✧｡ –– ( claudia jessie, thirty-two, cis woman, she/her ) you do not know me but rest assured i know you, 𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗦 𝗜𝗦𝗔𝗗𝗢𝗥𝗔 𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦. you are the 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗗 𝗧𝗢 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗢𝗟𝗜𝗩𝗜𝗘𝗥 𝗙𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗟𝗬. you maybe be known for your 𝗘𝗠𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗛𝗬 but it is only a mask for the true nature of your 𝗡𝗘𝗨𝗥𝗢𝗧𝗜𝗖 ways. however, i am not here to spread slander on the queen’s jewels, though i suspect you are her 𝗣𝗥𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗢𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘. the ton says your name reminds them of 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗙𝗘𝗘𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗙 𝗔𝗡𝗫𝗜𝗘𝗧𝗬 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗤𝗨𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬, 𝗕𝗨𝗥𝗬𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗧𝗛 𝗜𝗡 𝗔 𝗖𝗔𝗦𝗞𝗘𝗧 𝗜𝗡𝗦𝗜𝗗𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗬𝗢𝗨, 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗜𝗦 𝗔 𝗩𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗨𝗘. how scandalous! you have been warned, dear reader, that i will prove if this is true and share every last detail.
✧｡ –– 𝐓𝐇𝐄⠀𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒.
full name : miss isadora winters.
dob : january the 29th.
age : thirty two.
zodiac : aquarius.
gender : cis female.
pronouns : she / her.
orientation : bisexual.
hair color : brown.
eye color : blue.
height : 5'6"
✧｡ –– 𝐓𝐇𝐄⠀𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘.
from the day she was born, isadora proved to be a force of nature. not a crying babe, clung to the tit of her mother or nursemaid, but a laughing child that seemed to run before she could even walk. skipping and dancing through every corridor and garden. she was full of wonder, curiosity, and always getting herself into places she had no business exploring.
she was chaos, but she was also life. the breath of fresh air in a home that had grown stagnant with waiting and sorrow. until, of course, the silence found its way back.
her mother fell ill quickly, the kind of illness that steals away in the night before anyone realizes what it happens. and adorable was still too young to grasp the truth gravity of what was unfolding around her. all she knew was that her mother was gone. there would be no more singing as her hair was brushed into perfect curls every morning. no more grand fairytales to whisk her off to sleep. just … silence.
but it was the way her father looked at her that made the most impact, terrifying the child down to the bone in a way she had not known could even exist. he looked at her as if she were a stranger, a ghost roaming the halls of his home. a living reminder of everything he had lost.
it didn’t take long for him to banish her, sending her away without so much as a hug goodbye.
the olivier’s welcomed her into their home, but the girl they received did not shine quite as bright as promised. she was not the untamed child that had come with so many warnings. isadora, much like everything else in her world, had changed. no longer was her joy expressed with reckless abandon. nor did she burst through, interrupting a conversation with her many observations of questions. she hardly spoke at all, unless directly addressed. but even such came with careful and measured answers. a picture of perfect social graces.
instead, isadora’s refuge became books. in pages that did not flinch when she reached for them. in stories that offered warmth and safety, a kind of love that did not turn cold simply because loss had bled through each inked word. she could spend hours tucked away in corners, curled beneath windows, or under the shade of garden trees. lost in imagined worlds where girls like her were not cast away, but instead… cherished. where grief shaped resolution. where maybe— people came back.
as much as beatrice wished that the blunder hadn't taken place, she certainly wasn't going to hold it against the other girl. it had clearly been an accident. she saw very little point in greeting the woman with anything but kindness. especially since it seemed that the other was simply overcome with regret about the ordeal. beatrice was more than happy to let her off the hook.
a gentle laugh fell from her lips as the other complimented her kindness. beatrice didn't see it as such. she simply did not see the point in putting more negativity into the world when she thought that it had enough of that already. she wanted to better the small piece of the world that she inhabited. "it's not a big deal, i assure you. i only hope that you would have been the same if the roles were reversed." she shrugged. beatrice wasn't quite as clumsy but accidents happened. "were you at least thinking of something good?" she giggled.
beatrices eyes widened, though, as isadora continued. she hated that the other was causing such a fuss, that she was sending herself into such a tizzy over something that was so little. it would clean. it wasn't like beatrice had many people to impress, anyway. she had already promenaded with leo. she was simply there to watch the races now. "although i would never say no to flowers - even if it gave the rest of them that sort of impression." she joked, hoping to lighten the mood a little. "a second impression? i think that would be lovely!"
“something good …” repeated words spilled easily , almost as if another blunder of sticky sweet lemonade had tumbled over. tipping over the edge of something fragile. tint of rose coloring touched isadora's cheeks. the world near slipping out beneath her. could something so knotted , so sharp , be considered that ? especially when every thought had curled , shamefully , around her dearest friend’s ex-husband ?
panic rose , like a thunderstorm that had not dared roll in over the day’s splendor. this was why she kept to corners. why she stayed out of sight , and did not converse with others. too often it placed her in a position to admit things not yet ready to be said aloud. “i-i’m afraid not ,” she lied. the taste of mud flickering across her tongue. fingers were set , adjusting the pleats of her skirt , a needed distraction as she pulled in a breath. “well — in truth , i suppose it rather depends upon your opinion of the word ; are we meant to place men beneath such a heading , or … or does that verge too near to impropriety ?”
though voice had dropped to a hush , low whisper meant to not be overheard by the boisterous , wine-flushed company nearby — her features held fast to an easy smile. laughter rose , tampered down and tucked away behind a steady display of grace. “thank you , my lady.” isadora offered another bow of her head. this time with a curtsy , slight but practiced. a gesture of respect. of apology. of all the words she dared not speak aloud , for fear of stirring unpleasantness once more. “perhaps , as second impressions go , we might both enjoy a glass of lemonade. this time .. consumed. not worn.”
a tight curl of a smile — mischief , hesitant but bright , dared to peek through her gaze. if the moment was truly to begin again … she must try. she must climb out from beneath the weight of guilt. and allow it to wash away , like fallen leaves at the close of a spring storm. “and i shall see what might be done regarding a flower delivery. heaven knows the ton could benefit from a little tasteful gossip.”
Sienna paused, her lips curling into a smile that could only be described as wickedly amused. The air was thick with the scent of pastries, but she was hardly distracted by the scent. Instead, her eyes gleamed as she took in the scene: the earnest apology, the self-conscious shuffle of Isadora’s feet, the delicate, almost tragic attempt at politeness. It was all too precious.
"Do not apologize, Isa," Sienna scoffed with a roll of her eyes, "they were in your way, not the other way around." Isadora was too soft for her own good, even after all these years of their friendship. Sienna had not felt an ounce of guilt keeping her best friend hidden away from the rest of the ton at the cottage they had resided at. Not when Arden lurked, waiting for her return.
She had refused to divulge anything about Isadora to him during their reunion, rather keeping him on the edge of his seat hungry for more information that only she could provide to him. It was clear that her former husband was only desperate for her best friend because she was just another beautiful pristine thing he could ruin and corrupt. Arden had a way of destroying perfect things.
Stepping into the pâtisserie, Sienna looked over her shoulder at Isa, "if you want the last lemon tart, you take it by any means necessary," Sienna more than encouraged her to speak her mind and grab what she desired, but she knew Isa did not have the will to take what she wanted. "But pastries are such a menial thing of course, I'd rather see you stand up for something much more enticing."
isadora lingered within the entryway , caught in the quiet tension that found way to curl tightly around her shoulders. the scent of warm pastries curling lazily into the air not doing enough to pull her out of herself. she stood , as often did , waiting for permission to enter. though no such permission would ever be granted in a place such as this. delicate and precise fingers folded at her waist , the practiced grace of someone who had learned to move through the world without drawing much attention.
the soft silk of her gloves tugged gently at her fingers , even they were reluctant to break their careful hold. but , there was laughter biting at the edges of her teeth. a dangerous sort of self that only dared to exist within the safety of her best friend. “oh , sienna. come now.” words emerged with a breath too light to be reproachful , accompanied by a cautious glance — an argument they had too many times worn thin. “it is fairly clear that i was in their way , i see no harm in offering a simple apology.” voice did not carry far over the low hum of the pâtisserie. a breath , sound that held the weight of too many unspoken things.
“i do not believe i was made for taking , as you so eloquently have put it…” a murmur of words. slow and almost too soft , as if speaking them aloud might undo some delicate thing she had tried so carefully to preserve. and isadora allowed the quiet to linger for a moment. to fill the hollow places within her chest , as her gaze brushed the gleaming lemon tart with the kind of longing she would never quite admit.
her head tilted , just so , faint glimmer of amusement casting over features. a touch bolder — flickering beneath the veil of composure. “a look such as yours , dear friend , might lead one to suspect you have already something in mind.” she let the moment breathe , the thread of curiosity spun gently between them. not defiant , though not quite teasing. only the barest glimpse of something brave. “do enlighten me ; what would you prefer to see me stand up for?”
beatrice was doing everything that she could to avoid her mother. the woman had been driving her insane. she wouldn't stop questioning her about how things were going with leo or if there was someone else or if there was still something with callum. it had taken everything in her not to scream at the woman.
her mood had improved a little bit, though. the sun meant that she would never stay annoyed for too long. it was too nice of a day to have her down for too long. she hadn't even been on the move when isadora turned to her. she was stood, taking in everything that was going on around them.
eye widened as the lemonade landed on her. beatrice quickly looked down to take in the stain before she looked back up at isadora. as she saw the look on the others face, she quickly changed her own expression - wiping away the shock into a gentle smile. she didn't want to cause the other woman any more upset. not when it was so clear that she felt bad about it. "oh, please don't worry." beatrice smiled, a gentle laugh falling from her lips. "it was an accident. these things happen." did she love the idea of walking around the racecourse in a stained dress? of course not. but she wasn't going to cause a fuss because of it. "truly, do not worry. it will all come out okay in the end."
isadora blinked , once and then a second , still caught in her slow dissolve of shame. breath curled like an overly taunt corset around her ribs. she had expected irritation. or worse , the brittle courtesy that came with thinly-veiled disdain. she’d seen such a response too often to not be intimately familiar with it. but instead , there was a smile. sunlight and softness , as if the spill had landed upon her skin. and then evaporated into nothing.
her spine eased , though not entirely. head bobbing as she offered a nod , as if the agreement might somehow undo the blunder. “you are very kind ,” isadora managed. lungs still aching , words quiet .. shaped by gratitude she did not know to carry. the edge of her voice trembled faintly , mind running too fast , wanting to right the wrong. “i only wish kindness was not necessary. i— i should have been more present.”
it was the kind of thing she always said. and meant , every single time.
“may i at least send you something later ? a bottle of … well , whatever you like. or perhaps flowers or—” she cut herself off , teeth catching her lower lip as the ramble grew too nervous to contain. florals. and bribes. and foolishness. isadora glanced down at the dress again , guilt flickering before she stilled herself. no good would come from studying the damage. “i fear flowers may in fact give the ton the very wrong sort of idea …” a breath. “perhaps i might offer a second impression , instead— should you ever feel generous enough to allow one.”
Edward ducked behind a screen of overly perfumed matrons just as the unmistakable sound of an angry rider barking for a “blasted scoundrel in a navy coat” rang through the crowd. He pivoted with the ease of a man used to fleeing both scandal and husbands, slipping past a flustered servant and straight into the shade of a lavish flower stand. Without missing a beat, he plucked a rose—deep red and scandalously thorned—and spun on his heel, his back to the chaos he’d just caused. His smile bloomed as effortlessly as the flower in his hand. “My lady,” he purred, offering the rose with a half-bow to the first unsuspecting beauty in his line of vision, “fate has been cruel to me today, but clearly she has taste. You look like the sort of woman who might save a man with a single smile… or bury him just as easily.” His eyes flicked subtly over her shoulder, tracking the furious rider stalking through the racegoers, oblivious to the charade unfolding under his nose. “Would you mind terribly pretending I’m charming for the next thirty seconds? I’d be eternally—well, temporarily—grateful.” He leaned just a touch closer, voice low and conspiratorial. “I promise I’ll repay the favor. Preferably when no one is chasing me with a riding crop.”
as marvelous as the baron’s cup had proven to be , it had never quite belonged to isadora’s particular brand of enjoyment. the fresh air was pleasant enough. no … her trouble had been with the people. an overabundance of them , all brightness and clamor. crowding every path she turned down. every attempted retreat blocked by silk skirts , or cigar smoke , or laughter too shrill to be real. no corners left to vanish into.
isadora’s head turned at the sound of voice , too honeyed to belong to the chaos behind it. and for a single heartbeat , she forgot the irritation that had built steadily upon each disturbance. “are you entirely certain that is the line behind which you wish to stand , sir ?” words left her before she could weigh them. it didn’t feel rehearsed , the way he looked at her. and yet … it should have. “temporarily grateful—yes , now that is the exact way to win a woman’s heart. or , in your case , her favor.”
corners of her mouth curved , the sound of her laughter slipping between them like sunlight through lattice. her gaze stole behind her own shoulder , tracing the path of whatever chaos had trailed him here. then , back to him again. eyes narrowing just slightly. curious. “if i’m to follow along with this charade , might i inquire as to why exactly you’re being chased ?” isadora reached for the rose , taking it with gentle grasp. holding it more like a question rather than a gift. fingers careful where the thorns had been left intact.
Through the droves of people, Maia did run. Well, she scampered as much as one in her position could. One in her position and in her shoes and without running into any of the throws of people currently milling around the event. All of this for racing horses seemed a little over the top to her, but she did enjoy the exuberance of it all. It felt like Spring was alive and well right at this moment. The days before this were just the prelude and the sun felt like it was able to kiss every bit of her exposed skin.
“Isadora!” She whispered in a fierce tone once spotting the other amongst all the droves of unfamiliar faces. “Isadora!” Maia said it louder this time, just barely reaching in her before beaming wide with a face that had begun to show sweat. Not exactly lady-like, but she was quite determined to find the other. “I have the new copy. The sequel. To The Ash & Rose. It arrived just this morning.”
isadora had wandered from the grandstand — too much sound , too many voices lacquered with champagne and laughter that didn’t quite reach the eyes. the baron cup always seemed to spin on a finer axis , all lace gloves and gilded shade. but today the sun had leaned its weight across the lawns. the world smelled of crushed clover and pressed petals underfoot.
she lingered at the fringe , gaze far-off. resting somewhere between the racetrack’s dust and the memory of a line she’d read that morning. then — her name , shaped twice in a voice she would have followed anywhere. “you look as though you outran a scandal ,” she mused. tone filled to the brim with humor.
but amusement melted away beneath the burning sun as maia’s words rested upon the conscious part of her brain. “you have it ? what … here , with you ?” question spilled with a half step bringing her closer. curious , as though she might split open a cruel lie. “gods above , i’ve still not let the ash & rose settle — its ending lingers with me. haunting me. how long before i might ask to borrow it , without seeming entirely selfish ?”
He swears he breathes different around her, some mindfulness to not take all the air from a room. There is no need to believe it will run out, no belief that he will suffocate if he does not claim it first. It has been that way since he had first come to know her. The rise and fall of his chest slow, delicate. If he took the same breaths he did around Sienna, would Isadora break? Would it interrupt the soft thrill of her words she strung together with such care?
"You are her very best friend," Arden counters, and then with a grin far softer. A crinkle of his eye, and he winks at her. "And mine. I believe we are both indebted to you that you reserve the right to drag us where you wish. You do not always have to obey her whims, but I can understand how enticing they present themselves. It is far too easy to believe in her presence that any idea but hers is as captivating."
While Sienna was the storm, Isadora had always been the meadows swept in her winds. Delicate, yes, but she could never break. A new season and a new bloom awaited her, and how dreadful it was to think that she could fall in love with someone and be planted so far away from him.
Her privacy. If only Isadora knew it was far beyond that, but the two of them had always kept her away from their venomous schemes. He would not be the one to tell her Sienna was a jagged little thing, too sharp for her own good even if he still found an itch for every scratch she gave him. She had been good to her. Why should he ruin that?
"It is a new season, Isadora. Shall we make you reappear?" He hummed, his fingers brushed against hers to reach for the beignets brought to their table. The very first, covered in mounds of powdered sugar, is placed on the plate for her to ensure she does not sacrifice it to him in polite manners. "Pray tell, any plans for this afternoon? My brother had devoted our house to some horse named Belladonna this afternoon at the Baron's race. I would very much prefer to attend in good company. Let us revel in an afternoon far from tales of Sienna, indulge in a chapter of the two of us alone. Her time will come again in a few more pages."
for a moment —too long , if she’s being honest— her mind goes quiet. as though he had found the switch to cut off endless reel of worry. silence. real , true silence. not the kind one wears for courtesy’s sake , but the sort that settles with new found honesty within her bones. the words should not have struck her. they were kind. a casual jest , perhaps. but his grin had softened. a wink trailing after like some unspoken promise she had not meant to catch. and there it was … her loud , traitorous heart. battering against the walls of her chest like it meant to break though if only to remind her to breathe.
“indebted to me?” words do not carry their usual carefully chosen grace. they stumble. gaze dropping , futile attempt to steady herself. but the flush is there. spreading across her cheeks in betrayal. isadora does not wish to be seen like this : cracked open. transparent. “you flatter me , greatly. but i-i … i’ve done nothing. only tried to be acceptable. to not cause regret for the kindness extended to me , by either of you.” again , she falters near the end. tapering into a hush. “i imagine it would have been far easier to .. toss me out and burden someone else with my existence.”
she should have refused their generosity. it might have hurt less than this strange warmth that blooms in the quiet between them. this ache of something unfamiliar. but terribly , terribly sweet. isadora does not look at him. but she has never been blind. nor as naive as believed. she has seen him. the elegance of his posture , the ease of weaponized charm , the way women let their laughter linger a little longer in his presence. and she knows. she knows what sienna had — and lost.
a sudden laugh escapes her — real , startling even to herself. “must we ?” her fingers hesitate only a moment before dividing the beignet in two , placing half on a second plate with a flourish of mock gravity. “i am certain the season would fare just as well without me.” the plate slides across the table. a quiet offering. “the baron’s cup , already ? spring has come with so little ceremony this year. or perhaps i have simply not paid it enough attention.”
isadora toys with a stray fleck of powdered sugar. the world narrowed to small details ; texture of the table , sunlight across his sleeve , the absurd awareness of how close his hand had come to hers. “hm , and have you no fear of what lady whistledown might write should we attend together ?” eyes lift. playful now , lips curved in a dare. a modest bite taken from the beignet , her expression remains unreadable. then — “i would be honored to accompany you. but only if you promise not to spend the afternoon convincing me which lord would make the most suitable match and how best to dazzle him.”
open to : @promisedhexvens , for miss beatrice bennett !
where : the baron's cup.
the afternoon unfolded like a sigh held too long. all golden hush. polished glances beneath parasols , trembling in the breeze. somewhere, not far from where she stood , hooves struck rhythm against the earth. the race hadn’t started , but their heavy stomps still echoed in her chest.
isadora hadn’t meant to drift so far from the others. thoughts scattered after the morning’s —gods, what was she even to call such a thing?— encounter with arden. though less than a simple conversation , his voice still clung to the edges of her memory. low. warm. too near. it had been nothing. and yet .. his gaze had held hers as though it knew something she had never said aloud.
her lips pressed together , eager to lift her glass of lemonade , if only for the distraction. how childish she felt. the sour citrus couldn’t touch the ache beginning to thread beneath her collarbone.
a voice floated nearby— pleasant , practiced , sounding like someone she was supposed to remember. she turned , a reply forming on instinct ... but her fingers betrayed her. the glass tipped. a spill landing in a pale splash against the dress of the woman beside her. the color darkened like a bruise blooming across silk. “oh—” it was barely a sound. more the shape of regret echoing from the hollow of her throat. “i am a fool. i was not watching. i was …” she hesitated , then offered , “please— allow me to pay to have it replaced. or… to have it cleaned.”
LOCATION : kensington gardens & grosvenor street
STATUS: open
fingers brushed carefully against the heads of wildflowers, as if she admired them simply for their beauty. a smile tugging her lips, and only if observed closely revealing the hint of mischief hiding a secret. the truth was she’d been studying each of them in hope they’d be useful for her homemade remedies. her gaze only shifting to make sure no one was watching her, when she’d slip the chosen blooms into the pocket beneath her cloak. spotting a fine sprig of feverfew, lydia bent low to pluck it but a shadow falling across her stopping her mid-theft. straightening at once, she turned, smoothing her skirt in an attempt to appear as if she was simply admiring a simple sprig. heat tinted her cheeks and yet she lifted her chin, offering a bright smile.
“ i did not intend to steal those flowers.” as the words escaped her, the feigned innocence fell with it. yet, she’d try. “ good heavens, no, i would never be so bold.” she could feel the hidden pocket pressing against her now. “ i simply picked up those flowers that were looking at me so sadly. trampled and abandoned, forgotten by the gardener. so i thought, i shall put them to much better use than a vase ever could. ”
gaze had lingered long before her shadow could be seen , perhaps even too long. not out of suspicion. it was the simple , quiet and idle way one might watch a bird rustle through the hedges. delicate. lost in the anonymity her space had granted … isadora met flushed cheeks with a matching hue of her own. she did not speak , not right away. letting her eyes slip from trembling feverfew still caught between the girl’s fingers. hands folded loosely before her. “you are lucky then ,” isadora chose. voice warm , clear as tea left to steep in afternoon light. “feverfew are the forgiving sort. some herbs sulk when picked under false pretenses— but should you mean to rescue them …”
she stepped forward again , just enough to let herself be seen , but not enough to be considered threat. tone light as she added more of an afterthought. “see. they seem already prepared to bloom once more. you’ve persuaded them.” a soft , rippling chuckle escaped her , and she shook her head , the ribbon of her bonnet knotted tight beneath her chin. then , with a half-turn and a wave cast over her shoulder : “would you perhaps have an interest in a remarkably sad pair of dandelions as well ?”
London, slowly, begins to feel like home again. He had despised it for so long, entertained the idea that this could ever be where he belonged only if he could tear it apart or hide in the cracks of their high society. He had devoted himself to the fracture of it all. France had been home if only because there was no time to reminisce, none of it familiar and all his to determine what was the very best and the very worst.
But wherever Isadora was, he could find himself breathe ease into the world home once more.
He recalls when they had met, when they were all strangers. Sienna was just a word passed between his parents and then when she came into their home, there had been another behind her. Not a shadow, no, but some light behind the eclipse that was the woman to be his wife. Behind her had been Isadora, intertwined with her, but a beauty in her own right. How curious he had been, and how nervous to figure out what it would take to make her look him in the eye and show who she was.
"Any plan has robbed me of running amuck and finding you sooner," He said, shaking his head as they entered the cafe. "It is a crime for Sienna to have disclosed you came with her, even if it was an easy assumption. I did not suspect she would be back so soon that I could not imagine she would drag you back here with her."
The smell of her perfume is gone against the cakes and pastries, and he only wishes she could sit closer than the tables would allow. As soon as two patrons leave, he quickly pulls the seat out for her.
"Where is it she is staying, Isadora?" He asked quietly, curiosity bleeding over concern. How is it that she's here with ease? The Oliviers still speak of her, if at all, with such distain that he doubts they assisted but she was left with nothing. She must be helped. "I only wish to ensure you— and her— are not staying at some questionable inn on the outskirts of the city. I may not be her husband, but I am not as cruel as she insists."
isadora moved alongside him , taking the offered seat with a faint smile. her particular brand —not fully touching corners of her eyes. the gesture polished , unthinking. like so many of hers , practiced in another life , before loss had turned her posture into armor. london still felt strange beneath her. and now more so as he sat across , cutting into it all with a sort of gentleness she was not sure he knew he possessed. “i do believe it was you who once told me that assumptions are dangerous , arden.” she said lightly , smoothing the fabric of her skirt as her hands folded into her lap. tone was meant to tease , but there was an edge of something else beneath it—almost fondness , almost fear.
“she has always known how to get what she wants. should that be as simple as requesting my company , who am i to question that ?” the corners of her mouth turned again , still not quite a smile. more the ghost of one. reluctant and unresolved. she allowed her gaze to wander about. not exactly avoiding his , but retreating in a way that was its own sort of grace.
meeting his eyes always felt like stepping too close to the edge of something she could not name. arden had a way of seeing through her ... leaving her both exposed and inexplicably safe. it was too much , sometimes —too close to something she didn’t trust herself to want. in truth , she had simply never desired to question sienna’s wish to keep her near. it was a sole comfort offered by the cruelty of their world.
as gaze blinked back to meet his , isadora stilled. a passing moment in which she existed in silence , playing the part and steadying the edges of herself. as though her composure was nothing more than blown glass— beautiful , but easily shattered and meant to remain untouched. “you know i can’t offer you an answer to that ,” she whispered , words carefully measured. honesty had always been the best she could give , but it had to be polished. trimmed down into something palpable. “it is not my place. i know you mean well. but arden … her privacy is not mine to give.”
was it always like this — loyalty to one person could feel so close to betrayal to another ?
“i do not think you cruel. though you need not worry. sienna is most capable of handling herself. nor would she deliberately place herself in such quarters. and i … have learned the art of disappearing quite well.”
“Isn’t it?” Maude hummed happily, before narrowing her eyes playfully, “I’ve been begging for the recipe for months now, but their lips are sealed…no matter how many times i plead, i’m told it’s confidential.” Shrugging, she twirled a curl around her finger, “I guess I can’t blame them, if I could conjure such magic with flour and eggs i’d do the same.” Her brown eyes studied the woman before her. She was lovely and her presence was as soft as a rose petal, but Maude knew what it was like for society to force its hand — to make one play the role of quiet and demure — and she wondered if the glint in Isadora’s eyes was a reflection of her wanting to be free. Maude knew she shouldn’t assume, but she’d met so many ladies who felt the need to dim their light for society’s standards — and it broke her heart.
Waiting eagerly for her response, Maude’s eyes lit up once Isadora’s voice broke through the crisp spring air and she clapped her hands together excitedly. “I’m Maude,” she beamed, before realizing she should introduce herself properly as she’d always been taught, “Or, Lady Maude Whitlock. But please call me Maude. And who do I have the pleasure of treating to some sweets?” She took Isadora’s hand in hers, “I am very excited to see where this day takes us, and to get some coffee cake in my stomach.” Grinning, she tugged the other’s hand gently, “Shall we?”
“hm ,” isadora mused — pondering the window for only a breath before turning back to the woman with whom she already found herself far too at ease. bright flicker of mischief swelled in her chest. “have you considered bribing them? i’ve often heard such things tend to loosen lips far quicker than begging.” suggestion slips free before she can catch it. a breath hangs suspended … her stillness betraying worry that it might be taken as anything other than a passing joke. just a thread of humor , meant to soften the edges of a conversation already blooming with warmth. but isadora knows better than to assume. the ton does not always welcome her particular brand of wit.
fear of being mistaken for someone who courts chaos bleeds through her chest. ever present as the woman before her offers her name and title. isadora dips into a polite curtsy , too quick. too apologetic. “my lady , my sincerest apologies. again.” color rises to her cheeks , swept in by the gentle spring breeze that rustles her skirts as she steadies her breath. “miss isadora winters …” the introduction shakes loose from her lips as she rises , only relaxing once their hands meet — a small gesture , but one that arrives like grace. “i would be honored ! come , i think i see a table opening — and i’m quite sure it has our names written all over it.” but it is maude who tugs them gently forward , and together they slip into eager doorway. isadora does her best to flag down the opening table. it is no more crowded than expected for the day , but the scent in the air — cinnamon , butter , something dark and warm wraps around her like a spell. “it’s been far too long since i allowed myself to look forward to something small and sweet.”
What was it again? An apricot galette, an apple tarte tatin… perhaps an éclair for Marjorie? A few profiteroles, if they had nothing else? Anything with chocolate would more than suffice for herself. She had been halfway through untying the ribbon of her bonnet — cheeks warm, fingers caught in the knot — when the sudden startle pulled her back into the present.
“Oh! I’m terribly sorry — no, truly, I believe I was the one in the way. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” She said with a light laugh, straightening as her hand dropped from the ribbon. Her bonnet remained half-undone — a telling sign of just how distracted she’d been, torn between untying it and deciding on a pastry order. “I promise, the lemon tart is not on my list — at least, not today. But if you’ve your eye on the last chocolate tartelette… well, we may have a problem.” Georgiana raised a hand in jest, as though excusing herself from all responsibility. That familiar, friendly smile had already begun to tug at the corners of her lips.
She stepped to the entrance and lingered just beside the open door, tilting her head toward the sweet-scented warmth within in quiet invitation. “I was hoping to take a few sweet things home to my sisters, as a surprise. But I fear I always choose the most predictable options — hardly surprising anymore. Do you have any favourites you might recommend?”
the half loosened bonnet and easy laughter of the woman before drew a smile across isadora’s lips , bright as the sunlight streaming down upon them. head dipped , slightly in apology , a gesture more instinct than thought. “forgive me , my lady ..” she murmured , voice low and earnest. “i fear i was quite in the way !” a flicker of humor softened her words. as though unable to help but meet kindness with kindness. “i only meant to say—” she added , gathering her courage in the space of a breath. “there is nothing truly sweeter than choosing a familiar and somehow .. finding it new again.” careful , measured step was taken towards georgiana’s side , mindful not to overstep. “predictable options are often the most well loved for a reason.”
scent of butter and sugar drifted from the open door as they both moved inside , a quiet longing stirring back to life within her chest. homecomings , she had often worried , were not always such grand things. but this one was proving to be far better than she could have hoped. “and yet ,” isadora ventured , tilting her head with a half shy smile. “there always do seem to be such wonders tucked away , just out of sight.” laughter bubbled from the depths of her chest , gloves fingers lifting to brush a curl back from her face. “oh! i am , by no means , an expert in these matters. i chose as the heart does— by the gleam of sugar in the light , or the way a scent can summon a memory you had forgotten.” lingering smile graces over features , touched with something deeper , tenderness that perhaps did not belong in polite conversation with a stranger.
“should your list falter ..” she begins again , steadying emotions that sipped too easily from their usual hold. warm air enveloped her at once , rich with mingles scents of sugar , spice , yeast— her gaze drifting down to the shining rows of confections , each more tempting than the last. “i would be most happy to assist in seeing which sweetness simply calls out to claim our attention and we shall call it fate.”
"Sienna made her presence known as soon as she stepped on English soil," He assures her, and he can still taste the honey on his tongue. "It is impossible to not know she has returned, even if the Oliviers have insisted she have some discretion. To be quiet and humble was never a skill of hers."
It had been what he admired in her, what he adored in place of love. A room could be commanded to silence if only to let her beauty speak. If a man was not captivated, a woman was green with envy and it never compared to the emeralds around her neck. Above all else, his former wife was a force of nature and he untangled himself from the twist of her ravenous winds. He would have never minded to live in their destruction had she not crossed over to the one thing Arden refused to destroy.
But Isadora had always been hers the way Benedict had always been his. He knew he circled around her territory, the one thing no one else was permitted to touch. Yet, where Sienna must have seen a doll on a shelf— Arden saw her as a saint casted in ivory.
"You never give yourself enough credit," He insisted, offering his arm to her. Her gentle touch over the fabric is enough for him to feel he's over indulged, that all his luck as run out for this moment and he would be content with it. How he missed her. "What is ours has always been yours, as well. That will never change, even if it is not Sienna's because you, Isadora, are still my dearest friend. Sienna and I may have our differences, but it does mean that we are in such ways. Whatever you may need, you only ask and evidently that is beignets— shall we?"
“would you have expected anything less ?” words fell from her with a short gasp of breath , as though laughter and sorrow had tangled together within her throat. isadora had long since learned , there was still safety to be held in speaking her mind— if only with a precious few. but there would always be something about the way arden spoke of sienna. a kind of awe clinging to the edges of his voice. her head bowing down gently in understanding ; sienna had always been untouchable in that way. free of expectation , free of the restraint that seemed stitched into isadora’s very bones. she lived as she pleased , demanding the world fall into step with her … and never once asked for permission.
but it had never been isadora’s place to come between them. not then , certainly not now. even when her chest ached under the weight of it , even when the threads of friendship strained and pulled— whatever wars they fought , whatever tenderness or betrayal existed between sienna and arden , it was not hers to heal or to harm.
instead , with a grace born of long practiced habit , gloved hand slipped through curve of his offered arm. his warmth bled through the fine fabric , steady and heartbreakingly familiar. as though no years had passed. she allowed the shift in conversation to lift her spirit. “no ,” she countered with a whispering laugh , tilting head to him. “i do believe it is you who gives me far too much credit.” i am nothing , the thought ghosted through her mind. but held tongue trapped it behind her teeth ; a bitter prayer she refused to utter aloud.
“you are far too kind to me , arden. i am undeserving of it.” gentle call of her voice , as though speaking loudly might shatter the softness of their reunion. isadora let the pause linger as they approached the shop , scent of sugar and butter calling them through open doors. “but , i could not refuse such kindness. especially not when it comes wrapped in powdered sugar !” as they stepped inside , features turned up to meet his , eyes bright despite storm that had quietly lived behind them for years. “tell me ,” she asked. moving to find their spot within line , the wait longer than she would have expected at this hour. “was this truly your destination or have i robbed you of prior plans ?”
as millicent walked around town, she felt like she was in a little bit of a haze. it was always going to be overwhelming to come back to a new town but to be faced with the prospect of losing her husband and then whatever it was that had happened between the two of them... it was overwhelming to say the least. really, millicent was just trying to keep her head above water and she hoped a walk through the familiar streets would succeed in doing just that.
millicent had barely even noticed another person until she heard her voice. she quickly glanced to isadora and then to the door in front of the two of them. she gave a nervous laugh as she shook her head. "oh, no. please. i think i wasn't paying enough attention." she had been in a mind of her own. it was very possible that she just hadn't seen the other woman. "is that your kind of sweet treat? or is it what i look like i'd like? does a person look like they like a certain pastry?" millicent mused before she shook her head, "sorry. i'm rambling." her hand reached up scratch the back of her neck, a nervous habit. "please, go on ahead. it will give me a moment to gather my thoughts."
truth be told , it took isadora a moment to trust sight of her own eyes. as recognition settled , it all blossomed across her features — surprise , delight , and something close to relief weaving into a smile. she dipped into a graceful and practiced curty , breath of laughter dancing from her lips. “lady grant ! oh , how marvelous to see you.” words tumbled out brighter and far more excited than she had intended , but too genuine were they to be reined in. “please , allow me to take such blame. i fear i was too distracted by the scent of pastries to focus properly.” she shifted to the side , skirts whispering against the street as she made way for the hurried passersby , gaze focusing upon the lady before her.
“lemon tarts ?” she clarified , tone lifting higher with easy amusement. “sadly , no. quite high on my list but … i must confess their beignets have long been my undoing. though last time i was here— i left with a slice of coffee cake , as well. and a promise to show more restraint.” story tumbled from her lips without much thought , pink hues casting shadow across her cheeks. until she heard millicent’s musings ; isadora offered a thoughtful tilt of her head , studying with playful squint. “i am of the belief that people wear their favorite things in little ways. and if i might be so bold … you strike me as someone who much prefers crème brûlée. refined , and with a little spark beneath the surface.” she smiled gently , praying she had not overstepped. “you need not apologize , i’ve done the very same. but — are you certain ? we could always go together , if you’d like. i do not mind the wait. the day is far too beautiful to rush.”
With his neatly crooked smile, William leaned back in his chair as if he were completely at ease within this environment as he surveyed this unfamiliar face. “Oh, I am no matchmaker; I’ll leave that to the over-eager mamas and the queen herself.” William practically laughed into his tankard. So many had seemed in want of a husband or wife, yet so few were actually willing to make an offer for various reasons. Commitment shyness perhaps was one, but those in London high society had believed they were both in want of a love match, yet needing them to at least match their status. He took a moment to look around; there was nothing so scandalous this evening that would make him blush, but in terms of high society, hardly anyone of London’s elite would be caught dead in here.
“I find nights like these aren’t really for peace but rather for an escape.” William nodded to a few people dancing, not like the way they did in grand ballrooms, but without inhibition as their cheeks reddened with the movements. William tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curling just so. “You’ve come for peace, but I think the desire to see how others live without the rules and expectations was what pulled you in here. Am I wrong?” He asked, tilting his head just so as he waited for the woman to respond.
“hm , and do you make it a habit of analyzing everyone you meet ? or have i simply caught you in a particularly delightful mood this evening ?” her words come too quickly , flash of teeth where they should have been grace. a bite where she had only meant to prod. color rises to cheeks , reflecting choices. spewed disdain had not meant to be tossed upon him. isadora is perhaps too envious of those around them , soaked with unspoken bitterness. it isn’t the lack of rule she craves. more so their ease at throwing such aside. even if she is allotted more than most , there feels as if pieces are missing. something she has never been quite able to grasp. it’s infuriating.
she does not look to him right away— casting gaze to amber within her own tankard. “you’re not wrong ,” finally does she concede. voice now softer. “though i hardly feel the same weight of rules burdening our supposed modern society—” a pause , kind that lingers too long to suggest there is more she won’t say. can’t say. “but yes , allow us to leave such to overly-eager-mamas and their wide-eyed daughter. they seem far more equipped at chasing what they believe they want.” tankard if lifted , emptied. only then is her gaze directed back to his. flecks of gold flickering within brown as fire dances just out of reach. “and you ? dare i even inquire as to what brings you to such a place this evening ; or would such a question doom us both ?”
"I have already crossed paths with Sienna. It seemed to have slip her mind to disclose to me that you accompanied her, but I suppose it was my fault to assume otherwise," He admits, though he knows it is deliberate on Sienna's part. It always was. If anyone knew what he cherished, even after all this time, it was his former wife.
Wherever Sienna has been hiding, some cave in France or dungeon on the countryside, he is relieved that not a single shadow is casted upon her. The sun searches for her between those pushing through the streets, and Arden resists the urge to shove them out of the way. When it finally finds her, she makes him doubt how he could have ever lived without her for so long. It had been years since they'd been apart, and maybe the madness had finally settled in.
"Then perhaps a beignet, whatever you are in the mood for. Let me treat you this afternoon," Arden pleads. "I'm sure you and Sienna traveled endlessly, and I can only wonder where it is you ended up."
More importantly, he wonders what has brought them back. It was too bold of an assumption to think Isadora played a hand, but he could hope— he could dream. She came back to him after all, didn't she? Even if she's just a few paces away, the gentlest thing in his life that remained untouched by ruin is still standing before him.
“ah ,” she murmured. gaze just lifting to meet his with slightest tilt of her head. “you have already encountered sienna. i had wondered how long it might take for your paths to cross.” smile worn was soft , though not sweet as previously had been. entangled upon something unreadable. “i fear ,” she began again , voice almost too quiet for the space it filled. isadora cast eyes down to brush away invisible dirt from pleat of her skirt. “i do not possess may other options of where i might be. at her side has become a sort of … home.”
weight of truth spoken settled heavy within her chest. as if the second it left her lips , it had become real. she hadn’t even meant to say it so plainly , but the words tumbled loose— pebbles down a hillside. inevitable. it had always been sienna. not because the world had offered no one else , but simply because no one else had chosen to stay. not even her own father. though affection had been lopsided from the beginning … she had always been a constant.
isadora blinked such a thought away , refusing to allow its shadow to stretch over the golden spill of the afternoon. most certainly not when he stood so close , not when his eyes held something she had never dated to imagine : joy. joy at her. “now that is entirely unfair ,” she mused. light teasing still woven through the voice. “you can’t possibly use my most favorite dessert as a bargaining chip and expect me to do anything other than blindly surrender !”
laughter followed , catching between them like the first sigh of wind through open window. it pulled her forward without thought— mere half step closer , the smallest lean into warmth. not improper. just human. “however did you remember my weakness for them ?” she asked , with narrowing gaze , the softest kind of wonder. as if trying to trace how much of her he held within memory. “beignets it is. though , i’m not sure how much of our travels i can truly share. so much of it … belongs to sienna more than it ever did me.”
