Col. Robert Sutton

Colonel Robert Sutton (b. 30 April 1786) is the youngest of five brothers. He was previously stationed in Dunchester from 1809 to 1814 and has only just returned from war.

[annie-valrob-deactivated2023091]

“Oh, no, of course not. I rather enjoy spectating these events from the sidelines, but I surely do not mind the company. How has your evening been thus far?”

[colonelsutton-blog]

“Better than an evening spent alone writing letters of business, although I suppose that is no glowing commendation. I might enjoy it better if I could dance, although I don’t mean to sound as if I undervalue the good company.”

[duplicitiies-blog]

“Of course not, Colonel.” Atticus replied jovially, offering the man a glass. “I decided that it would be better to keep myself away from the dancing - the ladies do not need me treading on their toes. How are you keeping?”

[colonelsutton-blog]

“I’m quite well, thank you,” he said, accepting the drink and bracing his weight against the wall as he cast another surveying glance around the room. “There are some ladies who might rather have their toes stepped on than to have no one to stand up with, but I agree that knowing when to retire oneself is a virtue. If your dancing is as bad as you say it is. If it is not, they may speak ill of you for slighting them.”

[whtamii]

“Sir.” The reply was placid, if somewhat cool. It was not ill-intended, per se; it was certainly not a rebuke. But it hardly invited, or furthered, conversation. This man… Sinclair could not recall having truly conversed with him before, which made it all the more difficult to choose the proper words. Or, apparently, to choose any words. What was he supposed to say, at any rate? Commenting on such a decision was not in his nature, and offering any remark as to the beginning of the man’s statement was unfathomable.

[colonelsutton-blog]

“I can see you do mind the conversation. I shouldn’t have assumed. Although I do wonder what an event such as this offers for someone who neither dances nor converses.”

[louisahastings-blog]

“I don’t mind,” Louisa said, tilting her chin forward, but she had a feeling Sutton would not be persuaded otherwise– he was a strange creature, and she was curious about him. “If we shan’t dance,” said she, “you must talk with me, for I have no one– my sisters all have partners for dancing and conversation alike, but they are all so beautiful– don’t you think so?”

[colonelsutton-blog]

“Yes, you are a very good-looking family with much to recommend you,” he said. “Everyone in the regiment agrees. If you truly wish to dance the reel you might have your pick of my lieutenants.” He gestured to a group of the men.

[louisahastings-blog]

“Colonel Sutton!” Louisa exclaimed, bouncing on her toes. “Won’t you please dance with me? We have naught to do but just sway here for a moment– I hardly ever get to dance.” 

[colonelsutton-blog]

“Miss Hastings, I really must decline - for your benefit solely, I assure you. I might find myself able to stand in the correct place at the correct time, but the steps truly are beyond me, and I’m afraid we might look very foolish, and get in everybody else’s way while doing it.”

[rosamundhastings-deactivated201]

chance encounters ||  [open]

[rosamundhastings-deactivated201]

The pounding of her heartbeat reached her eardrums as Robert gently took her hand to inspect it. She could not help but notice that his hands felt different from her memory of them years ago. They felt older, much older, as if the war had stolen some of the youth and light she knew of him previously. Yet even in their differences they felt familiar and comfortable to her, and without thinking much of it she relaxed into the embrace, however minuscule it was. Afterwards she would think back on this singular moment [ even perhaps discuss it with Helen; they could analyze it together ] and wonder its meaning – or if anyone in the surrounding vicinity took it to be anything other than an inspection. 

The volley of questions and sentiments that followed had Rosamund’s head in a tizzy; she swore she had opened her mouth at least four times to respond before quickly letting the reply die in her throat to let him continue. In fact, the more he stopped and started the more amusing the situation became to her. When he was quite finished, the first thing to pop out of her mouth was a tiny laugh [ followed by a dramatic pang of her heart; how familiar this embarrassment seemed to other times they had met ].

“I – I – yes, it does…twinge so,” she supplied, attempting a more solemn reply after her outburst. Her head swung around to survey their surroundings; she took note the stares, the villager’s ears dog-like, at attention. To her right she also saw the millinery workshop, which would likely have tools for removal and more…privacy. The milliner who owned the space was half deaf, and would be so engrossed in his work that he would not pay any of their conversation any mention. “perhaps we might ask Mr. Reinhardt if he has something that can remove it? I would not – not bother you for your help, but it is in my dominant hand…”

The last part was a half-truth; the splinter was in her dominant hand, yet she had had enough experience with injuries of this nature that she could have removed it herself. This opportunity to be in Robert’s company, however awkward it might be, was something she deeply felt she could not give up. 

[colonelsutton-blog]

She’s laughing. Of course she was. With a little distance on the situation he’d probably find it amusing, too, but he had no such distance at the moment and could do little more than frown, a tight expression on his otherwise passive face.

“It’s not a bother,” he said, having found his composure (badly needed and a little too late, as usual). He gestured her towards the workshop, his hand ghosting a half-inch above her shoulder before falling to a more neutral position at his side. When they reached the door he held it open for her, casting once last wary glance back around the market.

“I would not trust Mr. Reinhardt to the task himself. His bonnets are very pretty, I’ll allow, but this might require a more delicate hand,” he said, his voice dropping in volume as they entered the store so that the man in question might not hear him. The store was thankfully empty; even the milliner himself must have been in the back. Though he’d need to be summoned if they were to ask him for the necessary instruments, Robert hung a moment in the door frame, considering Rosamund.

“You should sit,” he offered, indicating a chair. Not that a splinter was a terribly debilitating injury, but she had seemed a little out of sorts just moments ago. “I’ll...” he glanced towards the counter, and the door that lead to the workshop, but he didn’t finish his sentence - the fact they were, for a moment, alone finally settling with him.

[colonelsutton-blog]

“My days dancing the reel are up, I’m afraid, but the least I can do instead is keep someone else who does not dance company. If you don’t mind the conversation, that is.”

[sophieainsworth-blog1]

“A ball. Oh my how exciting. Don’t you think so?”

[colonelsutton-blog]

“Yes, very exciting. There’s certainly never been a ball before in Dunchester, and for all we know there might never be one again.”

[rosamundhastings-deactivated201]

chance encounters ||  [open]

[rosamundhastings-deactivated201]

That voice. The knuckles on the hand that grasped the stall edge for support grew white. Her cheeks flooded with pink as, if in slow motion, she dared a glance up his form (the cane!) to meet his eyes. She could not help but gaze at him dumbfounded for a moment or so before a well timed honk from one of the ducklings shoved her back into reality.

His question sparked a variety of answers, mostly ones inappropriate for the current situation. Of course she was hurt; two years and not even a friendly correspondence? Yes, she understood that it was better to end the engagement they had thoroughly, no strings attached, yet… Well. How was she to think, with the news of soldiers in the way dying left and right, so carelessly? And how she received the news that he had been injured – from her dear cousin Helen, her staunch confidante – did he not think she would have been sick to death with worry over his health? And then, on his return to Dunchester, he had not made one effort to make a simple friendly acquaintance of her. Fate would have it that they met in public, again, though on odder circumstances indeed. [She could not help but think that, however awful this situation felt, it was rather…fantastical. Right out of a storybook, even – she felt lightheaded with heroine substance.] 

“Colonel Sutton,” she swallowed, squaring her jaw and attempting to keep her racing mind at bay. “I do not think so–oh–” Removing her white knuckled hand from the stall’s edge, she felt an uncomfortable prick digging into the skin of her palm. Bringing her hand gently into her other, she inspected the aggravated flesh and discovered a splinter in her skin. 

It would not be easily removed by her own fingers. “It is my own doing,” she claimed, looking from her hand, to his face, to his cane, to the ducklings scurrying around their feet, to his face again . “if I had not stood – I thought my name –  you would have passed – I apologize.” 

[colonelsutton-blog]

He listened to her reply, but did not speak himself. He only shook his head to disagree, but couldn’t conjure up any words. Something like the fault is all my own certainly would have sufficed, but he couldn’t even think of that simple phrase in that moment. When she seemed to have finished, he tentatively took her hand and turned it over in his so that he could examine her injury as well.

After inspecting her palm for a moment, he let his hand fall away from yours. “You’ll need a needle for that,” he offered. “But it doesn’t seem too serious.” Best to take care of it sooner rather than later, though. He glanced down the street. There was a hat-maker’s shop nearby them that would likely have the required instruments and might afford them some privacy, but she’d given no indication that she cared to speak to him in private at all, and he didn’t want to put her in an awkward situation. 

“Do you have the time?” was the next polite sentiment he could think of that might be exchanged between acquaintances, and he unfortunately voice it aloud before realizing it did not suit the situation. “No. I mean to say... is your family in good health?” And then, again before she had a fair chance to respond, he spoke once more: “I’m sorry. Is your hand bothering you terribly?” Which, in all truth, had been the appropriate thing to ask in the first place, and certainly was what he would’ve asked any other person. Given how well he’d handled the conversation thus far, though, he was lucky he hadn’t said some blathering thing about the ducklings, or —

He feared the nearby merchants were listening now in addition to watching. If he’d been hoping for discreetness, it was a hope long gone.

[ladylydiadearlove-blog]

“Tell me about the village square first. My mother always told me that if I wanted to find my place anywhere I went, that I would have to go to the heart of the locale.”

[colonelsutton-blog]

“Well, to be at the heart of this locale you’d best return on market day. Then all the local farmers will be here with their livestock and produce. If you’re more for conversation and country dances, the Assembly Rooms are just there. And, of course, there are far fewer opportunities for you and I than the children.” He indicated a particularly rowdy group of boys passing them in the street. “But I wouldn’t suppose lords and ladies play hoop and stick in the streets even when they’re young. What is it you do for amusement in your circles, my lady?”

[rosamundhastings-deactivated201]

chance encounters ||  [open]

There is something incredibly satisfying about strolling through the village streets of Dunchester before the markets open for the day. It is quiet yet alive; friendly yet no-nonsense; simple yet shrewd. A lady should never exit the house without a capable guardian – for fear of impropriety – yet here Rosamund is, smelling freshly cut flowers, sampling a spoonful of honey. This town has been her playground since infancy; she has grown up with the local children, been coddled by the village mothers, disciplined by the fathers. To her it never seems out of the ordinary to be properly unaccompanied because she is practically looked out for by the entire town. 

Rosamund is glad for the spring, the budding leaves on the trees. Winters can be particularly harsh in the Grange, even with bed warmers, foot warmers, and three sisters to keep one insulated. It could also become rather difficult to play her pianoforte for long stretches of time as she pleased, for her fingers would grow numb with cold if she did not keep them gloved or near a fire. Spring always came as a blessing; the moment the snow melted and the green grass was visible from her bedroom window, Ros was out the door. 

A particular farmer beckons her over to his stall, and so she floats over to greet him. His two young daughters are playing with tiny ducklings, and their mother, tied to the stall pole, is being put up for sale. Rosamund’s face splits into a grin when the kids catch sight of her; she adores being in the company of children. They like and understand her imaginations better than any adult ever could – not to mention some of them are even better tricksters than she. Bending down and to the girls’ level, Ros strikes asks them what they’ve decided to name the five ducklings quacking and waddling around their feet. The younger one, with surprisingly good coordination, grabs a particularly yellow duckling and shoves it at Rosamund, declaring this one’s name is ‘Daffodil’. Rosamund takes Daffodil in her arms, giggling as the ducklings beak nuzzles around in the fabric of her dress. 

The moment is soon over when Ros, having thought her named called (and fearing it her mother), sets Daffodil on the ground and hastily rises as to make a quick exit. What she does not expect is another body coming in direct contact with her own. Releasing a small ‘oof’ as they collide, Rosamund clumsily regains her balance by grasping onto the nearest solid surface. 

[colonelsutton-blog]

For Colonel Sutton, Dunchester was not so much a place of amusement as it was a place of business. It was letters of business that brought him to town today. He’d spent the morning drafting three letters that were meant to go to London and another two that were to be sent even further afield, and was now on his way to post them. A particularly eager lieutenant had volunteered to walk them down to the post office for him, but he had declined; having not left the Dunchester Lodges since Sunday, he was in bad need of an afternoon stroll.

The walk had not been as much of a distraction as he had hoped, however. He had not been gone from town for so long that the general look or lay of things had greatly changed, and so there were no new sights to be seen. There were hardly even many new faces in town, and he had been acquainted with all the newcomers already, so passing any given person on the road required nothing more from him than a pleasant greeting and a nod of his head. No more than a quarter-hour into his walk, he was already thinking of business that would need attending to upon his return.

Occupied with his own thoughts as he was, he hardly noticed that he was on a collision course  — until he ran headlong into the young lady. He was, more or less, unmoved (someone twice her weight could run into him at twice that speed and it would likely not move him), and so he caught her by the shoulder to help steady her. “Pardon me, miss...” Here his voice seemed to die in his throat, for he did know the lady in question.

“Miss Hastings,” he concluded promptly, glancing out into the street to see if they were observed. They were, of course. The whole encounter had drawn the attention of every adjacent merchant. He grappled for something to say that was neither too affected or too indifferent. “Are you hurt?” he settled on.

[colonelsutton-blog]

Colonel Sutton mood board [01/??]

[fhalliday-blog]

“Let us depart, then!” Francis beamed, unclasping his nervous hands, “However, we must quicken our pace, or I fear we’ll miss the excitement!” He rose, a spring returning to his step as he moved without truly awaiting a reply.

[colonelsutton-blog]

“In that case,” Robert said as he stood, leaning his weight on his cane. “You might be best served to walk out ahead of me. I’ll catch up to you in due course.”

[ladylydiadearlove-blog]

“Tell me, what do the people in this place do for amusement?” Lady Lydia paused ever-so-slightly on the word place, a veil concealed disdain slipping through to the surface. 

[colonelsutton-blog]

“The answer to your question depends at least partly on whether you refer to Dunchester in its entirety or specifically to the village square. You may find one response more agreeable than the other.”

[roleplaymemesandthings]

Send me ⊰ and my muse will tell yours how they feel about your muse with song lyrics

[colonelsutton-blog]

♪, ☂ ?

♪ | three songs that remind me of my muse

spirits (the strumbellas)

the cave (mumford and sons)

heavy weight of living, pt i (bastille)

☂ | what my muse does on a rainy day

Whatever he was planning on doing before it started raining. He’s like “What, I’m supposed to plan my life around the weather?” No time for that. Catch him walking around in the rain without an umbrella because he didn’t plan appropriately. It doesn’t bother him.

[colonelsutton-blog]

headcanon meme! send me a symbol and i'll tell you...

☺: three things that make my muse happy

☻: three things that make my muse sad

✝: any religious beliefs my muse has

☎ : my muse's ringtone

♫: three of my muse's favorite songs

♪: three songs that remind me of my muse

★: a wish my muse has

☑: something my muse has accomplished that they're proud of

☢: something my muse is afraid of

☂: what my muse does on a rainy day

→: is my muse any good with directions?

☮: is my muse a happy person?

웃: three people that are important to my muse

☃: does my muse like the holidays?

☯: is my muse more idealistic or cynical?

▲: my muse's happiest memory

✄: is my muse creative?

⌘: was my muse good in school?

✿: is my muse an outdoors person?

♈: the most daring thing your muse has ever done

♉: is my muse prone to jealousy?

♊: is my muse smart?

♋: is my muse emotional?

♌: three things my muse is enthusiastic about

♍: is my muse shy?

♎: is my muse vain or cocky?

♏: something my muse obsesses over

♐: is my muse blunt or do they beat around the bush?

♑: is my muse an optimist or a pessimist?

♒: is my muse emotional or more detached?

♓: my muse's biggest secret