𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐫𝐬

mr. richard denham + miss amelia finch for @grosvenortales

[dcnhams]

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡 - intro / mirror / musings 𝐦𝐫. 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐦 - intro / mirror / musings

[dcnhams]

closed starter for miss violet nobley ( @sugartalkins ) setting: beating rush hour at the modiste

a being of two worlds, amelia found pleasure in both sleeping in until it was time to break fast and getting up outraegously early, depending on her mood that given day. though while in the country, one could sleep in until noon and still have the day to spend at their leisure, it felt increasingly as if waking up even an hour too late in the city meant that one had already missed a great amount of pivotal society functions. and while amelia had no intention of fulfilling her so-called "duty" for the season - or rather the "duty" that lady clifton undoubtedly dearly wished her to fulfill - she stll intended to make the most of it, and so rising early it was.

atop of her list was a visit to the modiste, preferably right when they opened, for the last time her and her relations had sought to look at and choose fabrics for their gowns, the store had looked as if it had just been ransacked by highwaymen. in truth, they were a tad late with making their arrangements, their arrival not exactly early for a gaggle of five young women to be introduced this season, but in a town as big as london with many milliners and modistes to choose from, surely this should be of no issue.

with her head held high and an overtired maid dragging after her, amelia confidently entered the store some ten minutes after opening, making a beeline for the fabrics. she stuffed a roll of creme silks under her arm - much needed for their presentation gowns - and began looking for some more colourful options for herself. what she wore at the presentation would be forgotten come next season, and her dress for the masquerade was of far more importance. a burnt orange, a rich burgundy and a deep, forest green caught her eye and she quickly grabbed three small samples of the fabrics and turned to a fellow early riser. "excuse me, miss? you look as if you've got good taste. tell me, which of these shades do you think suits me most? and do not feel the need to sugercoat it, i should like to hear your honest opinion."

[sugartalkins]

violet was never one to fully immerse herself into the idea of dress shopping. while it often came across as cliche, she truly had seemed to have missed out on the thrills of womanhood while growing up. her fathers had tried their hardest, while her brothers found it obnoxious how much she wished to have a dress of lace and color. though, most of her knowledge came from the governess and maids, women that made violet feel seen during her darkest moments. now, at her age, she could freely walk around mayfair without a care in the world. though, violet never seemed to stop caring, especially when staring at colors in the modiste. a most difficult decision, as her flesh remained pale as the moon but her hair shined brighter than a thousand suns. nothing seemed to click, unless it was within the shades of blue or green. but, violet had found herself eyeing the color yellow, a most rival color to her usuals.

at the sound of a voice, violet spun around, met with someone that she hadn't crossed paths with. it took her a moment to absorb the stranger's words, violet's gaze falling to the fabric squares presented before her. "me? good taste?" she laughed, blushing at the sound of a subtle snort. "i, uhm...well, i do adore darker colors, especially this shade of burgundy." violet reached out, allowing the pads of her fingers to brush across the fabric. "it would look beautiful on you, miss. any of these colors would, truly. which seems to speak to you?"

[dcnhams]

"you sound surprised. surely you must have been told so before - after all this shade of yellow you're considering is lovely." indeed it was, and her mind instantly wandered to a gown in that colour instead. alas, it would be in quite poor taste to steal another lady's silks - and this partciular shade of yellow would clash horribly with her complexion anyhow. "it reminds me of sunflowers, which in my humble opinion is the most underrated of flowers."

at her question, amelia tilted her head to the side in careful consideration as she gave each of her choices another look over. perhaps she ought to have roused her relations and forced them to tag along with her - as it turned out, visiting the modiste when they were in full stock widened one's choices significantly, to the point that amelia was sure she could have spent hours going back and forth between her options. "...i believe the burgundy speaks to me most, as you have put it. and i'm afraid i shall have to purchase all of it to deter one of my relations sporting the same shade. i've come here with four of them, you see, and it will be enough trouble keeping us apart as is....," amelia trailed off, fingers tracing over the fabric, comparing the feel of it to her other options. then, as if pinched in the middle of a daydream, she turned back to the other, an apologetic smile curling at her lips.

"thank you kindly, miss. your opinion has been most valuable." without much further ado she stuffed the roll of fabric underneath her arm, nestled under the silk she had already claimed. somewhat clumsily, she gave her a brief curtsy. "i suppose it goes horribly against protocol, so if we are formally introduced at the masquerade ball we shall have to pretend not to know one another. miss amelia finch", she said with a small curtsy. "most pleased to make your acquaintance."

[pathlessswoods]

Adam hadn't expected him to answer. For a brief second, he simply held his gaze, aware he'd been overheard, but not particularly bothered by it. If anything, it sharpened his interest. There was something in the way the man carried himself, even now; controlled, measured, but not entirely immune to being thrown off. Adam's mouth tipped slightly at the corner. "Well," he said, more clearly this time, "their parents ought to demand the return of every farthing paid to their tutors; for even the most modest acquaintance with Greek mythology would suffice to discern the distinction." It wasn’t said lightly or carelessly; more like a conclusion he'd already come to.

At the mention of his own costume, Adam gave a small, indifferent shrug. "There’s not much to recognize," he admitted. "I didn't put nearly as much thought into it as most people here clearly have." His tone held the faintest edge of dry amusement, eyes briefly flicking over the crowd before returning to him. "My attire is intended to bear the likeness of a royal adviser of the Renaissance period."

When the man spoke of losing his charge, Adam exhaled softly through his nose, something close to a quiet laugh. "If she has contrived to vanish in a room such as this, I should think it quite intentional. And if that be the case, she is not, in all likelihood, desirous of being discovered just yet - which, I beg, you will take no offence in my saying, I cannot much blame her for. There is something undeniably exhilarating in venturing out upon one's own, even whilst under the watch of a chaperone. Pray, only conceive of it; the sensation of freedom." He paused, considering him for a moment longer. What if Adam himself had sisters he had to be on the watch for? "Though," he added, a touch more thoughtful, "she can't have gone far. People here like to be seen too much for that."

Adam lifted his glass slightly, glancing down at it as if only just remembering it was there. A quiet breath left him, something softer now, less sharp at the edges. "As for the evening..." he started, then gave a small, almost self-aware shake of his head. "I'll admit, I'm not entirely used to it." His gaze flicked back up, more direct, though there was a faint looseness to it now, something eased by the champagne. "It's been a while since I've spoken this much to anyone in one night," he said plainly. "And probably longer since I've had this much champagne." The corner of his mouth lifted, just slightly. "So if I say something I shouldn't, you'll have to excuse it."

[dcnhams]

"Ah, of course! I remember your costume being called out when the paris for the opening set were announced. Pray, what inspired tonight's choice of disguise, if I may ask? A proclivity for the Renaissance, perhaps?" In a sea of attendees who had all picked their costumes and masks with great effort and attention to detail it seemed odd that the other had not given his disguise much thought, especially as everyone else's appearance seemed to hold some grave clue to their character, or aspirations, or general role in life. And indeed, he could think of no costume better suited to Odette than that of Joan of Arc. As for his own, well. A greek hero he was not, nor did he feel much like one, surrounded by a swarm of people who, not so long ago, had all been considered his betters.

"The sensation of freedom, you say?" A dry chuckle, much more bitter than inteded, reared its ugly head before Richard had the mind to stop it. Perhaps he had been emboldened by the few glasses of champagne under his belt, perhaps the night had worn him out enough to speak plainly. "One might argue everyone in attendance tonight has all the freedom in the world. And if they do not, they have confined themselves to the bounds of a gilded cage of their own making." A rhetorical question about whether or not that should evoke empathy of pity was, thankfully, lost, stifled into another sip of champagne. Equals, he reminded himself, not betters. Equals - or something of the sort, for he still felt the phantom burning of questioning gazes in his back. "Please, I rather think I should excuse myself for saying something I shouldn't. I am not used to an affair as grand as this. And the amount of champagne, too - I see we are alike in that regard." And Richard's lips twisted, too, into a small grin. Perhaps Odette could wait another minute. Perhaps she was engaged in a dance, or an animated conversation with another debutante. Neither of which seemed particularly likely, but there was yet time to spare until midnight, when he would have to take his place beside her again.

"I suppose an introduction would defeat the whole point of a masquerade, would it not?"

[starrycyed]

it was the first event of the season, and remy was already exhausted. he had not been entirely confident in his attendance tonight, a flare-up of his illness and a recent bout of insomnia taking its toll on him, but he knew that his presence meant another set of eyes on his siblings. still, he found himself in need of respite eventually, and made his way toward the doors and the inviting coolness of the evening outside. he was so focused on the relief of the refreshing spring twilight that he did not notice his companion, and he froze when the familiar voice that had haunted his now-rare dreams spoke up.

back in dorset, remy had never dreamt that he would eventually wish for richard to speak to him as if he were a stranger, but the politeness in his initial tone was a sort of balm to his broken heart. it did not last long, of course, as the other man seemed to recognize him almost immediately. any relief was immediately forgotten, remy's stomach sinking once again. 'lord pembroke' - what he would give to hear his christian name fall from this man's lips just once more -

"please do not go," he protested, voice soft and vulnerable. his hand moved of its own accord as if to grasp richard's own, but thankfully it stopped in mid-air once remy remembered himself. he cleared his throat and retracted the appendage to smooth his waistcoat instead, though he knew dignity was not his to be recovered. "i implore you, do not leave on my account," he said, in a more proper tone. "you were here first, and i am the intruder. if anyone should leave, it is me. i apologize for the disturbance, mister denham." with a respectful nod, he turned to leave.

[dcnhams]

a game of cat and mouse not unlike those early days in weymouth when stolen glances and coded messages had turned into covert meetings, only this time the corset of propriety was tied tight enough to restrict any room to breathe, make any movement nearly impossible. everything had to occur in between the given conventions. decorum would dictate that their encounter had to end there and then, that richard had to acknowledge rem's offer to leave the terrace with a muttered thank you and a quick bow. decorum, as it so was, would be the death of him.

any thing, no matter how sturdy, might eventually reach its breaking point if one applied enough pressure on it, and the ball had worn him down enough to act ... irrationally. not exactly a testament to his endurance, with the unmasking and the apex of the evening yet to come. it felt as if the air outside had dropped a considerable number of degrees, growing colder yet when the mask of an aristocrat from the court of versailles disappeared from view. he could risk the impertinence, richard decided then, but he could not risk for the temperature to drop low enough that he might be left staring at his own breath.

"remington." there was a quaint quiver in his voice that betrayed him and that he cursed himself for endlessly, and richard tried to make up for it with a smile that was almost convincing. "it ... is just a terrace. a rather large one at that. i am positive we both shall find space upon it." a shuffle in the distance, some guests returned indoors from the garden, and he stepped closer lest anyone overhear their conversation. "forgive me. i would hate for us to remain on such ... impersonal terms. " they could be civil with one another, could they not? they could both be the bigger person here. perhaps such things were best talked over in a less public setting, hoever.

"your costume suits you well i must say", he added after a moment of consideration, a more earnest smile pulling at his lips. "though i fear it fails as a disguise. i for one could identifiy you immediately."

[dcnhams]

closed starter for lord remington pembroke ( @starrycyed ) setting: the masquerade at halifax hall, the terrace

while nothing like the cold splash of water to his face that he had imagined, the night air did provide some momentary relief to his overheated skin. richard was anything but naive, he had not exited the carriage thinking this night, the opening ball, would be anything like the quaint country affairs he was used to, yet the sheer scale of things did prove to be a tad more overwhelming than he had expected. and no matter how brave the face he bore, no matter how well he attempted to integrate himself into this new reality, pressure had mounted inside and called for a moment of respite away from prying eyes and idle conversation. idle, he reminded himself, yet vital for their operations going forward. for every good impression he left and every friendly introduction he fostered could mean a new sponsor gained for the resort, not to mention an increase of their social standing - which, in turn, would mean better options for odette's future match.

a steady and drawn out exhale, richard attempted to calm his jangled nerves, put his ever-racing thoughts to rest. all of this could be thoroughly thought over tomorrow morning, he tried to reason with himself, once his mind was less clouded by the hustle and bustle of the ball. he ought to return inside, he had been gone long enough to arouse suspicion, and while he trusted odette to fend for herself, being seen without a chaperone for such a long stretch of time might reflect badly on her. and there were dances to be danced, conversations to be endured, introductions to be made - and a rustle of movement behind him, setting an ending to his musings after all.

"excuse me, i shall take my leave so you may have the terrace to yourself", richard offered apologetically as he straightened his back and turned, ready to acknowledge the other with a small bow and briskly rejoin the dancers. yet a face most familiar stopped him in his endeavours - wonderful. as if the night had not been emotionally complicated enough yet. "... lord pembroke." mask and elaborate disguise or not, he would recognize him anywhere. he could be a hudnred miles away and richard would easily make out his frame and build in the distance. "my apologies, i did not know it was you. as i said, i shall be out of your hair in no time. i was simply ... gathering myself."

[pathlessswoods]

Where: Halifax Hall Who: Richard Denham (@dcnhams)

Adam leaned idly against one of the marble columns, turning his glass between his fingers as he let the noise of the ballroom wash over him. Laughter, music, the rustle of silk. It all blurred together after a while, none of it quite holding his attention for long. His brief exchange with Odette Denham lingered, however. Sharp-tongued, unapologetic, and dressed in something he still considered entirely too much. He'd made his opinion known, in the most gentlemanly way he could think of.

His gaze wandered again - until it stopped. A man stood apart from the rest, dressed as something resembling a great Greek God that he'd read about in his youth, though not in the exaggerated way most had embraced the evening. There was something deliberate in it; as if even the choice had been made with purpose rather than vanity. Adam watched him for a moment, then longer than he intended. There was no effort to draw attention, and yet it settled on him anyway. In the stillness. In the way he seemed untouched by the spectacle around him.

Adam took a slow sip of his drink, eyes narrowing slightly, before he stalked over to him. Perhaps the champagne was beginning to get to him, because he blamed this on liquid courage. "Heracles, right?" he asked the other man. It suited him. "I doubt anyone here could pull it off as well as you do."

[dcnhams]

The evening seemed to alternate between moving at a breakneck pace and stretching into long, odious moments between one idle conversation and the next, and, despite his better instincts, Richard found himself drawn into the orbit of the refreshments table yet again. Suffering from a dry throat always proved a fitting exxuse to exit a conversation, and he found a drink in hand or sugared treat half eaten also seemed to deter any young women or gentleman pushed into his direction by an eager parent looking to make an introduction. Conversational partners with whom he could enjoy short-lived pleasantries came and went, usually staying not more than five minutes at best which Richard found suited him quite well. His father's instructions to go and foster relationships with those high in rank or well-connected were pushed to the very back of his mind effortlessly - potential investors could be secured another day, and he doubted anyone would be inclined to discuss matters of business on the every first social event of the season.

Excusing himself yet again from the conversation, Richard circled back to grab yet another glass of lemonade to ail his 'dry throat', and allowed himself to cast his eye over the ballroom. Ever the quiet observer, perhaps here should be the place he'd carve for himself, the sidelines of the ballroom, the periphery of the action. Of course, he could not account for how the season might progress, yet he could account for his character which, at present, did not particularly enjoy partaking in society. Yet, who knew, perhaps London might shape him into a gentleman of leisure in due time.

Presently, however, he found he desired little more than to observe, seek out his sister every now and then and make a strategic exit so that they might beat traffic. The streets got ever so busy whenever a small gathering drew to its close - for all its deficits, which Richard had heard loads about yet never encountered, the quiet of the country and seaside subtly but surely began to outweigh city living. Yet, thinking of his sister ... Richard craned his neck a little to get a better view of the room and try to spot a shimmer of chainmail somewhere in the crowd. With all due respect to Lady Halifax's dedication to theme, one tended to have a rather limited overview of the room, for all attendees seemed to be swallowed by the dark, velvet drapieres. Perhaps he ought to go looking for her - knowing Odette, she had a natural proclivity for trouble.

"Heracles, indeed. I'm pleased my disguise is somewhat recogniseable - I've been confused with a number of Greek heroes tonight", Richard answered effortlessly, settling into a cadence he usually adopted when engaged in 'ton talk'. The compliment, however, caught him slightly off-guard, betrayed by a slight stumbling over his own words. "Oh - well, I thank you most kindly, Sir. I'm inclined to return the compliment but I have to admit I am not quite sure who you have come disguised as... in any case, you also pull it off quite well." A nod of acklnowledgement, Richard raised his drink in a small toast, hoping the half-mask might yet hide his nervous smile. Richard threw another look over his shoulder at the crowd before clearing his throat and returning his attention to his conversational partner.

"If I seem distracted please do not think anything of it, it is only that I have been emplyoed as chaperone this evening and I seem to be a horrid fit for the job, for I've lost my charge ... then again, if I find her before unmasking all shall be well. I doubt anyone will remember anything that came before....", he trailed off, somewhat lost in thought as his mind wandered to the issue of a scandal sheet that had been delivered some few hours before the ball. A rather sick revelation, to know that most people in this ballroom seemed to take immense pleasure in destroying another person's life. "How are you enjoying the masquerade so far?"

[sugartalkins]

closed starter with @dcnhams

location: the masquerade at halifax hall

juliet’s fingers curled around the edge of the refreshment table, eyeing the delicacies and drinks being offered. her gaze lingered upon the biscuits as well as a flute of champagne. though, in the back of her mind, she knew it was frowned upon to stuff her face and drink as much as she wanted to. with a soft sigh, she looked away, adjusting the lace tying her mask to her face. the fabric was starting to grow uncomfortable, tight, suffocating. similar to this ball. she had hoped to have recognized someone by now, but every costume was simply too good. she missed alexander and her family, but knew the queen was watching.

waiting.

juliet sighed, turning to her right to see an unfamiliar face. well, everyone was unfamiliar to her but…this individual represented her. dressed as juliet capulet, the very name that brought a smile to the fairy’s face. she recognized the costume purely based on the hair piece, intriguing juliet more than ever. “excuse me? miss?” she waltzed over, a gentle smile on her lips. “your costume is…spectacular. i am quite the fan of juliet myself. such a tragic story of love, yet an inspiration for rebellion. do you agree?”

[dcnhams]

though her own mother and lady clifton had roughly walked her through the mechanics of the season, explaining the proceedings to come and what was to be her place in them, no one could have prepared amelia for the experience itself. the grandness of it all was beyond anything she had dared imagine, and naturally beyond anything she had yer experienced. affairs in the country tended to be smaller, livelier some might say, yet intimate. and even on the off-chance that one of the grand neighbouring estates issued an invitation to her family, those balls now all paled in comparison. the budget on decoration alone must far surpass the yearly allowance of some members of the ton. a quick look over both shoulders, amelia made sure no one was watching before quickly snapping a golden leaf off a branch that was wrapped around one of the corinthian columns to examine it.

her relations had all been whisked away to some far parts of the ballroom, their dance cards already full no doubt, and clifton house would have to be up bright and early to receive a flurry of callers. yet while amelia enjoyed the occasional dance as much as anyone, a lord dudley had done her the great disservice of stepping on her toes on three-quarter time, which would arguably ruin any dance, especially the waltz. following the ordeal, amelia had retreated to the refreshment table, observing the goings on of the ballroom from afar while she waited for feeling to return into her feet.

"pardon?" the voice had startled her a bit, and she hurriedly disposed of the golden leaf, easily dropping it into the reticule of a lady passing by. "oh! i suppose so, i mean - i have to admit, the choice of disguise was ultimately down to my chaperone, not me." perhaps lady clifton had meant to discourage heated arguments between the young ladies about who would attend in which costume. "but i do like the idea of juliet as an inspiration for rebellion. and i must say, you make an absolutely stunning fairy."

[caedmilfolie]

where: Halifax hall when: Early evening, 15 minutes after the final performance with: open

Grace had only just left the quiet refuge of the performers’ chambers, where the echoes of their voices still seemed to linger in the walls like something reluctant to fade. Even now, as she stepped once more into the brilliance of Halifax Hall, her breath had not entirely steadied. Her cheeks remained flushed, warmed by the lingering rush of her performance of Ach, ich fühl’s. The final notes still humming faintly beneath her skin as though her body had not yet understood that the music had ended. For a moment, she allowed herself the smallest indulgence. A satisfaction, soft and fleeting. The thrill of making a return that could have left a lasting impression. -- But the world did not pause for reflection, not tonight.

The grand hall unfolded before her like something conjured by the magic of the true Queen of the Night rather than it being built. It was all velvet blue and molten gold, constellations trembling in chandelier light above a sea of masked faces. The singer moved through it slowly, her steps measured though her pulse was not. Her body weaving between silks and shadows, laughter and whispered names. There was something strange in it. In this knowing that she was recognized, that her voice had already betrayed her presence to quite a few in the crowd, while she in turn could not place a single soul with certainty. It left her drifting through a crowd that felt both intimate and entirely unknowable. Heracles, she reminded herself, the name resting lightly in her thoughts like a cue yet to be sung. Somewhere within this shifting constellation stood the figure the queen had decided she was meant to find. And yet, in the blur of masks and myth, she found her gaze distracted by movement, by light, by the lingering tunes. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she searched at all or if she simply wandered. Letting the humming sensation of it all just absorb into her skin and guide her.

[dcnhams]

Considering the iron grip he held on a flute of champagne long since empty, Richard was close to disturbing the lively yet polite chatter that had settled over the ballroom. The members of the orchestra mingled still, earning their well deserved compliments for the musical opening ceremony they had just conducted, and it would be some time yet before they returned to their seats to pick up their instruments, giving the attendees ample time to find their assigned dance partners. Another aspect of the season that had been sprung upon him and, tradition or not, he found that he much preferred the practice of picking one's own partner - though among the fashionable ton, such may be considered a humdrum habit only seen at country balls.

Though drawn by lot, he could not help but still feel as if some strings might have been pulled behind the scenes. After all, one could never be quite sure when Her Majesty was involved, notoriously amused by the social mechanics of the season. Fearing he may yet draw too much attention to himself and send the glass in his hand flying across the polished floors in thousands of shards, Richard placed it on an empty tray a footman happened to be carrying nearby. The warm smile and 'thanks' he offered the man was met with a curt bow before he scurried off to find another gentleman desperate to discard an empty drinking vessel. He might never get used to it, this anonymity one seemed desperate to maintain with one's staff.

Finding himself without the grounding anchor of his glass, he considered grabbing another refreshment, just to have something to hold onto, when he spotted a familiar costume across the ballroom. Thankully, his assigned partner was no complete stranger, if only because he had seen her perform at the ceremony some moments ago - and quite magnificently at that. And it spared him the embarrassment of going around the room, trying to figure out which character everyone's costume correlated to.

Richard made his presence known by clearing his throat soundly, so as to not spook her, and bowed. "If I am not mistaken I believe we have been paired for the first set", he said with a polite smile. "And allow me to offer my congratulations and express my admiration. While I don't possess much knowledge in the department of opera or theatre, I can safely assess that your aria was mangificently executed."

[honeyedarsenic]

for @dcnhams where: denham home

their new house was magnificent, which odette had quickly discovered was not at all the same thing as being pleasant. it was too large, too polished, too full of strangers who moved silently in and out of rooms carrying trays, flowers, boxes, ribbons, fabric, and questions no one ought to be asked before noon. everywhere she turned, there seemed to be another servant adjusting something, announcing something, or politely pretending not to notice that she was deeply in their way.

she had been awake for hours, the first to rise. long enough to roam half the house in her slippers, long enough to move a vase from one table to another and then back again, long enough to sit in three separate rooms only to abandon each within minutes. she had tried reading, then writing, then staring dramatically out of a window at the passing ton. none had cured the particular misery of having nothing to do and no one she wished to speak to.

so when the breakfast room door opened at last, she turned with undisguised hope.

"richard."

the relief in her voice was immediate. she set her book aside so quickly it nearly slid from the table. a teacup sat untouched beside a scattering of papers she had no intention of cleaning up at the moment.

"thank god. if one more person asks whether i would prefer cream or ivory ribbon, i shall resort to arson."

she rose quickly and crossed the room toward him, as though afraid he might vanish if not approached quickly enough.

"i have been wretchedly bored for hours," she informed him, already looping an arm through his as if the matter were now solved. "you must do something useful at once. speak to me. rescue me. quarrel with me. anything."

only then did she glance toward the hallway, where a footman passed carrying yet another arrangement of flowers. she lowered her voice.

"and if possible, explain why this house requires more people than a small village."

[dcnhams]

though the season had turned him into an early riser out of sheer necessity, richard had roused rather late today - which was for the best, probably, with the season about to formally begin. soon enough, all sorts of social engagements would fill his calender and grip him with full force, perhaps he could use an extra hour or two of rest. perhaps this had been a kindness from his new valet, whose presence he still could not quite get used to. in truth, every since they had moved into their new home on the square, it seemed there was very little richard was able to do himself anymore, save for conversing, sleeping and taking in nourishment. whoever knew that you were in need of a person to do up the buttons on your waistcoat? or fold your duvet back so you might get out of bed?

whatever the absurdities of their new life may be, it did not come without its comforts, of course. its luxuries, that, until some time ago, they could have only dreamed of. not that richard could recall dreaming of the absurdly ornate furnishings in their many drawing rooms, or the evenings of meaningless games of cards and liquor he had found himself resigned to during his first days in town. the immense pivilege of their situation was by all means obvious to him, the house seemed to exude it in every angle, corner and crevice, and so richard had made peace with his initial discomfort - for the discomfort of others far below their elevated station certainly outweighed his.

fiddling with his sleeves and attempting to suppress a yawn with a grimace, he made his way downstairs to the breakfast room - another absurdity, the fact they had a bespoke room for just one time of day - nodding politely at the servants who happend to pass him on his way.

"and a good morning to you, too. you seem ... rather enthusiastic for this time of day." or rather enthusiastically awake, compared to his current state, and as odette looped her arm through his he gently steered her towards the buffet. "did you break your fast yet?"

it felt rather as if time had not quite caught up to him yet, odette's words making sense only gradually as they pieced themselves together into a coherent sentence. "your guess is as good as mine, dot. i mean - ", he leaned back a little to check if a footman had yet been posted to their door, which would happen at record speed once they rung the bell to indicate they'd take breakfast, and lowered his voice just in case, "-where on earth do they move? on my way down i've passed but two people, all who scurried away the second they heard me approach as if they had done me some sort of grave disservice."

richard shook his head a little to himself, then lightly squeezed her hand. "in any case, how are you this morning? i'm sure you must be excited for the masquerade."

[insaticte]

where: hyde park when: morning with: open

In a city such as London, a moment's peace is a rare commodity, but Alasdair Makwana has already discovered its closest substitute in the weak morning sunlight that paints Hyde Park in muted gold. Absent the promenading debutantes and open-topped carriages that will later clamour for space and attention, it is actually possible to hear one's thoughts, with one in particular pushing its way to its usual place at the forefront of Alasdair's mind - why did I agree to come here?

He is pulled from his ruminations by the sight of a dog careering down the path towards him, trailing its lead in the mud behind it. It deposits itself at his feet, looking up at him with expectant brown eyes, and Alasdair hesitates for only a moment before bending down to offer the creature his hand to sniff. "Hello," he says softly, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "Where have you come from?" He glances upwards, half-expecting the dog's master or, at the very least, some beleaguered servant to reveal themselves forthwith.

[dcnhams]

It had taken a considerable amount of incessant pleading but with some effort Amelia had finally succeeded in wearing down Lady Clifton's maid enough to allow her to accompany her to Hyde Park - along with Lady Clifton's dog, of course. The break of dawn is no time or place for a young lady, or so she had been told, yet as the gravel crunches beneath her heels and the fresh, cutting air rosies her cheeks she cannot think of a more fitting place to be. By this time her relations will have barely rung for their maids, just now beginning to wake up and gather themselves to face the new day. Wonderful, then, that Amelia already has a headstart on all of them, intent to use what remains of the day as best as she can. There are some ribbons she's ordered that are ready to pick up today, perhaps she might do that on the way back. One of her cousins had been going on about a new flavour of ices at Gunter's, she should suggest the entire household goes and makes an outing of it.

And then tonight there's a small informal musicale the neighbours had invited them to, and -

"Goodness!" Where Lady Clifton's maid had once held a leash her hand is suddenly empty, and the gravel crunches underneath her quick steps as she hurries behind the dog. Though it doesn't seem to have too far of an escape in mind, coming to a sudden halt in front of a fellow early riser. Before the maid can begin to apologize profusely, Amelia cuts in, a polite smile tugging at her lips. "Good morning, sir. You seem to have a natural effect on dogs. Isn't that right, Feathers? Isn't that right?" The latter part clearly addressed towards the dog, Amelia, too, bends down a little further than ladylike to give Feahers a good scratch behind th ears. After a moment, when Lady Clifton's maid has successfully re-leashed the dog, she straightens up again and her eyes narrow. "Do you make it a habit to lure dogs away from their masters and cause general havoc?"

[starrycyed]

remy nearly flinched at the harsh sound richard made, feeling it as something akin to a physical blow. but he deserved this, did he not? he still believed that he had richard's best interests at heart, wanting so desperately to shield him from society and its many pitfalls. though it had obviously been before his time, he had heard the stories of his mother's difficulties in settling in - but that had been temporary, had it not? she and his father had lived out their happily ever after, as adoring now as they were all those years ago. he simply did not want to admit that it was his own anxiety that -

the lord swallowed hard and shook his head slightly as if to dispel the thought. "i hurt you," he said in a low voice. "and for that, i shall never forgive myself. i do not expect absolution, merely for you to know that i regret nothing in my life so much as ending what we had." he took advantage of richard looking away to admire those handsome and familiar features, the ones he would give anything to lovingly trace once more. but the other man's clarification, the latest in a series of shocking news, was the straw that broke the camel's back. "i - i had not," he managed to stutter. breathing, already a difficult task in the best of times, had suddenly become practically impossible, and it was not helped by the world beginning to spin. remy grasped for the back of a nearby bench, clutching it for dear life and fervently praying no one was around to bear witness to such a spectacle. for the seasons to come - the thought of spending years living alongside the man he'd wronged - apparently with no need to have done so whatsoever - was simply too much, and the choked sound that issued from him was likely due to his heart having lodged itself in his throat.

he was still reeling, too overwhelmed to register the imperceptible shift in richard's demeanor. "i - i manage." there was no other option, was there? the pembroke heir must be in london for the season, and so he was. he would show no weakness or discomfort, nothing that would indicate that he was anything less than the unruffled and charismatic gentleman he was expected to be. his knuckles practically glowed from how tightly he was gripping the bench, yet his hands still shook. "richard, please, you must believe me when i tell you how desperately sorry i am."

[dcnhams]

in the blink of an eye his previous bitterness had dissolved into worry, the sort you felt for someone whose affection you had once held, and who still held your own. richard began to feel queasy at the sheer speed with which his emotions changed througout their brief interaction, yet he managed to swallow it down, slowly approaching remington as if cautiously seeking the trust of a wounded animal. surely they must have made quite a sight to any curious passerbys - and by what richard had come to know of the city, there seemed nary a passerby who was not, indeed, curious - thus he made sure to remain a respectable distance from remington as he sat down next to him on the bench.

"if it is this that troubles you then you may calm your mind. i ... i appreciat your, uh, apology. i bear you no ill will. what is past may ... remain there." though there was little conviction behind his words he willed them into his tone, willed a small smile onto his lips. "i suppose we will be seeing a lot of each other this season, so perhaps it is for the best we put old resentments to rest, hm?" even less conviction there, yet there was no alternative. what had been done was done. what had been said was said. and even with richard's improved social standing, the heir to the marquessate should surely desire a match more befitting of his station.

"how are your siblings? have they settled in well?"

[honeyedarsenic]

"yes," he agreed immediately, never one to lie. when it could be avoided, that was.

"you are correct, i would have spent a pound. but i would have drawn the line at two," he stated as if that distinction made all the difference.

he didn't know why he felt the need to defend himself; you would think him immune to such quips from amy, given how often she made them. she was, he had long since decided, simply jealous of his bond with his wife for she did not have one like it. this, of course, was his preferred jab in return. she tyically took it as one might imagine.

but he did, in fact, feel rather pleased with himself at the moment, knowing his wife would love the flowers, chosen just for her.

“that is where you are mistaken, amy,” he said, not unkindly. “it is my duty as her husband to win her over each day. that is where the pleasure lies.”

his gaze drifted fondly in his wife's direction. “the look on her face, when i give them to her… the moment that she remembers that she is loved..." he found himself drifting off now, so he cleared his throat, remembering himself and feeling rather embarrassed as he realized that he would, in fact, have spent two pounds.

"you are just jealous," he recovered, defaulting to his usual answer.

[dcnhams]

"on the contrary - that is where your pleasure lies. all it takes is a simple glance across a crowded ballroom to see that many matches are far less harmonious than yours." in fact, it was this very observation that had steered amelia's mind far away from away from thoughts of marriage. lingering on the sidelines, she had taken note of her cousin enjoying the advances of a gentleman - one that, as it had turned out, attended with his new wife, whom he'd acquired a special license to wed the season prior. and while amelia had never believed in grand tales of love and romance, she couldn't deny having experienced slight disappointment that the men participating in the ton's marriage mart seemed to view the whole thing as more of a business transaction rather than a matter of affection. or, well, figuring out with whom you might want to spend the rest of your life.

eager to steer her mind from reflections on her own disappointment she quickly hooked her arm through theo's and leaned into point at a couple promenading a little further away. "take miss erstwhile, for example - or, well, mrs. collins now. her and mr. collins spend the bigger portion of the year apart, on estates far across the country, and even as they reconvene in london for the season the can hardly stand to be in the same house. of course, when out in society they parade as if they are the perfect couple but - i mean, look at them, theo. she looks as if merely walking in step with him causes her some sort of physical pain." a mix of both pity and prejudice she could not hide was on display across her features, amelia quickly ducked and looked the other way as mrs. collins met her gaze.

"and you are ... devoted", amelia muttered, and what was meant to be a witty quip dissolved into something resigned. "which is a rare thing, and makes lady montfort a lucky woman. as much as i tease you, my dear, you are a kind soul. and this will be the only time you will hear me say it, so savour it."

[doublelights]

open starter location: the streets of london, somewhere less than proper

night in london is an affair edmund is ultimately familiar with. never is it a quiet thing- the boys at oxford would delay their returns home for another few hours at gambling clubs past sunset, or take out the horses for a late-night ride, and he knew better than anyone that a quiet night could only be found when one was searching for it.

and maybe he was, tonight. but even after five years away on the continent, he still remembered the right paths to follow and corners to cross to find himself in a part of london that was barely lit and scarcely occupied.

freedoms such as this, he knew, were bound to slip away with the season. as such, he was determined to take full advantage now.

as he walked, edmund stuck his hands in his pockets, whistling a low, lilting melody. the chill of the evening tugged at the skin of his neck, his head held high. this was not a place belonging to society; just a man desperate to avoid it.

tonight, it seemed, he wasn't the only one. movement caught the peripherals of his vision, and before he could stop himself, edmund was turning a corner to follow. while the darkness obscured much of the figure's details, he knew well enough the silhouette of someone who wasn't meant to be in this part of the city.

"i see i am not the only one with a penchant for an evening away from the ton," edmund announces, attempting to make himself audible from such a distance. he pauses in front of the nearest light, leaning against the post in order to illuminate himself.

"may i join you, or is this an occasion best kept in isolation? because i have been told i am excellent at conversing if you so desire it."

[dcnhams]

it's not as if richard had left the house looking for trouble, yet he had not left it in search of a respectable establishment, either. there was a gentleman's club that had been recommended to him, several in fact but only one that allowed members of all stations to attend, so only one he had considered paying a visit, for the peerage often found little sympathy for a newcomer hailing from the middle class. despite his improved standing, he could do without the questioning looks tonight. templeton's then - or rather gentleman jack's ? yet richard found little pleasure in watching two people physically fight one another. or, on the off-chance a round of boxing did rouse his amusement, it usually involved unseemly amounts of alcohol.

templeton's was the right choice, then, or certainly the proper one, and he'd begun walking in the general direction of the club. rationalising each wrong turn with wanting to take the scenic route, just as he had justified not taking the carriage with 'looking to get some fresh air'. yet as the sky slowly turns darker and darker, and the streets he takes go from less to more crowded, even richard cannot deny that those had been bold faced lies, and he had absolutely no intentions of spending the night at a gentleman's club. partially because he still did not consider himself one of those. partially because a night away from the constraints of 'polite society' had occupied a good deal of his dreams for the better part of a week now.

a tavern, then. one that will undoubtedly overcharge him thanks to the clinking of coins in his purse and his less than casual appearance, but he would have to accept it and make do. on the next corner, richard quickly loosened his cravat and stuffed it into his coat pocket, as a voice suddenly cut through the silence. as he turns around, what comes into view looks as if lifted straight off the illustrated pages of a shilling shocker, a horrid romance. leaned ever so calmly against the lamppost, a peculiar shadow falls over the young man's face and richard has to blink himself out of a momentary stupor before approaching. "ah. i suspect my measly cover has been blown", he remarks with a slight smile, gesturing to where the cravat hung out of his pocket. no need to be coy or abrasive now, he has been discovered after all. and a fellow escapee from the ton might prove excellent company tonight. "please, do feel free to join me. though i rather suspect it is me who will be joining you, for i have little plan of where i'm going. do you know these parts well? perhaps you might suggest a ... paragon of dishonor for us to attend?"

[honeyedarsenic]

open to anyone! location: hyde park

the sky was blue, clouds white and puffy, drifting close enough to the sun to provide a hint of shade. the ton moved like a gaggle of penguins, processing down rotten row in a line. a small girl passed quickly between the ton and rolling carriages, arms full of small, hastily tied bouquets, offering them to anyone who might spare a coin.

lord montfort stopped her with a quiet word and gentle hand, inspecting the lot before picking out his wife's favorite colors. she'd drifted ahead, caught in conversation further along the row.

when he continued walking with the ton, he fell naturally into step beside a familiar face. he held up the flowers for their inspection, brightly pigmented pinks, yellows, purples and blues in full bloom. "one cannot help but wonder what she earns in a day," he mused. "this cost a full shilling! can you believe that?"

[dcnhams]

while amelia often found that, upon entering matrimony, most people tended to become dreadful bores hiding away from the world together at their ancestral gomes, she had to admit that having married friends did come at some advantage. the need for a chaperone, for example, nullified when in the presence of theodore and neither amelia herself nor her poor lady's maid, whom she'd been dragging around bond street for the last week or so, seemed to mind. the whole thing was absurd anyway, that a young lady was apparently not to be trusted when out on her own, that her mere being out by herself might cause her to lose her mind, abandon propriety, strip off her clothes for a lovely midday dip in the muddy waters of the serpentine.

thankfully she was in the company of a respectable, married man - how quick the ton had seemed to forget his rowdy early days - and thus at no risk of such scandalous behaviour. or so society seemed to think. at theo's return, amelia leaned over to take in the flower's scent, scrunching her nose to ward off a sneeze. "oh, please. you would have bought them even if they had cost you a pound." which the young miss who'd sold him the flowers seemed to have guessed, for ten shillings seemed quite steep, especially when purchased on the go in hyde park and not at a florist in town. "and you know why? because you are smitten, my dear theo. entirely so." in truth, amelia had seldomly been witness to such a sudden and stark change in character as when theodore had fallen in love with the countess. and while they certainly looked the very picture of matrimonial bliss, it did not stop her lovingly teasing him about his infatuation. "nevertheless, i am most certain she will love these flowers and you will continue your never-ending courtship. you do know you do not need to win her over anymore, right?"

[dcnhams]

closed starter for miss violet nobley ( @sugartalkins ) setting: beating rush hour at the modiste

a being of two worlds, amelia found pleasure in both sleeping in until it was time to break fast and getting up outraegously early, depending on her mood that given day. though while in the country, one could sleep in until noon and still have the day to spend at their leisure, it felt increasingly as if waking up even an hour too late in the city meant that one had already missed a great amount of pivotal society functions. and while amelia had no intention of fulfilling her so-called "duty" for the season - or rather the "duty" that lady clifton undoubtedly dearly wished her to fulfill - she stll intended to make the most of it, and so rising early it was.

atop of her list was a visit to the modiste, preferably right when they opened, for the last time her and her relations had sought to look at and choose fabrics for their gowns, the store had looked as if it had just been ransacked by highwaymen. in truth, they were a tad late with making their arrangements, their arrival not exactly early for a gaggle of five young women to be introduced this season, but in a town as big as london with many milliners and modistes to choose from, surely this should be of no issue.

with her head held high and an overtired maid dragging after her, amelia confidently entered the store some ten minutes after opening, making a beeline for the fabrics. she stuffed a roll of creme silks under her arm - much needed for their presentation gowns - and began looking for some more colourful options for herself. what she wore at the presentation would be forgotten come next season, and her dress for the masquerade was of far more importance. a burnt orange, a rich burgundy and a deep, forest green caught her eye and she quickly grabbed three small samples of the fabrics and turned to a fellow early riser. "excuse me, miss? you look as if you've got good taste. tell me, which of these shades do you think suits me most? and do not feel the need to sugercoat it, i should like to hear your honest opinion."

[dcnhams]

closed starter for lady rebecca wharton( @zealicity ) setting: grosvenor square, paying a visit to the neighbours

it was customary, or so he had been told, to introduce onseself to one's new neighbours, and richard supposed it to be especially important when one found themselves refered to as a social climber. while most welcomed the denham's addition to polite society, some found themselves wary yet, and it had come at no surprise but a little disappointment that some of his requests to call had been returned to sender. at least it was him who received the blows, sparing his sister the embarrassment of a refusal. soon enough, come her debut, there would be little of the ton's vicious ways he could protect her from. once she had walked down that pathway to curtsy in front of her majesty she would be out of his reach and influence for good, so why not grant her those few more days of innocent merriment, of thinking grosvenor square, mayfair and the world at large was ready and excited to receive their family in london?

richard had not bothered to send a calling card to lady wharton's residence lest he was met with another excuse not to receive him, and instead had opted to simply 'happen upon' her residence on a 'mid-morning stroll'. calling hours, some might say. walking hours, richard might counter. he adjusted his vest and collar before removing his tophat as a footman finally answered the door. "good day. i was wondering if lady wharton might be in? my family has just moved in across the square and i would like to formally introduce myself, if it is not too much of an imposition, of course."

[starrycyed]

"of course," remington agreed quietly, though he was unsure if he of all people knew the meaning of the word mature. he had been so certain that he had been doing the right thing for them both, his mind made up that richard would be better off with someone of his own station and spared the often ridiculous intricacies and cruel exclusivity of society. but he felt chilled to the bone by richard's icy anger, such a far cry from the gentle warmth the other man had once been so keen to share with him. "such a lovely home to have to leave, though. you are a far stronger man than i," he murmured, imbuing the statement with meaning beyond the obvious.

remy stumbled slightly and came to a reluctant stop. it was the first real mention of their past, specifically the last time they had seen one another. he sucked in a shaky breath, a fruitless attempt to slow his drumbeat of a heart. "it must mean absolutely nothing to you, but i am sorry. i - i should have chosen my words better. believe me when i say that the last thing i ever wanted to do was hurt you -" he, too, pasted on a smile and nodded courteously at the promenader, his expression reverting to abject misery as soon as they had passed. he reluctantly started walking again, though he remained half a step behind his companion. "i did not think that - that it was intentional." although maybe a part of him had hoped. "your....station?" he repeated, as if the word belonged to a language he did not speak.

"they have been here, but i myself have been away for a few months." he touched a hand to his chest in a meaningful gesture. richard was among the rare few remy had entrusted with the information regarding his illness, when he had still deluded himself into believing that they might have a future together. what a simple, lovely time that had been - one he would give anything to go back to.

[dcnhams]

an icy, unbelieving scoff reared its ugly head, thanks to no effort from richard to suppress it whatsoever, appearances be damned. "of that i have no doubt." he was being purposefully cold and petty and delighting in making remington uncomfortable, though most of his enjoyment stemmed from the fact that, at least for a moment, it made his own bitter disappointment disappear. made that aching feeling in his chest subside, replaced by malicious glee. this was the sort of man he was now, apparently, or at least the sort he entered polite society as.

the apology hit him like a punch to the gut and richard had to connsciously remind himself not to lose his footing, to keep his back straight, not to stumble over his words. he had fantasized about this moment countless times, had played through the possible outcomes and arguments over and over and over in his head, always walking away from the altercation the pronounced winner. never had an apology disoriented him so, left him entirely unsatisfied. was this not the justice he had hoped for?

though richard had not imagined their meeting like this, in the middle of the street, remington's apology uttered in between keeping up appearances for nosy bystanders. the pivotal moment he had dreamed of fell flat, and it only frustrated him further. "i don't require an apology, my lord. after all, you did nothing wrong." and he cursed himself once more the moment the words fell from his lips. perhaps his sister was right when she called him a stubborn cad, but what good was this insight when he could not act accordingly? the window for accepting an apology had long since passed, the window for issuing an apology of his own had not yet opened. and in the middle richard stood stuck in limbo between the prosperous future to come and the past he could not help but cling to.

strangely overwhelmed, richard fixed his attention on a building in the distance. "yes, my station. haven't you heard? the denhams have recently made the move to landed gentry. i expect we'll find ourselves next door to one another for the seasons to come." somestimes, in those weak moments, he wished his majesty had never come to their resort and had not elevated them to their new standing, for it only deepened the wound. had his majesty and his royal highness come to leisure at weymouth a year prior remington and richard might have found themselves together at grosvenor square under entirely different circumstances. announcing an engagement, perhaps, or already occupying a stately home. alas, fate had not intended for it to be this way.

as remington spoke again, hand covering his chest, richard felt a sudden pang of guilt in his own, accompanied by a flicker of fondness. "of course", he nodded, feeling strangely exposed in his previous malice. a courtship or fondness turned sour, turned nowhere, was aplenty in society, and perhaps he should not give in to his frustrations. they could still be civil with one another, could they not? "i hope your condition has improved. it must trouble you in the city, what with all the fumes and smog. is it manageable?"