closed starter for @ofintentions
at the masquerade ball
if it were not for ophelia, theodore likely would not have even attended this ball, let alone would he have dressed up as a beast from french folktale. his typical dress was simple, structured and modern but as comfortable as formal dresswear could be. this costume, however, was anything but that. he pulled at the collar around his neck, feeling rather suffocated by it all.
he plastered on a smile as he approached his wife with two cups of lemonade. "my lady," he cooed, bowing slightly as he handed her a cup. "your lemonade." he smiled, wanting nothing more than to make her laugh, to make her happy. as evidenced, he felt, by the mask that he wore across his face. all for her, as it all always was.
"i do believe that we are best dressed," he thought aloud, turning so that they were standing side by side, observing the dancers float across the room. "and you, my love, are certainly the most stunning of the lot," he assured her, dipping his head to plant a soft kiss on her temple.
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."
odette felt that she fit rather uncomfortably into their new lives. she found that her dresses were too stained, her ribbons too childish, and her manners too improper for society. so her favorite dresses had been replaced with finer items, her hair was trimmed into something more fashionable, and she'd endured countless dance and etiquette classes. and yet, she still felt like she stuck out like a rather sore thumb.
and so it was only natural that she'd relied heavily on richard for company, for sanity, for their late-night whispered conversations. he was the only familiar thing in this entire place, so she clung to him, as she always had. as a child she was a rather anxious thing, always climbing into richard's bed after her nightmares woke her up. and he always let her, even though she kicked in her sleep and often woke up facing sideways. he'd always been her very best friend.
odette allowed herself to be guided towards the buffet table. "oh, i ate hours ago," she answered him, though she began thinking of her breakfast again, specifically the biscuits. "though, i suppose you shall need the company," she sighed, acting as if she were doing him a great service by going in for seconds and not soothing the sudden rumble in her belly.
odette glanced back in the same direction that richard did, checking the door for any sign of a footman or a maid. "it's as if they have underground tunnels, brother" she whispered much too loudly to him, eyes wide with theatrical distress. "i do not know when they are coming and when they are going, and it distresses me deeply," she told him, fixing him with an aggrieved expression and heavy sigh.
she let him distract her by mentioning the ball. she was, undoubtedly, thrilled for the ball. she had been planning her costume for weeks, and spent countless hours altering it. "oh, yes!" she cried, brightening instantly as she clasped her other hand on top of her brothers. "you shall never guess who i am going as." she grinned, all earlier grievances forgotten. "though..." her expression shifted into one of sudden seriousness. "might you happen to possess any swords, brother?" she asked, with genuine interest. "i should only require one briefly. and i would be very careful, of course," she promised.
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.
odette has been explicitly asked to behave, to lay low to the best of her ability. this does, of course, seem to prove itself rather difficult for her, through no fault of her own. things, it would seem, consistently happen to her. she had been walking alongside mrs. finch, her dogs leash held firmly in her hand. mrs. finch was particularly grumpy as she found the weather too humid, and odette's dog too large. odette would admit that pearl was a rather large newfoundland, which was an already atypial choice of breed on her part. but she behaved like an angel, argued odette. until, of course, she spotted something like a squirrel.
pearl took off like lightning, ripping her leash out of odette's hand as she tore through the park, trapezing over the underbrush and across the mud. "pearl!" odette yelled, hiking her skirts up around her ankles and running after her dog. she faintly heard mrs. finch gasp and yell "mrs. denham!" but odette was both faster and willing to run through the mud herself. "pearl!" she yelled again, ribs aching, lungs begging for air as she finally slowed to a stop, pearl having seemingly found a new friend. odette put her hands on her knees to help hold herself up as she tried to catch her breath. "please, don't let her go, i will be-" a deep, ragged breath. "i will be right there to punish her. i just need-" another ragged breath. "a moment." punishment, of course, would be a very stern talking to, as soon as she could form sentences.
closed starter for @honeyedarsenic
location: the theatre royal
remington had always harbored a predilection for the theater. if he were to explore this fondness he might come to find that he often felt like an actor performing a role himself, disappearing behind the mask of a man who did not truly exist - but he did not care to, and instead focused on the appeal of thrilling narratives and complex characters. this particular evening found him poring over the program in the lobby at intermission, still caught up in the world he had left behind and to which he would be eagerly returning soon enough. the younger pembroke accompanying him mentioned something about going to speak with a friend, and remy nodded his acknowledgement without looking up from his reading. a few moments later he caught movement out of his peripheral and, assuming the younger pembroke had returned, began to enthuse, "midsummer will be truly fantastic -" his words caught in his throat as he was met with a different - and yet still familiar - face. "miss - miss denham." he cleared his throat and pasted on a smile. "my apologies, i thought you were my sister. have you - er - been enjoying the performance?"
odette loved nothing more than she loved her brother. not her books, her pens, her perfumes, not even her boots. her parents, specifically her mother, only came second because richard did not intend to marry her off. if her father had his way, she would already have 3 children. she nearly gagged at the thought.
and it was because of this, because of the way she loved her brother, that she could not control the look that crossed her face upon seeing lord pembroke. sadness, with hints of suspicion, and not at all lacking in scorn. she had always liked him, but unfortunately, now, she no longer could. odette crossed her arms behind her back, tilting her chin up proudly. "its quite alright, lord pembroke, i suppose we all get confused now and again. some more often than others," she smiles politely. she is being passive-aggressive, of course, but her tone is disguised as polite and well-meaning. at least, she intends for it to be. "yes, i have found it all to be rather... enlightening," she answers, only partially referring to the play. "and you? what have you thought of it?"
She didn't know her brother in law as well as she had hoped she did, a part of her wanting to know what family her sister had married into, but at the same time she felt outweighed by his title - as if she hadn't earned getting to know him. So, she had been spending her time avoiding him like the plague unless she was forced to be in the same room as him
So to see him at the park was a surprise, an even bigger one that he got swindled into paying a shilling for a bouquet of flowers - a part of her wondering if she had gotten into the wrong business. "I think you got swindled, my lord," she said as she pushed herself off the tree and walked up to him. "I saw her offer the same bouquet for 10 pence"
theo was never one to make friends easily. his circle was small, which was just the way that he preferred it. trust was not something he gave freely; one must earn it, and it was not something many had done. so it was of no surprise to him that he hadn't fallen into a fast and easy kinship with ophelia's sister. it was, however, important to his wife, so it was equally as important to him that he make the effort.
theo's jaw dropped in earnest at her words, truly shocked that he'd been played like a fiddle, bested by a small girl. he cannot help but laugh as he looks around, and then back at azalea. "it is deserved, i suppose. if one is willing to spend it, why should she not take advantage of that?" he shrugs, looking down fondly at the clumsily arranged flowers. they were a rather modest, unruly bouquet of bright spring color, with uneven stems and a faded ribbon knotting them together. "i do believe ophelia should love them. don't you agree?"
violet released a breath of relief, her eyes gazing up at a familiar sight. she lifted a hand to her forehead, shielding the sun from her eyes as she took a moment to adjust to the figure in front of her. "preoccupied? no, no, my lord, i...i just happen to find myself walking awfully close to this stall. a lady of my status should not have even decided to wander off here, too many swords and such..." violet laughed nervously, wishing she held a fan in her hands to rid of her heated cheeks. "though, i do not need to justify myself, as...as i am well aware of who you are." violet shifted on her feet, feeling her blade press against the softness of her flesh.
"you are lord montfort, correct? earl of shrewsbury? your wife is lovely, i...i have seen her in passing a few moments in time. you are very lucky, my lord." violet smiled, her admiration for love shining through her flesh. she seemed to thrive most when the idea of love was possible in any given circumstance. though, she hoped that theo did love his wife, or else the conversation would continue to go awry. "i am violet nobley, my lord. of the nobleys? parliament royalty?"
"ah, yes. of course," theo bows his head politely. "it's lovely to see you, miss nobley. lord montfort is correct, though i must confess that i do much prefer just theo." at the mention of his wife, theo smiles widely, sincerely. "yes, i would have to agree, i am very lucky indeed." theo walked closer to the tables, eyeing the impressive display of swords. "i myself have always been partial to a smallsword over a pistol, i prefer.." he picks up a sword, turning it over this way and that. "the feel of it, the control. i know exactly where this sword will go once i swing it," he continues, running one finger alongside the blade. "one cannot say the same, however, of a pistol. unless they are far more skilled than i," he laughs, looking back up at violet as he places the sword down, lest the seller thinks him intent on purchasing it. "however scandalous, i do believe even ladies such as yourself should learn how to wield smallswords, if but only for the protection they might provide."
Adam accepted the bouquet again, this time with a touch more consideration, turning it slowly between his fingers as though giving it the attention it deserved rather than dismissing it outright. "Charming?" he echoed, glancing down at it. The stems were uneven, the ribbon tired, the arrangement lacking any real discipline; and yet, there was something undeniably alive about it. Unrefined, certainly. But not without intention. He handed it back after a moment, the faintest hint of something amused settling in his expression. "I think," he said, "they’ve had the good sense not to be improved." His gaze followed Theodore's gesture toward the reckless carriage, his expression tightening just slightly, not in alarm, but in quiet disapproval. "She knows exactly what she’s doing," he said. "Not just with the flowers, but with the risk." A beat. "It is rarely the ones with the least who behave carelessly. They tend to calculate far better than we give them credit for."
At the mention of investing, Adam let out a soft huff of amusement. "No, I think we'd fail rather quickly," he agreed. "We lack both her courage and her business model." Then, after a brief pause, his attention shifted back to Theodore, more directly now, less observational. "And yet you still paid the shilling," he added, not as a challenge, but as a point of interest. "Not for the flowers themselves, I think." His head tilted slightly, studying him with a quieter kind of curiosity.
"You said they are your wife's favourite," he went on. "Does she prefer them for what they are...or because they remind her of something?" There was no intrusion in the question, only a genuine interest, as though Adam found the answer worth knowing. "Either way," he added, tone easing again, "I suspect you've chosen better than you're giving yourself credit for."
theo tucked the flowers safely underneath his arm, "they are exactly as i intended," he said, feeling the need to defend the imperfect flowers that he spent far too much on. he nodded in agreement, his eye drifting back to the carriage as a series of curses rose from the crowd. the aforementioned carriage drifted and nearly ran over a passerby. theo rolled his eyes silently, redirecting his attention back to adam. "that is true," he agreed. "we, as a society, are far too eager to mistake hardship for carelessness, but they often have the most to lose."
theo laughed in agreement at that, "yes, and her agility," he agreed, thinking back to her quick-footed weaving. theo nodded again, eyes automatically searching and quickly finding his wife further ahead. his heart ached for a moment, for sometimes he loved so fiercely that it rather hurt.
theo mulled over adam's question for a moment, glancing down at the flowers in his hands before smiling at the thought. "i believe they remind her that i love her," he says simply. "and they are all of her favorite colors, of course," he adds, as if that part should have been obvious. he thought for another moment. "marriage has taught me that words are meaningless without action to back them up."
"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."
theodore allowed her to hook her arm through his without comment, steadying their pace only slightly so she might continue her observations uninterrupted. he followed the direction of her gesture toward the unfortunate mr. and mrs. collins, studying them with the same attention he might have given a poor investment. "hm," he murmured. "you are right. she does appear to regard him as one might regard a persistent rash." the judgment was offered plainly, though the faint lift at the corner of his mouth betrayed some amusement. "a great pity. if one must marry badly, one should at least have the good sense to be convincing in public."
his attention returned to amelia at the shift in her tone. for all her teasing, he knew that her sincerity, while less common, was genuine. and likely physically painful. he was quiet for a moment longer than usual. "you are alarmingly sentimental today, amy," he said at last. "i should like it noted somewhere official." teasing, but there was warmth beneath it.
his gaze moved once more toward his wife, easy and instinctive as breath. "and i am not kind," he added after a moment, almost absently. "i am merely selective. though i shall accept the compliment, as it appears to have cost you something." he waited a beat, amusement clear on his face. "do not be concerned. your reputation for cruelty remains intact. i shall spread the rumor like wildfire among the ton's most eligible."
At that Anaya laughed softly, "as usual is far too high a compliment" it felt recently she was incorrect more and more often now. She wasn't sure what to do with it, other than to just keep trying to keep going. Not something she'd admit to.
"Perhaps it is simply motherhood, I see a child and picture my own in that situation" something she knew she needed to be careful with. Her children would come first always, but she couldn't completely lose herself. Though these days, she wasn't really sure that she was anything more than a shadow. It was her husband who had died, and yet she had never felt more like a ghost.
There it was, the question she never knew how to answer. So many had asked, and yet she knew they didn't really care. They asked because it was the done thing. But they hadn't known her husband, they hadn't known how kind he was, how loving, only that he had been a viscount who was slightly quieter than others.
The problem was that Theodore had known him, and she doubted an of her usual responses would really do anything here. "We are in London Lord Montfort, who answers anything with truths?"
"theodore allowed himself to laugh at that. "a fair criticism," he allowed. "i shall endeavor to lower my opinion of you at once." the remark was light, offered as much to ease the weight that had settled between them as for any amusement of his own. at her answer, however, he was quiet a moment.
the london around them carried on as it always did - scandalized whispers, rolling carriages, laughter drifting past, entirely unbothered by the pain of others. he had always found that one of the city’s more irritating qualities.
"yes," he said at last. "that is very much the problem with it." his gaze moved briefly ahead, searching again for his wife until he found her easily, then back to anaya. "and preciously why i did not ask london." he adjusted the flowers lightly in his hand, thoughtful.
"you need not answer prettily for me, lady seymour. nor correctly. to feel the need to filter yourself would be of great insult." there was no pressure in the words, only steadiness. "if the day has been difficult, you may say so. if it has been tolerable, that is equally permitted. if you would prefer to speak of anything else entirely, i am capable of enduring disappointment.”
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."
(victoria pedretti, she/her, cis female, six and twenty, sister to mr.denham) Dearest gentle reader! This author has, at long last, been made aware of the arrival of one ODETTE DENHAM in London! SHE, accompanied by HER BROTHER, is NEW to the season - yet their reputation precedes them. While known by many to be TENACIOUS & INDEPENDENT, this author has also heard them be described as CONTRARIAN & FORTHRIGHT. As they arrive in London, they evoke images of BLUE SKIRTS GATHERED AT HER ANKLES, BLUSHING WHEN ANGRY, FLOWERS PRESSED BETWEEN PAGES OF THE BOOKS SHE’S CURRENTLY READING, INK AND GRAPHITE STAINS ON HER HANDS, FORGOTTEN TEACUPS LEFT ALL AROUND THE HOUSE. They may think their secrets safe for now, but this author is intent on uncovering what lingers underneath the surface!
basics:
full name: odette denham
nicknames: dot
gender: cis female
pronouns: she/her
sexuality: bisexual
aesthetics: graphite and ink stains on her hands, walking the gardens after the house has gone quiet and dark, blue lace skirts gathered at her ankles, blushing when angry, strong opinions, flowers pressed between pages of the books she’s currently reading, forgotten empty teacups left all around the house, untied ribbons, muddy boots
age: six and twenty
date of birth: november 27
zodiac sign: sagittarius
appearance:
faceclaim: victoria pedretti
height: 5’3
build: slender with gentle curves, long lines
eyes: hazel eyes that shift between brown and green, depending on the light
hair: long, chestnut brown, wavy
style: her dresses often come in bright colors, florals and lace. but what she really favors are pantaloons.
likes: writing, dancing alone or in the rain, books, drawing flowers in the garden, being right, hiking up her skirts and running
dislikes men with too many opinions, being wrong, eating duck and her vegetables, being the center of attention, wearing a corset
fears: heights and tiny angry dogs
hobbies: writing, drawing, gardening, reading
tw: parental death
you were born on the twenty-seventh of november, the younger child of a family that lived comfortably, though never grandly, somewhere between trade and gentry. before the denham name meant anything, it belonged to steady work, careful ambition and quiet determination. your father valued discipline, appearances, and success with near equal devotion. your mother carried many of the same hopes, though softened by warmth. where he pressed, she encouraged, and from them both you inherited your will. sharp when needed, and tender when not.
your childhood was spent avoiding expectation. in gardens left half-wild, in hallways where doors were left ajar, hidden behind walls, in rooms lined with books that were not meant for you. what was offered to a young lady was never enough to satisfy your curiosity, so you learned to take what you wanted. you read widely, listened carefully, and asked more questions than what was considered polite. it was not only your curiosity that caused trouble, but your tongue. you learned early that a clever remark, particularly at the wrong moment, could earn worse reprimand than any broken rule, and yet you rarely help back.
richard was your first and, for awhile, your only companion. you did not have many friends, but you had your brother. you are alike in ways neither of you always admits: proud, watchful, stubborn.
when you turned seven and ten, you met him. a man of higher standing than your family, who never once made you feel less than for it. you believed yourself in love, and gave him everything, allowing yourself to fall for his fantastical promises. he ended up leaving you of course, and chose to marry the noblewoman that his father set him up with instead. you were devastated, and you have refused love since.
your mother’s death divided life cleanly into before and after. grief altered the shape of the household, sharpening the silence. in the years that followed, your father turned his ambition toward something you and your brother considered outrageous. nearly everything your family had was risked on a seaside venture in dorset, but what might have ruined the family, instead, remade it. denhams at weymouth rose from scaffolding and grew into success so dazzling it could not be ignored. fashionable visitors arrived, including the king himself.
at six-and-twenty, you arrive in london for your first season. you are expected to charm, to marry well, to solidify the family’s place in the minds of those who remember when it had none. but in truth, you have no intention of doing so.
your real interests have always lived elsewhere. in your freedom, in your writing, in notebooks hidden inside of books, in learning as much as you can. you do not wish to be married, or docile. you wish to run through open fields with your skirts hiked to your knees, to speak without permission, to follow your own mind wherever it leads, and to belong wholly to yourself.
There was something faintly absurd about the procession of a promenade. The careful pacing, the practiced conversations, the way society moved as though it were part of some grand display rather than simply...existing. Still, he walked among them with the same composed ease he carried everywhere, hands loosely clasped behind his back, gaze drifting not to the people, but to the spaces between them. It was quieter there.
He noticed the girl, of course. Quick-footed, weaving through carriage wheels and silk hems with far more skill than most of the ton could manage. There was no hesitation in her, only purpose.
Sensible.
When Lord Montfort fell into step beside him, Adam's attention shifted, his gaze dropping briefly to the bouquet held up for inspection. Bright. Careless in its arrangement, but not without charm. "A full shilling?" he echoed, one brow lifting slightly. "Then she is either very bold… or very good at what she does." His eyes flicked ahead, briefly catching sight of Lady Montfort further along the row, before returning to the flowers. He reached out- not to take them, but to adjust one of the stems slightly where it sat unevenly among the rest.
"Though I suspect," he added, tone dry, "she understands her clientele better than most. Charge just enough to make it seem indulgent...but not enough to be refused." There was a pause, his gaze shifting back toward where the girl had already disappeared into the crowd. "Clever," he murmured, almost to himself.
A brief pause settled between them, comfortable rather than pressing. Adam’s attention drifted once more to where the girl had disappeared, a trace of something quieter in his expression. "Still," he said, almost as an afterthought, "I should think she earns it. There are far easier ways to make a shilling than chasing this crowd all morning." He exhaled softly, the faintest hint of a smile touching his expression now. "And far less interesting ones.”
theodore considered mr. hastings words. "indeed.." he pondered, glancing down at the bouquet in his hands. "it should seem she is a bit of both then. bold and good at what she does."
he turned the flowers slightly, studying them from another angle before offering them briefly for adam’s inspection. "are these not the most charming flowers you've seen?" they were a rather modest, unruly bouquet of bright spring flowers with uneven stems and a faded ribbon knotting them together in truth, he was feeling rather pleased with himself, despite being out a full shilling, as he was quite certain that his wife would adore his gift.
"you are right," he agreed, "she does indeed earn it. she was nearly run down by that carriage," theo exclaimed, gesturing backwards towards the driver who was, indeed, proceeding far too quickly down rotten row.
"It seems a most perilous position," he continued, amused. "i would suggest that we invest in a flower business of our very own, but i suspect she has cornered the market."
he smiled, "and i do not wish to risk life and limb before noon, let alone in front of both the ton and my wife," he laughed.
It was a beautiful day, or at least to Anaya it felt like one. A chance to go for a walk, clear her thoughts, and also have a view on what the ton was offering this time around. Not for her, thankfully no one was too interested in a widow, especially one with children, but she had come to help her cousins, and she could only do that if she knew what she was dealing with.
It was... definitely going to be a year, there were some interesting personalities on display. Though hearing the footsteps beside her, she smiled on seeing him.
"Come now Lord Montfort, a shilling in our lives is very different than a shilling in hers" that much she did know, her father had always talked about the importance of it, for he had built himself up from nothing. "They will make your wife smile, and will ensure that child eats tonight. It is a kindness all round".
theodore inclined his head slightly at that, conceding the point without resistance.
“yes,” he said, simply. “it is. you are correct, as usual, lady seymour.”
his gaze lingered a moment on the retreating figure of the girl, thoughtful, before returning to the path ahead. he found his wife easily as he adjusted his grip on the flowers, letting them drop down by his side.
"i am pleased to know the shilling was well spent, and perhaps next time i shall spare a few more," he conceded before dipping his head in her direction, his expression sofenting.
it'd been years since oxford, since he and her husband had become close friends, where they bonded over their shared studies and preferred whiskies. it had been far less since he'd passed, and sometimes theodore still could not quite believe it.
"and how are you, lady seymour?" he asked after a moment. "in truth?"
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?"
"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.
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."
the street was quiet and dark, but both the surroundings and the hour were familiar to him. he'd chosen the turn deliberately, walking where the light thinned enough to obscure him from casual notice. this was, in his experience, a useful place that invited neither attention nor interruption. at least, usually.
he took note of the sound of footsteps immediately, noting their weight and speed. he let them approach, unhurried, as though they were the one he was waiting for. he stopped and turned at their voice, stepping just enough into the glow of the lamplight to be seen.
“you announce yourself rather confidently for someone who was, until a moment ago, following me,” he said, voice even, though there was an obvious trace of amusement beneath it.
his gaze lingered a moment, assessing.
“though i suppose that is one way to avoid suspicion," he allowed.
he considered another moment before shifting slightly, allowing enough space beside him.
"walk, if you like, i am told conversation improves most circumstances."
he opted not to share that he had, in fact, been waiting on someone else entirely. there was no need to rouse more suspicion than he already had.
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?"
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2087
