness took them completely. Edgar blinked, seeing nothing. For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing and the muffled life of the theatre beyond the walls. "I had rather hoped the theatre might provide us one useful candle," he said, a small chuckle following. "It appears even that was too much to ask." He kept still until he could judge the space around him. The room was small, crowded with old scenery and abandoned inventions. Ahead of him, Chloe moved with more confidence than the darkness deserved, her hand searching along some unseen surface.

"Do you carry matches?" she asked. "Somewhere," Edgar answered, already feeling inside his coat. "Please, give me a moment to find them." A metal object struck the floor with a hard, ringing clatter. Edgar turned sharply toward the sound, his hand leaving his pocket for half a second. "Are you all right?" Her voice came back from below, nearer the table, and then she announced the discovery of a chamberstick with enough relief that Edgar almost smiled. "Good," he said. "Then we're halfway." He reached again for the matchbox, taking a step toward her. However, his boot caught against a painted log, and the room shifted under him. Edgar caught himself too late. His hand struck the table, the other reaching blindly for balance, and he stumbled forward into Chloe.

For one startled breath, she was pressed back against the table's edge, his arm braced beside her, his body close enough to feel her chest against his, and every breath that she took. Edgar went still. Then he drew back at once. "Forgive me," he said, low and immediate. "I am sorry. Did I hurt you?" There was no flourish in the apology, no attempt to turn it charming. His concern came first. He stepped away as much as the cramped room allowed, one hand lifted slightly so she could sense the space between them even before she could see it.

The matchbox was in his pocket after all. He found it, struck a match, and a small flame broke open between them. Warm gold climbed over the room: shelves crowded with wooden fruit and dented crowns, painted branches, old swords, a plaster moon with half its face chipped away. The flame lit up the vision of Chloe, chamberstick in hand, her borrowed purple dress catching the light like water. Edgar's gaze moved over her quickly, searching for injury rather than impropriety. "Truly," he asked, softer now, "are you all right?" He stepped nearer to light the candle. The wick caught, trembling at first, then steadier, pushing the dark back into the corners. Finally, they were able to see again.

[chloe-bennett-rp]

Chloe's eyes were still searching the darkness for any movement that might convey where Edgar was. All her other senses were alert, overcompensating for the lack of sight. The room smelled dusty, and slightly of trapped air. Perhaps even sweat from some discarded wigs and old coats. Then there was a small thud, as if Edgar had kicked his foot against something.

The next thing she knew, she was pushed up against the edge of a table, and she felt his arm brush by her hip as he caught his own weight. Still, some of his weight had landed against her chest, and she felt a solid, warm body pressed against her.

She took in a sharp breath of air and felt her chest press even further into him. The comforting scent of lavender filled her senses even more than it had before, intensified by the lack of sight. And beneath it, a hint of cedarwood and citrus.

This was the closest she had ever been to another man, to any person who was not one of her sisters. She felt her heart beginning to race. It should have felt like an intrusion. Instead, her body wanted him to remain. To keep offering his solid frame and warm body.

Obviously, that would have been far too improper, and before she had time to even react, Edgar had regained his footing and stepped away from her. The lack of warmth was instant, and her body, despite being freed from his weight, felt hollow somehow.

"I am quite alright, truly. I am not made of porcelain, Edgar." She said with a nervous chuckle, adjusting her dress, which had been pulled down slightly in the collision. Her heart was still racing, but she did not want to reveal just how inexperienced she was when it came to such closeness.

The match was lit and coloured the room in a golden hue. Edgar's face was the first thing to come into focus. His gaze was on her, making sure she was truly alright, that nothing was wrong. His eyes, blue, were almost glowing in the light of the candle, swimming in gold. Chloe was not one to care much for paintings, but if an artist could have captured a beauty like that, she might have to change her mind. She needed to look away before her lingering stare became improper.

Instead, she took the candle with her and searched the room further. It was filled with bottles, tea sets, hairbrushes, nightcaps, pistols, and anything one could imagine ever using in a production. She brushed her fingers over a fine porcelain tea kettle and smiled to herself in awe.

"I am more than alright." She said quietly, as if she was suddenly in a sacred place, surrounded by elements that, by themselves, were incredibly mundane, yet in her eyes were silent art pieces yearning for their time in the spotlight. Every prop held a story, a silent, stored memory of its time upon a stage.

"Theatre really is something else. Is it not?" She asked, turning back to Edgar, holding the candle between them so she could see his face once more. "It is a living, breathing form of art, which only exists in the present moment. Scripts can be stored in a library, yes, but the life of it, the essence of it, exists once it is performed for an audience, and no two performances are truly alike." Her eyes travelled again to the shelves of everyday items, filled now with dust and a couple of cobwebs.

"I lied to you earlier.." Her voice softened. "When you asked me what I'd write a play about. I told you I'd never write one... and... well... that is simply not true." Her voice was soft, quiet, as if the walls themselves had ears and mouths that might whisper straight into the ears of Lady Whistledown.

Her eyes were once again back on him. She wanted to add that she had, in fact, already written one. And not only had she lied about never wanting to write one, but she had lied about never writing one at all. Yet it still felt too terrifying to say. First, she needed to know how he would react. Her heart was racing again, but not for the same reason it had before.

[dasxnalan]

What the new earl had achieved was envied and coveted by all, more so now for Nalan Das given that he had been the one responsible for his family’s momentary downfall. There was much to be said about the Barnett’s aspect as well, of how they were practically destitute and now, thanks to another, their heads were finally floating above water but they all knew how precarious this could remain. “I like to believe that your new brother and I are friends, both with dreams of rising in the world but he has managed to do it in no time at all, which is why I feel so comfortable speaking so openly, but others do not appreciate such honesty. Do you prefer honesty or honied lies Miss Barnett?” The theatre provided an escape to all, commoners with dreams of borrowing different lives from their characters and then there were those in society who wished to dabble in the taboo arts of the theatre, where opera singers nights were for sale for the right price, actors and actresses as well. They were glorified mistresses, selling their time and other things for money, though most would say it was to fund the artistic pursuits, most men knew it was not the case. “Many dreams of knights and princes, or those with an artistic dream do share their own thoughts. It is nothing to be shamed about, no matter what polite society may say.” Nalan Das, to everyone, was quite the open book, a man who wore his ambition on his sleeve for all to see, and to judge as they so often did and yet it seemed Miss Chloe Barnett was casting a judgemental eye upon him. “Nothing secret, I wish to have a foothold in England to help my family business, it is as plain as day but such honesty is frowned upon here.”

[chloe-bennett-rp]

Chloe had always stood by the idea that she valued honesty over the forced performance the ton so often demanded of its members. Yet she had always thought of that honesty as a rebellion against propriety and the gilded cage of the ton. This man, however, was being honest about his desire to benefit from it, or so it seemed.

"I admit. I have often mentioned valuing honesty over honeyed lies." She began. "Tell me, then, Mister Honesty, why was it that you offered to keep me company? Was it money, which you so generously pointed out was added to my purse? Was it my beauty? Or was it my passion for theatre?"

Chloe gave him a polite smile. She found she had to respect honesty, even if the truth of it was not something she agreed with.

"I shall repay your honesty with my own, Mister Das." She began, her eyes still wary of him. "If you wish to gain a foothold in England, then I am afraid I am not the person with whom you should spend your time. I do not care for politics or economics, and I would not make for a quiet, respectable wife, whose gentle qualities and endless devotion frame her husband as the perfect man."

It was the truth. Chloe carried a rebellious spirit, and an anger that would surely get her in trouble one of these days. Nalan Das seemed like a man who'd not appreciate his wife sneaking out behind his back, to read poetry and watch staged readings. And Chloe would rather chop her hand off before giving that up.

[lavieenton]

Genevieve visibly perked up at the young woman's choice to answer her question. She could see how nervous she was, and while instilling anxiety was not the goal, it appeared she'd caught her off guard more than frightened her with her presence. It was one of the many qualms she had with being titled. Any casual conversation devolves into an attempt to sway her interest. It was frustrating, made conversing an impossibility.

"Oh, it is only me who is the philosopher type," she crooned. "The rest are cemented in the secular world." Not to mention, Edgar's existence in her life increased her interest in love and its complexities. She hadn't reached the levels of researching or reading about it, but asking around offered her more answers.

Her disappointment was shown in the frown on her face when Chloe gave the same answer Leith had. Romance was performative, but love was something else entirely. But as she continued listening, Genevieve hummed with much consideration. Romance was not so much a gesture as it was an excuse for love to dwindle. A man could offer a grand bouquet of roses, and deem himself absolved from any possible misunderstanding of his love. But roses were typical and impersonal, and love was more than gifts and sweet nothings. Maybe it was the princess who needed to rethink her notions of love and romance, not the two who had a clear understanding of its intentions.

"It was," she agreed. "Walk with us, please."

Gesturing to her side, she began to speak again. "I think love and romance can be intermingled. I am presuming that is not accurate for everyone, but with us...it feels different. See, I've found myself in quite the bind. There is a man, and I am surely convinced I love him, and he loves me. But he has also done these romantic gestures, subtle as a breeze, and they feel genuine. Real. Does that make sense?"

Leith followed behind them, keeping watch while Greer filled his thoughts with every mention of love the princess and her new friend threw to the wind.

[chloe-bennett-rp]

Chloe felt the absurdity of the princess not framing the offer to walk as a question, but rather a request. Indeed, it wasn't like she had much of a choice. One does not simply say no to a princess. The rebellious Barnett would usually despise being told what to do, especially by someone of a higher ranking than her. Yet there was something about this woman that felt relatable and soothing. Perhaps it was her honesty, or her desire to jump straight past the small talk that Chloe dreaded more than anything else the marriage mart had to offer.

"Of course, your highness." She said and began strolling alongside her. She watched her intently as she began to describe her own take on love and romance. It did not surprise her that a princess, born with privileges Chloe could only dream up, would see such a concept through a romantic lens. Any man at this fair would be eager to court her. For a split second she wondered if Edgar would be one of those men as well. But then thought better of it. Edgar seemed like a man who values realness and people with a good head on their shoulders. After all, he had called her dangerous, and meant it was the most sincere compliment. Princesses were proper, well-behaved, highly educated, yes, but not dangerous.

A warm smile spread on Chloe's face. Of course, despite what her sister might say to tease her at times, Chloe had a heart, and it was clear that this woman was smitten with someone. "Well, what romantic gestures has he done?" She asked softly. "Flowers are easy; one can simply send a servant to both purchase and deliver them to your doorstep. Jewelry, though expensive, is usually picked out by the clerk, not the suitor himself. Please. What does men know of jewelry? Citing poetry? Well, it at least requires more effort than the latter, but one is left wondering how many more ears have heard the same words whispered in their ear."

Chloe shrugged, hoping she hadn't come off too harsh. "I do not know much of love, but I do believe the answer might lie in what sort of romantic gesture a man comes to perform for his woman. Now with you being a princess, I can only imagine the length a man might go to secure your attention." Her eyes were slightly crinkled at the corners, filled with excitement at the potential of listening to her stories. To know the adventures of a true princess. Her mind was alert, ready to memorize her words, to use them as potential inspiration for her next play. After all, it was hard writing of love when one had not truly felt it.

[chloe-bennett-rp]

Closed starter for @v1dua Who: Chloe & Leonora Where: Harrington Books

Chloe had been feeling more grounded lately; the sketching attempts had partially worked, allowing her to get out of her own mind and feelings about the current injustice surrounding her world. However, there was only so much sketching a young lady could do before it got boring. The learning curve had begun to look a lot straighter than it had in the beginning.

And so Chloe found herself at her favorite bookstore, Harrington Books. Chloe had bought many a play from this place. Now, with her family's newfound finances, it might be time to expand her private library. Recently, she had become fascinated with the ancient Greek tragedies, especially that of Antigone. A woman who defied the rules set by her own family and society to honor those she truly cared for, despite the consequences.

The bell rang, announcing her arrival, and the comforting smell of leather, ink, and parchment greeted her like an old friend. "Good morning." She said to the man at the front desk, with a gracious nod. He returned her greeting with a warm smile.

Well on her way to the playwright's section, she paused, noticing another woman alone, searching the shelves of the botany section. She didn't recognize her at first glance, but soon enough it dawned on her. It was Leonora Mercier. Or soon-to-be Mrs. Leonora O'Connor, Dominic's wife.

Chloe knew the right thing to do would be to keep walking; after all, the woman had not noticed her yet. But there was no law against introducing oneself to people and making new friends. Even if those friends were closely connected to Dominic O'Connor. Oh yes, she could imagine it, becoming close friends with his wife, being invited to dinner parties and musicales. Not to mention that she was a part of Edgar's life. A man whose life she might find herself wanting to be a part of.

So she stepped forward, into the narrow corridor between two tall shelves. Her mint green muslin day dress stood out among the wooden shelves and leather-bound books on botany. "Look for inspiration for the Garden of the Night Blossoms ball?" Chloe asked with a friendly smile on her face. "I myself am considering attending in a bluebell-inspired dress. Though I do not even know where to begin looking for a book that may contain images of it. Care to help a damsel in distress?"

Her eyelashes fluttered slightly more than they usually did, and kept her demeanor open and polite. The perfect picture of polite company. She reached out her hand for the woman to greet her properly. "Chloe Barnett. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

[edgaroconnor]

You defend him. Edgar felt the question before he found his answer to it. It was an uncomfortable little truth, made worse by the fact that Chloe had noticed it. He had not meant to speak like counsel for an absent playwright, nor for men as a whole; God knew they had enough advocates already, most of them tiresome and overpaid. Yet there was some stubborn, foolish part of him that flinched whenever intention and failure were mistaken for the same thing. "I do not think I defend the male sex," he said quietly. "That would be a labour too vast for one evening, and I am not dressed for that kind of battle." The faint humour passed through his voice without quite softening the thought beneath it.

"Perhaps I am less defending of the playwright than wondering where he went wrong. There is a difference, I think, between writing a woman poorly because one believes her to be simple, and writing her poorly because one has not yet learned how much has been kept from him." His mouth tightened faintly. He looked at Chloe then, properly, though not with challenge. Her question deserved more than a clever evasion. "No," he said. "I do not believe a woman becomes interesting because a man loves her. I think some men only begin paying attention once their own hearts are involved, and then congratulate themselves for discovering depth where it had always been."

A small smile touched him, rueful rather than charming. "I can see how a play stumbles into the same sin. It gives a woman a husband, then a lover, then calls that a life. As though her soul must always be described by who has claim to it." His eyes moved back to the page in the actress's hand. "Perhaps the author meant the second man to represent freedom. But you are right. Freedom that must arrive in the shape of another man is a narrow sort of freedom indeed." There it was. The sting of it. Not sharp enough to wound him badly, but clean enough to make him notice the place it struck. He stored the thought away almost unwillingly, as one might pocket a letter too honest to read in company.

Something of her pleased embarrassment softened the edge of the moment. Dangerous. Edgar had seen enough women praised into stillness to know the difference between a compliment that decorated and one that freed. "You have earned it," he said, simply. His voice lowered a little, warmed by admiration. "You are dangerous because you notice what others have agreed not to see. That unsettles people far more than scandal." He let the words rest there, without embellishing them into something too polished. Chloe did not need him to perform approval for her. She needed him to mean it.

Her use of his name came out of her mouth, soft and unguarded enough that it drew his attention more swiftly than any touch might have done. Edgar. The request that followed was clumsy only because it was honest. A more practiced woman might have made it sound elegant. He did not laugh though. The impulse was there, but only fondly, and he would sooner have bitten his tongue than make her feel foolish for trusting him with a nervous sentence. "I understood you," he said gently. He glanced toward the door she had indicated. Edgar considered his options. He'd been careful lately; taken his reputation as the heir presumptive seriously. But who would bother spreading this gossip across town? The actors in the room relied on Edgar to keep their jobs after all. He stepped aside and offered his arm, not as a claim, but as an option. "Very well, Ms Barnett. Lead the way."

[chloe-bennett-rp]

Chloe felt something loosen in her chest as Edgar agreed to hide away with her. Even the words I understood you warmed her soul. Three simple words, yet they meant so much to her. In truth, they were a perfect summary of how it had felt talking to him tonight. She felt, perhaps for the first time in a long time, understood. Here was someone who saw the world as she did. Who saw women as interesting, and carrying depth. Who was able to agree with her interpretation of a play, despite never being able to fully understand where she was coming from. He was trying. He was admitting his flaws. Chloe did not know such a thing to be possible.

She placed her arm in his, where it fit perfectly, as if it had been meant just for her. Solid, strong, safe. She looked over her shoulder one final time at the actors and their audience before slowly making her way towards the door. "Remember. If anyone sees us, I am Beatrice March. No Miss Barnett here tonight."

The narrow hallways at the back of the theatre were dimly lit by candles lining the walls. It only just dawned on her how ridiculous it was that Edgar had asked her to lead the way. She had no idea of the layout of this place, though then again, she assumed Edgar did not possess such knowledge either.

Together they took several strides, enough to get far enough from the small stage that the staged reading sounded more like a distant hum than words of art being spoken aloud. Far enough away that, should they enter a room now, anyone leaving the reading would not overhear such an unlikely pair speaking in hushed voices.

She opened the next door on her right. From what little of it was illuminated by the dim hallway, it appeared to be a prop closet. The walls were lined with shelves and boxes. Some contained swords and rapiers, others branches with painted leaves, most likely once used to assemble a tree upon the stage.

Chloe slipped inside, gently dragging Edgar with her. It was evening. There was no performance tonight except the staged reading. No one had any reason to enter a prop closet.

As the two stepped inside, forgotten dust motes began swirling through the air, briefly visible in the candlelight spilling in from the hallway. Chloe closed her eyes, took a deep, steadying breath, and closed the door behind her.

The moment had come. She was ready. She was going to share her secret.

"Mister O'Connor." She began, and opened her eyes. Yet the moment she did, the sight before her was no different than the darkness behind her eyelids. Pitch black. Of course. A prop closet contained no windows, and there was no reason for it to be lit at this hour.

"I... I admit, I did not expect it to be this dark." She said with a slightly embarrassed giggle. It was impossible not to laugh at the absurdity of it. Two grown people finding themselves in an entirely darkened prop closet to discuss secrets, like a pair of wide-eyed school children.

"Do you carry matches, my Lord? I am sure there must be a candle in here somewhere." Her hand, now impossible to see in front of her face, traced along the wall, searching for a wall sconce or a chamberstick. Instead, her fingers struck something resting on a small table, sending it clattering to the floor with a metallic clunk.

She bent down, feeling around for it with her fingertips before finally picking it up. "Ah... a chamberstick."

[lavieenton]

Ceara tilted her head, admittedly awaiting eagerly for her response. Chloe was witty in a way that differed from her sisters. Her interwoven knowledge and knack for seeing herself in the arts was a curious thing, and something the tutor wanted to continue discovering through their conversation. She’d met many people of equal intellect to her own, but not many that she wanted to genuinely connect with.

Once she did though, Ceara’s smile faded. A dying star in a sky full of flaming fires. It was a shame that she found interest in Phebe, the woman who was chasing someone who refused to entertain her feelings. The jokes had written themselves, and the irony festered as it always did. “Love makes a woman do strange things,” she said, voice quieting. “Even when the blade is sharp, the reward remains at the tip of it. But reaching for it is the painful part, though knowing better and having others to pull you back is the best way to remedy that.”

I should take my own advice, she thought. What on earth was she doing trying to even speak to Dominic? He was engaged, he was angry at her, and they’d merely had a fling. Ten months was not nothing, but for him, it was just something to pass the time with. She needed to accept that now. She had no other choice.

When Chloe asked of Mary and spoke his name, Ceara cleared her throat and shifted on her feet. This wasn’t easy, but was healing an easy feat?

“I worry for her,” she admitted. “She has not been entirely well. Especially the past few weeks. I…am sorry he did that to you all, and especially to Mary. I know…I know her feelings towards Frederic O’Connor were genuine. It wasn’t fair the way he soured your family’s name.”

She had promised she wouldn’t tell anyone else about her and Dominic, and she was doing her best to stick true to her word. Frederic told his brother right away what she told him, and she wasn’t sure if Chloe was the same way, willing to confront him with her anger. “You must not forgive him, do you?”

Ceara was sure she knew the answer.

[chloe-bennett-rp]

The fact that Ceara worried for Mary as well did little to soothe Chloe's concern. In fact, it only helped justify her anger and her anxiety on her sister's behalf. What those two brothers did to her family had repercussions far beyond what they seemed to realize or even care. Dominic had made it clear in the store that he felt little remorse over what he had done.

"You said you were..." Chloe said softly, as to make it clear that she was not confronting her. She simply wanted to know more. "That her feelings were genuine. You speak as if they have passed. Do you believe them to have passed? Truly?" Chloe was not so sure, not after the Barnett Ball.

"As for forgiveness..." Chloe huffed. "Forgiveness needs to be earned, and that man has made it very clear that he has no intention of earning it." She gave her a quick smile, realizing that despite Ceara’s closeness to Mary, the two of them were practically strangers. "Of course, that is his right. And I find few men live to reflect and regret their choices. Is that not why we have duels? They'd rather die than admit they were wrong."

She shrugged. The whole concept was insane. The men were so obsessed with honor they were willing to die for it, rather than deal with the aftermath. Women, however, were expected to sit down and accept it graciously. "You would think being in the eighteen-hundreds we'd be more civilized than that."

[youngoconner]

Frederic let out a soft huff. " Does it really matter?" He asked. He knew he had hurt her- he thought they were once friends...He wasn't sure how to fix it- or if he even should. He knew that Dominic didn't really want him around the Barnetts- but he had once seen them as his family. They were going to be part of his family...and now they all thought he left them- which wasn't wrong, but it wasn't like that.

"i don't think i could write one well," he tells her as he crossed his arms and tilted his head alittle at her. he was annoyed. "i think the idea of writing a play could be interesting. It's very different from writing a book.... I've written many stories... I've been taking notes- I'm not going to do it half-arsed," He tells her.

He looked at her when she spoke of that. " i think..."He looked unsure for a moment. " That if i wrote Romeo and Juliet. I'd have Romeo die and hope that Juliet doesn't follow him…" He tells her. “Romeo hoped that Juliet would forgive him but marry someone worth it," He tells her. “Because he knows he isn’t”

[chloe-bennett-rp]

"Here I was, thinking half-arsed was your specialty." Chloe said, with a sarcastic smirk, feeling proud of herself for her comeback. Yet as soon as the words left her mouth, she partially regretted it. Deep down, she cared about Frederic, and she had seen a lot of herself in him. In how he cared about writing. And how he cared about his family. She was just disappointed to learn that, apparently, he hadn't considered Mary and her sisters family.

"I admit, the idea of Romeo dying and leaving Juliet alone is intriguing, and surely better than the fate Shakespeare decided for her. However, it would not have been an issue in the first place if Romeo had not been so self-deprecating and pathetic as to drink the poison. Perhaps he should have trusted Juliet, that she was not so weak as to die of grief over her cousin's death and her lover's exile. That she was resourceful, and not willing to give up, like he did."

She took a deep breath, not realizing how fast she was talking. "Or perhaps he should not have stabbed her cousin! Or snuck into her bedchamber and stayed until morning. Maybe he should not have offended their family. Maybe he should have stopped Mercutio from stirring the pot. In fact, a lot of things could have been avoided if Romeo actually stood up and fought for the one he loved instead of being selfish, impulsive, and reckless."

Several people had stopped now, noticing the heated discussion between the two. Chloe seemed to be quite skilled at publicly confronting an O'Connor brother.

[therailroadheir]

Who : Junho & Chole (@chloe-barnett ) where: THE BARTHOLOMEW FAIR, The Midnight Lantern Walk

Junho had gotten close to the Barnetts- even more so when he had befriended Mary. he sees them, and he just wants to help them all the time. He wanted the society to see what he saw. A family that was struggling but managed to get back on their feet. He wanted nothing more than for the Barnetts sisters to get their happy ending too. He's enjoying the fair- it was getting dark. It had been the first day he hadn't worked himself to the bone. He felt unsettled by it but chose to ignore it. He needed to live in the moments too, even if his mind and body said otherwise.... He then sees Chloe- and realizes he never really spoke with Chloe Barnett...and the only way to know someone is to ask. He almost felt guilty over it for not knowing her enough.... The lantern walk was soon, and he had no one to go with, and maybe he could make a new friend with her. The only way to know if she was willing was to ask. Thankfully, Junho was American and was always bold enough to ask anyone. He didn't have an issue if she had said no- going alone didn't seem so bad.

He walked closer to her, and he gave the girl a soft smile. "Hello, Miss Barnett! I'm lord Junho Lytton," He said. He gave her a slight bow of the head. He's sure she knows of him, but it's always nice to give proper introductions. He's seen her enough times when he had came over to the Barnetts, but it was never properly. "I was wondering...if you were not busy, you could come with me to the lantern walk?" he asked. "as acquaintances or friends if you like" He added because he didn't want her to think he's trying to court- His sister would want him too (and he thinks that Dominic would be pleased if he courted Mary) but he's very content with friendship with the Barnetts sisters.

[chloe-bennett-rp]

Chloe had been standing with her fathers. She could tell they were considering going on the lantern walk themselves, but that would leave their impulsive and rebellious daughter alone in the evening darkness of the fair. Instead, they stood by her and kept her company while her other sisters enjoyed the festivities.

No one ever seemed to want to court Chloe. They usually went for her other sisters, who knew the game of courtship perfectly and were much more social and agreeable. So Chloe hadn't expected anyone to ask her to promenade beneath the lanterns.

That was, until Junho arrived, introducing himself to her as though she did not already know who he was. Still, the gesture was appreciated. Chloe despised men who simply assumed someone knew their identity despite never having truly spoken.

"Yes, I know who you are, my Lord," she said with a polite smile, giving a nod in return.

She felt her papa's warning stare. A reminder to play nice, to be polite. He knew all too well how she adored scaring away suitors.

Then Lord Lytton mentioned friendship, or acquaintanceship. He was not trying to court her. He simply wanted to get to know her better. It was either a lie to make her lower her walls, or her sisters must have said something about her. Preferably something kind, but one could never truly know.

Chloe turned to her fathers, her brows raised, silently asking for permission to go with him. They both gave a reassuring nod, which she returned with a grateful smile.

And so her attention returned to the man before her."I'd like nothing more, my Lord," she responded, placing her arm in his and letting him guide the way.

She could see the illuminated pathway from where they walked. An earlier conversation began replaying in her mind. Only today she had told the Princess of France that the lantern walk was romantic, offering any gentleman an easy way to make a lady feel wanted without requiring much effort on his part. She knew it meant nothing, yet she felt a small butterfly flap its wings in her stomach. She was in a romantic mood, it seemed. Yet she could not help but feel slightly disappointed that it was Junho Lytton who had asked her to join him, and not Edgar O'Connor.

"So..." she began, taking a nervous breath. Oh, how she hated small talk. It was dreadful, and it was always the same. Yet what else did she have to speak to him about?

"How did you find the fair? Did you win any games?" She wanted to roll her eyes at her own empty words. Not to mention that she felt horrible about them. Junho had done nothing to deserve her frustration. It wasn't him she was angry at. It was society.

[prinxesssophia]

To use another establishment in such a way to further the success of one that held the patronage of the royal family was beyond duplicitous but such things needed a shake up and that is where the princess thrived. The princess began her chaos quietly, unknown to most while slowly ebbing away until something was forever transformed before their very eyes, so simple and quiet that the end result would be too late to change. “My days are filled with royal obligations but it is good to hear that your fathers, and now your new brother, allows you and your sisters the freedom to explore such pursuits outside of marriage, even if sitting alone, reading and filling your diary with your own thoughts sound rather lonely.” A writer must draw from experiences gained through excitement and intrigue and, as far as the princess was aware, Miss Chloe Barnett and her sisters had led a sheltered, yet financially fiscal life given the rumors of her father’s habit of overspending, but the princess could not judge. The king was also known to partake in such vices and yet it often felt like the princess was the one to uphold the family name without the credit. “Tell me, what have you written in your diary as of late, are there any adventures you wish to share?”

[chloe-bennett-rp]

Chloe did not know how much of her freedom to explore her pursuits came from the kindness of her fathers and her new brother-in-law, and how much came simply from their desire to guard the peace of the family home, growing weary of constantly arguing and attempting to force Chloe to comply with their wishes and expectations for her life.

"Lonely..." Chloe repeated under her breath, barely audible. The word tasted foreign on her tongue. How could she be lonely? She had five sisters, one brother-in-law, and two fathers. Lonely was not a word she had ever considered. But now, faced with a woman using that very word to describe her life, it felt surprisingly fitting. Of course, if Chloe could choose, she would choose adventure. She would choose friendships, making art with other artists, laughing, dancing, climbing trees, and walking through rivers. Instead, she did those things through her characters, through words on a page.

"I suppose one would not be wrong to assume it is lonely, but it is all I have ever known. And it is what is expected. Proper." She offered an almost apologetic smile.

At the question of whether she had anything to share, she shrugged, shaking her head.

"No, nothing to share. The benefit of a diary is that it is private, is it not? Some words are too honest. Sharing them would invite scrutiny... or scandal." It was true. Her pages were filled with moments of angry passion, of women carving their own paths through the world. Of identities beyond marriage. She wanted, more than anything, to be brave enough to share them with the world, but that would not begin by sharing them with a princess.

"Do you write? Or rather, do you ever find the time to? I find keeping a journal does wonders for one's memory and self-reflection. Not to mention that even a princess should be allowed moments to simply be, without expectations or anyone to entertain."

[lavieenton]

|| closed starter || @chloe-barnett || Chloe

|| LOCATION || The Bartholomew Fair

Princess Genevieve strode through the fair grounds on a cloud on euphoria. Her royal guard, who had hidden away elsewhere, returned to stroll behind her. The scent of cedarwood and citrus intermingled with strawberries and champagne, the perfect mixture of love. Her thoughts quieted, her doubts soothed temporarily. She was in deeply in love, and the only person stopping her from any true happiness...was herself.

Quite the damper on her sunny mood, but she took it in stride and continued on her way towards the maracron stall, as she had promised Charlotte. But that cloudy haze still floated over her head. "Monsieur Leith, what do you think of love and romance?"

The guard, Leith, walked alongside her with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Love and romance? Er, I could not say, Your Highness. Love is tricky with the wrong person, and romance can be phony." His eyes scanned various corners and fleeting shadows, as he had done the whole night when circling the perimeter. But his focus was on his charge now that she was beside him, and not in the care of the O'Connor gentleman.

Genevieve scrunched her nose. "You've never been in love, then? That's quite a concerning viewpoint of it."

But Leith did not appear interested in entertaining the princess's curiosity, for once. In fact, he was hesitant to reveal anything about his real thoughts. "I have been. But that was a while ago. When it is with someone meant for you, it is easy as breathing. Romance is hardly a concern. But when it is not meant to be, romance and love are performative, a spectacle more than anything else."

She did not like that answer, but accepted it for what it was: his perspective. She wanted another besides either of theirs, and spotted the perfect person in a lone woman near the games of chance. From what she could see, she was beautiful and unaccompanied. Excellent! Confidently approaching, Genevieve spoke.

"Hello," she greeted, French accent sweetening the simple word. "This might sound quite peculiar but whar are your thoughts on love and romance? My guard and me are in the midst of a disagreement about its definition and its significance."

[chloe-bennett-rp]

Chloe stood by the spinning wheel while eating a cupcake she had gotten from a nearby stand. Her eyes were squinted as if she were trying to understand some secret trick. Surely, it would not be a wise investment to create a game controlled entirely by a fifty-fifty chance. There would be no profit.

The man controlling the wheel kept glancing over at her between speaking to the customers and handing out their prizes. He looked nervous, clearly not appreciating a woman squinting at him, watching his hands for some indication that he could choose where the wheel landed based on people's bets. Since she had stood there for five minutes, the winnings seemed to occur about half the time, but she couldn't help but wonder if that was only because she was watching, and the man was simply waiting for her to leave him and his wheel alone.

Chloe's attention shifted, however, as the Princess of France approached her, with a guard following close behind. At the greeting, Chloe could not help but glance over her shoulder to make absolutely certain the princess was speaking to her. Indeed, she was.

"Your Royal Highness." She performed a deep curtsy. "I did not know the French royal family were such... philosophers," she said, both amused and impressed. She took a small bite of her cupcake, quickly wiping away the white frosting that had found its way onto her nose. Perhaps it was rude to take a bite after having been asked a question, but Chloe was desperate for time to think of an answer. She herself barely knew her true thoughts on love and romance. And they had certainly shifted over the past week.

"Your Highness... I do not know about romance. I find it all... performative. It is easy to plan a grand gesture; it does not mean the intentions behind it are pure." Her gaze drifted towards the path lined with countless unlit lanterns. Once the sun set, they would glow, becoming the embodiment of romance. Suitors would walk beneath their light and find it romantic. The men, however, would not even need to lift a finger. Yet the women would swoon and think themselves special. How naïve some of them could be.

"Love... however..." she continued, her gaze wandering over the fair. Over the princess's shoulder, she noticed Edgar looking towards them, towards her, and she tried to hide the smile threatening to reveal itself. He was watching her. She took a deep breath, forcing her attention back to Genevieve.

"I do believe romantic love exists, but I also believe it is rare. Yet one can only hope to one day meet a person whose words sound as though they are spoken directly to one's soul. Someone who loves your mind, and not only your body or what you may provide them." That, was exactly what she had felt with Edgar. Now, time would tell whether he had felt it too. "If one finds that, and if the other person feels the same, then I believe it is worth more than anything else this world has to offer. More than pride. More than safety."

She smiled softly at the princess. "Is that answer to your satisfaction? May I ask your own thoughts on the matter?" After turning the question back to its owner, Chloe took another bite of the cupcake. She found eating often calmed her nerves.

[edgaroconnor]

The actress playing Lady Eveline had laid one hand upon her stomach now, but with little conviction that she was carrying a child. Edgar watched the gesture with a faint tightening at the corner of his mouth. Chloe was not wrong. That was the frustrating part. Had she been foolish, he might have dismissed her. Had she only wanted to sound clever, he might have smiled, made some careless remark, and let the matter drift into the space. But she spoke with precision of someone who had not merely watched the scene, but suffered all its implications before the actress had even finished the line. It needled him more than he cared to admit. Not because she disliked the play. People disliked plays all the time, usually for reasons no more sophisticated than an uncomfortable seat or a poor view of the stage. No, it troubled him because her criticism found the place where the thing was weakest and set a candle there.

He shifted his weight against the column, gaze still fixed upon the reading. "I would not call it ignorance," he said at last, quietly. "At least, I do not think that was meant to be the wound of the scene." His voice remained easy, but a little of his earlier lightness had gone. "A woman may know perfectly well how a child is conceived and still be struck senseless by the reality of it. Men speak of pregnancy as though it were a domestic announcement. Very little is said of the terror, and thhe danger. The fact that one's body has become the subject of everyone else's expectation." The actress at the front gave a trembling little gasp, pretty as a curtsy. Edgar's brows drew together. "Of course, the present reading rather suggests Lady Eveline has just been informed that it is raining and she cannot promenade."

He glanced at Chloe then, and there was a reluctant warmth in his expression, as if she had dragged a better thought from him against his will. "But I take your meaning. If the audience thinks that she's shocked because she is simple, then the fault lies somewhere. With the actress, perhaps. With the staging. Or with the writing itself, if it has left too much room for such a mistake." The last admission sat badly with him. He looked away almost at once, as though the stage required his attention.

'Another man.' That criticism had struck closer. He had heard the complaint before in another form, though never quite so plainly. Women upon the stage were so often permitted desire only when it led them toward a man, ruin only when caused by a man, salvation only when granted by one. Even rebellion was made prettier when it could be kissed by the final act. Perhaps that was not the story's intention. Perhaps Lady Eveline's lover was meant to represent possibility rather than rescue. But intention was a frail defence if the audience carried home the wrong conclusion. "I suppose one could argue," Edgar said slowly, "that society gives a woman very few doors. If she is trapped in an unhappy marriage, the world does not invite her to build a life of her own. It does not offer her art, profession, travel, study, solitude, or peace. It offers her endurance. Or scandal."

His mouth curved, faintly and without much humour. "And so, perhaps, a playwright reaches for the only escape society has taught him to imagine for her; another attachment. Another pair of hands opening the cage." He looked at Chloe then. "But that is a poor little mercy, is it not? To say a woman may only become interesting when she is loved by a man." The words left him quieter than he expected. For a few moments, he listened to the scene again. Lady Eveline's lines passed through the room, with no belief in it. The bones of it were there, perhaps. Fear, and a life closing in. But Chloe had seen the absence at the center of it. What did Eveline want, when no man was watching? It was an embarrassingly simple question. Worse, it was a useful one. Edgar drew a slow breath, then let it out through his nose. "You are dangerous, Chloe," he murmured. "I might begin to think it may be one of your better qualities."

[chloe-bennett-rp]

Chloe observed Edgar as he responded to her thoughts on the play being read before them. He seemed to understand the language of theatre quite well. Still, there was something odd about the way his body language shifted whenever he discussed the play. He looked away rather than at her. Edgar did not seem like a man to shy away from intellectual discussions, yet he seemed to choose his words quite carefully.

Perhaps it was because, like her, he found art to be intimate. A reflection of one's own desires and flaws. Interpreting a play was impossible without revealing something of one's own mind in the process. The idea that this conversation, these truths, potentially felt intimate to him brought an almost shy smile to her face. He was cute like this. Different.

"You defend him," she said softly. "The playwright. Or perhaps it is the male sex you defend by pointing out the misogyny. I cannot help but wonder if you agree with the notion that a woman is more interesting when she is loved by a man. It surely seems that men find most women dreadfully dull unless they have a romantic interest in them."

Part of her wanted him to admit to it because he seemed to find her interesting, and a part of her wanted that interest to be earned, not freely granted to every woman he met.

Her smile widened into something bashful yet mischievous as he called her dangerous. Chloe had received compliments before. That she was kind, had a pretty face, or golden hair that glowed in the afternoon sun. Most had to do with her appearance and not her mind. This was the first time she had been called dangerous, and Chloe found she quite liked the description. It held power, mystery, and perhaps even a touch of intrigue.

"You certainly know how to make a woman feel special," she teased, hoping he had not noticed the blush spreading across her cheeks. "Dangerous... I quite like that. Thank you." She looked over at the actors, now dealing with the aftermath of the newly discovered pregnancy. "Though I do not know if I have earned such high praise."

After all, whatever weapon her quill might be was stored away, locked behind bars of her own making.

She took a deep breath, trying to settle the butterflies in her stomach. Her play, her secret, sat on the tip of her tongue. She could share it with him, let him in on another secret. After all, she already possessed one of his secrets to use in her defense, should the need ever arise. So it was not the fear of discovery that made her hesitate, but the fear of how he would react. If he laughed and ridiculed her, then she feared how she herself would react. Surely, it would not be proper, and it would end this newfound friendship before it even had the chance to begin. And if he did not—if he instead praised her or wanted to read it—then somehow that felt even worse. Because she did not know if she was ready for that. For another person to read her words. For her to finally learn whether her dream was a childish fantasy or something she was actually good at.

"Edgar..." she said, looking back at him, not realizing she had used his Christian name, her expression one of vulnerability and nervousness. "Is there any chance you'd like to take this conversation somewhere... more private?" She glanced towards the nearest door. Then instantly cringed at her own choice of words and raised a hand to stop him before he could answer.

"Not like... that." She let out a nervous laugh. "I am quite fond of my virtue, and I shall not ruin myself today. I simply want to... speak... without an audience. This reading has been far too dull for my liking, and I do believe I shall survive not seeing it to its conclusion."

[chloe-bennett-rp]

Closed starter for Prince Gustav @princ3ps

Where: Hyde Park Who: Chloe, Sten & Gustav

Chloe had finally spoken to her father about the anger that boiled inside her. It felt as though it had taken on a life of its own. It was keeping her awake at night, and it was creeping its way into her poetry and manuscripts. It wasn't healthy, she knew that, but it was the only thing that made her feel as if she carried even a glimpse of power in this society.

"Ground yourself, my daughter," he had said. "Perhaps you could try taking up sketching again. You already possess the equipment you need. Go out into nature, observe, find something beautiful, and transfer it to paper."

Chloe had sighed but accepted his suggestion. She had never been great at drawing or painting. It never came out the way she wanted it to. But that was when she was a child. Now, she had grown. She had patience, at least some of it, and an eye for detail she hadn't possessed before.

Her journey had taken her to Hyde Park. She had walked for a while, mostly people-watching, as she usually would. Naturally, she could not sit down and begin sketching people. If she had been skilled, she might have been able to do so swiftly while sitting on a bench, without them noticing, but if she were to sketch, she would have to pick a stationary subject, and one that would not question why she was staring at it so intently.

Eventually, she came upon a small field of bluebells growing in the shade of a willow tree. The sight of them brought a smile to her face. Her favorite flowers. Perhaps the universe was smiling at her today.

She made her way over and sat, her legs crossed beneath her muslin lavender day dress, beside the bluebells. The journal and small case of charcoal that had rested beneath her arm made their way into her lap. She quickly flipped through pages of her own poetry and sonnets before landing on an empty page.

"Alright, bluebell. Stand still. Just like that." She whispered to the closest bloom, as if she were a painter asking the subject of their portrait to hold its pose.

Her tongue stuck out slightly, curling over her top lip as she concentrated on the sight before her and the charcoal already staining her hand. The first few strokes were the hardest, as she needed to decide where to begin, and her hands were still learning how to handle the charcoal. After a while, she had begun to capture the shape of the petals and the leaves near the ground. Still, the lines were harsh, and it was easy to tell the sketch lacked depth. It seemed as though all the petals were beside one another, fighting for space, rather than occupying the natural dimensions she saw before her.

In fact, she was so deep in concentration that the movement of gray in her peripheral vision did not catch her attention until it was crowding her space. She jumped, the charcoal slipping from her hand and tumbling onto her dress before falling into the green grass.

The gray she had seen was a giant dog, towering over her where she sat on the ground. She looked at it with wide, horrified eyes for a couple of seconds before her gaze dropped to its wagging tail.

"Hi there... friend?" she asked uncertainly, trying to hold him back with her hands, preventing him from jumping on her like an overgrown puppy.

She looked around, trying to spot the owner. Soon enough, she noticed a man running towards them. Surely that had to be him. As he came closer, she realized just whose dog it was. It belonged to the Swedish prince.

Before she could think, she jumped to her feet. Her small hands brushed over her dress. Not a wise decision, as it left a dark smudge of charcoal on each side of her thighs. She quickly closed her eyes, cursing her own name and the clumsiness she must have inherited from parents she had never known.

"Your Royal Highness," she said as he approached, her eyes dropping to the grass and the giant greyhound's muddy paws. She dipped into a deep curtsy, not wanting to offend him.

Beside her, in the grass, lay the journal, open for anyone to admire the mediocre sketch of bluebells, temporarily forgotten by its owner, who was desperately trying to save face.

[lavieenton]

Since the young woman did not appear to care much about her father's distance now that he was found, Ceara chose to disregard him momentarily. She'd heard much about the Barnetts. Their growing circle of girls with a knack for knowledge and the arts. Mary and Harriett were the two she'd come to know the best, and they were as lovely as they were witty. Their education had done them well, to much of their credit and the credit of their fathers.

"I am," she confirmed, her thumb brushing the delicate skin of her own left hand ring finger. A nervous habit, but nothing more than that. "Yes, she's one of my teacher's aides. She's wonderful, and quite fiery. I've been working to gather a few of them before I begin preparations and petitions for opening my school here."

Ceara hadn't expected to be steered away, but she allowed Chloe to tug her along. Taking in her words and Shakespeare's story, she hummed in thought. "I would say I have to agree. I adored Rosalind in this production, and the actress herself was quite impassioned when she spoke her lines. She was not merely reading from a script, but embodying that feeling of needing to be heard," she breathed. "I do believe that Shakespeare was a step away from introducing Rosalind and Phebe as lovers, but dressing her up as a man seemed to soften the blow, so to speak, of what could have been had Rosalind kept her disguise. What do you think of such a theory?"

[chloe-bennett-rp]

Chloe's expression transformed into that of a woman taking something into close consideration, mixed with quiet awe, and perhaps even confusion.

"I admit..." she said, almost more to herself than to Ceara. "I had not considered such a take."

Rosalind had been a character Chloe admired. A woman not afraid to be perceived as manly, in the way she observed and spoke in this world. A woman who had earned the respect of her love both as a man and as a woman. As equals. She had been so consumed by her connection with Orlando that she had not considered her relationship with Phoebe.

"I admit, I thought it a tad cruel to have her marry Silvius, with her clearly not wanting to do so. But the two of them being lovers..." She smiled gently to herself. "Perhaps. But Phoebe is drawn to Rosalind for her harsh tongue, in her attempt to drive Phoebe away. That, to me, does not sound like love, or at least not the healthy kind. No wise woman would be drawn to a lover who wounds her so, would she?"

Yet somewhere in her heart, Chloe knew it was more complicated than that. Mary had been wounded by Frederic, yet she knew she still yearned for him. It did not make sense to Chloe, if any man hurt her, chose propriety over her, she she would happily bid him farewell and burn any trace of him in her life.

The memory of Mary triggered a new thought in her mind. Her sister was strong, brave, and incredibly private with her pain. Doing anything to shield her sisters from the bitter truths. But Ceara did not know her like a sister; she knew her as a friend, or a fellow teacher.

"How is Mary? Truly" she asked softly, not bothering to hide it behind pretty words or speak in riddles. "I fear she believes she is protecting me by being brave. But I worry for her. I am sure you are well aware of what Dominic O'Connor did to us. Mary has not been the same since."