marjorie seymour

"There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."

[domesticrage]

July 8, 1800, Clementine boat, @marjorieseymour​

She was in the middle of trying to decide if anyone would care –– or notice, really –– if she dug her flask out of her reticule and spiked her little glass of lemonade with it, when suddenly, she heard a sharp gasp from somewhere on her left. Startled, Delilah whipped her head towards the noise, keeping a firm hand on her drink as she did (she worked with children; she was very used to loud, unexpected noises). There! A lady called, and Delilah crossed to the railing in three long strides, nearly jogging in her haste, her midsection pressing hard against the railing as she stopped. Her drink sloshed slightly in its glass, a single drop falling into the water near where the woman indicated, and Delilah studied it, puzzled. “Wha––” she started to ask, and then, suddenly, there! There it was! A quick flash of something thin and dark, like a long ribbon that had been discarded and lost beneath the water. Then it moved, startlingly fast, wavering and weaving in the wave, getting larger with each second. 

“Does that look like––” Delilah began, only to cry out and leap back as the thing jumped up from the water, arcing through the air, and then landed back in the water with only the smallest of ripples. “Christ!” She gasped, pressing her free hand to her chest, and then turned to the other woman, shocked laughter erupting from her throat as she did. “Are you alright? It didn’t get you, did it?” Fucking eels –– Delilah hated the things, and the Thames seemed to be crawling with them these days. “Just an eel –– utterly harmless,” she reassured, though she wasn’t actually quite sure of that herself. She’d never been quite as good at natural sciences as she led on. 

[marjorieseymour]

“There! Don’t you see it?” 

Marjorie was torn between fleeing for the other side of the barge, safe and away from whatever the slippery snake-like creature was, and leaning in to get a closer look. Others crowded around, preventing an easy exit, and so she found herself satisfying curiosity over securing self-preservation. “I –” Her hand gripped more tightly to the railing as the thing jumped up out of the water. The sight of it startled a near-scream from her lips, one hand leaping up to cover her mouth in both horror and embarrassment when, rather than attacking them as she'd almost expected, it landed back in the water without so much as a splash. “What in heaven’s name…” 

She had heard all sorts of tales about monstrous creatures who lived over the water and she’d had just enough of the drink Sir Cadogan offered her to wonder if perhaps they truly existed. Whatever it was, it was certainly large and terrifying enough to behold that it fit with the stories. Thankfully someone else spoke up with a more sensible answer before she could voice her thoughts. “An eel?” Marjorie looked over at the other woman, a mixture of relief and barely-concealed concern evident in her features. “Are you quite sure? Should we alert the captain?”

[marjorieseymour]

harry-cadogan·:

Sir Cadogan.

He nearly jumped into the air, though instead – he turned, and cast a glance over his shoulder. Impish and fair-haired, he caught the ripple in her lower like and returned it with a wink of his own.

“Miss Seymour, what on earth makes you think this is boredom?”

Ned had made mention of her on the docks, a nod in the direction of a woman, fairy-light with summer cheer. And Ned was often incorrect in his estimation, though Harry took a quiet moment to marvel at how correct he was. She was lovely of face and blessed with a sharp eye.

He thought to push it just a little further, topping off his lemonade with a glug from the flask. With a tilt of his head, he extended his hand and offered it to her. “And what is it you do for fun?”

-

“Well, you are drinking alone on a barge when there are so many who would surely be delighted to engage you in conversation.” Nevermind that Marjorie was similarly alone, ignoring the others in favor of soaking up the sun and a moment of rare quiet. Her mouth curved into a teasing sort of smile, the same feeling of freedom that had prompted her to lean over the edge to look down at the water prompting her to be a bit more bold than she might ordinarily be. “What am I to think? You’re either a lush or entirely bored. And since I would never assume you to be a lush…”

Truly, she would never assume it – she had never heard a word about it, and surely she would have if he were one. If not from some meddling mama determined to ward daughters and nieces off a man who might not be as suitable as they like, then surely from Lady Whistledown. She would never miss the opportunity to spread gossip as juicy as that.

“Oh.” Marjorie hadn’t expected him to offer her the glass. She stared at it for a moment, blue eyes wide, and then she reached out a hesitant hand, deciding that today – just for today – she was going to have fun. No one would know, least of all her brother, and one little sip would hurt nothing. Or so she assumed. She had never had so much as a sip of alcohol - her mama said it wasn’t appropriate for a lady to drink, and she tried so hard to please her. “I enjoy the opera, and dancing. But since neither are available to me today…” She brought the cup to her lips and gave a small sip, nose wrinkling a little at the taste. It wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t quite what she expected either. “My goodness. What is that?”

[marjorieseymour]

The Bennetton Regatta | Clementine Boat 

Starter for @harry-cadogan​ 

Marjorie watched the gap between herself and the shore grow to an ever-larger gulf, heart thumping so strongly that for a moment she feared the others might see it beat through the cloth of her dress.  She pulled in a deep breath. Why had she never been sailing? Though she was surrounded by the same ladies and gentleman who so often kept her company, she couldn’t help but feel this was freedom as she’d never experienced it before. The polite thing to do would be to greet the others, say her hellos and make conversation, but all she wanted was to hang over the edge and watch the barge glide smoothly over the water. She indulged in her desire for a moment, eyes closing briefly as she imagined what it would feel like to truly set sail when the waves were high and the sea was underneath her. 

She was smiling when she straightened up again, parasol forgotten and freckles already starting to dot the bridge of her nose. Perhaps her good mood is what caused her to laugh, not gasp, when she caught sight of Sir Harry Cadogan, Viscount Chelsea, pouring something she suspected was not lemonade into his drink. How he’d even managed to sneak a flask past the Bennettons, she wasn’t sure, but she found she didn’t have the heart to chastise him for it. The day was too great. “Sir Cadogan,” she said instead, voice playfully disapproving, “Are you so bored of us already that you’re driven to drink?”

[marjorieseymour]

July 8, 1800 Bennetton Regatta Self Para

Marjorie waved her goodbye to Edward, wanting to ensure he was well and truly on his way before going any further. Her brother had spent the entire morning fretting after her with warnings about safety and best behavior, and she wanted no more of it. It was as though he didn’t trust her not to go tumbling off into the water at the first opportunity! She might have been offended were she not so excited at the prospect of going out on the barge in the first place. Surely all the finest ladies and gentlemen of the ton gathered in one place for such a rare outing promised entertainment, if not success.

Success in mind, Marjorie stopped at a few of the stalls lining the path down to the boats, picking out what she considered to be essentials – ginger candy, for she’d heard it might ward off seasickness, and a bottle of light floral perfume, for she did not want the effects of the sun to go beyond mere freckles. The thought made her grip more tightly to the carved ivory handle of her parasol. Heaven forbid.

“We leave momentarily!”

The warning came just in time for Marjorie to pay for her purchases and hurry down to the boats, taking the hand of an unknown gentleman as she stepped aboard the barge. Another loaded her luggage and handed her a bright clementine-colored ribbon, which she pinned to her robe despite the fact that it clashed horribly with her usual pale pink. 

[theseasonhq]

BENNETTON REGATTA THREAD STARTERS →

Send🍹 for my muse to bring your muse lemonade.

Send 🙏 for your muse to witness my muse getting scolded by the shipman.

Send 👒 for my muse to catch your muse’s hat which has flown away in the wind.

Send 🥃 for my muse to catch your muse pouring the contents of a flask into their drink.

Send 🤝 for my muse to catch your muse when they lose their balance at the edge of the boat.

Send 🧜‍♀️ for our muses to see something strange beneath the water!

Send ⎈ for our muses to convince the shipman to let them steer the boat.

Send 🍬 for our muses to find a secret compartment full of the shipman’s stash of goodies.

[marjorieseymour]

thexreluctantxviscount·:

“Oh lovely. I would most enjoy hearing you play this piece.” Tolly replied, pleased by her intriguing selections and enjoying the topic of conversation. While not a performer, he enjoyed performance and enjoyed discussing the matter with interested parties. “I like Boccherini, although he is Italian I will admit, but he spends much time in Spain I do believe. I also am quite fond of Antonio Rodríguez de Hita, he is quite clever and a bit… cheeky I suppose.  In New Spain, I was becoming quite entranced by Bustamante. I understand he is currently composing an opera. Do you do any composing yourself, Miss Seymour?”

He chuckled at her expected response to the ghoulish tale. “It is quite grim but when performed well, it is very engaging, especially if they cast a good singer in the role of the villain. It is easy to see how he might enchant a young lady. I believe the name to be quite dull. It translates something akin to Sombero Man, which doesn’t sound all that terrifying, now does it?”

He paused, “I have accomplished many things in my life I think, built things, helped people, taken care of that which I have been blessed to have been given… but I still believe my greatest lies ahead. I must… for hope is all things, no?” He then chuckled, a little wry, “And you… what do you wish to accomplish for yourself?”

-

“I shall see to it that you receive an invitation.” Her brother would certainly not object given that he was a Viscount; lately Edward seemed more interested in status than even she was, and she was a mere miss. That Tolly appeared to be a perfectly kind person would matter little to him, though it mattered a good deal to her. “Boccherini,” she continued, delighted to have this option. “If only I were a cellist, I would play something of his for you. I’m afraid I might ruin the beauty of it on the piano. Tell me, when you say de Hita is cheeky, what do you mean? He helped to create the Spanish Academy of Music, did he not?” 

Flattered though Marjorie was that he thought she possessed the talent to compose herself, she quickly shook her head. “Oh, no, I’m sure I don't have the ability. A mimic is all I’m destined to be, I’m afraid. A good one, but a mimic nonetheless.” 

Sombero Man. The name elicited an unexpected giggle, which she quickly hid behind a gloved hand. “No, I’m afraid it does not. We may have to change it in our version. Perhaps something a little more threatening.” Marjorie paused to think. “The Nightmare of London? The Lady Thief?” She gave a somewhat sheepish shrug of her shoulders, a smile still curving her mouth. “Or perhaps not. Now you see why I could not be a composer.”

His answer to her question was perfectly suitable, for who wouldn’t want their greatest to be ahead of them? Yet Marjorie was filled with only more questions. What had he built, and who had he helped? Taking care of one's blessings was noble, but what did he consider to be among them? Rather than press him on it, she pondered her own answer. “I suppose my hope is to be remembered well by those who know me when I am gone. It would mean I lived well, surely, and that I’ve left behind something of myself in others. What could be a greater accomplishment than that?” 

[marjorieseymour]

ixnay-on-the-ipshay·:

He busied himself with securing her a glass of the requested lemonade, delighted that she was open to at least the idea of Hastings – the man could use more opportunities, to be sure, and certainly a match before he too was set back to the war. 

“Now, now,” he said, mouth twitching with a suppressed grin, “Have mercy on the poor man; he’ll not be-be used to your usual antics.”

Only to freeze at her mention of her relationship to the-the aforementioned Miss Vane. 

“Ah,” he managed. “I – well. Hrm. That-that – I – I did not know.”

How odd; it had never come up at all – at least, not that he could recall – and besides, “By Jove, how different the two of you are – it-it is night and day! Your cousin,” he said now, sternly, “would be well-advised to follow your example; should she continue behaving the way she has been, why –”

He checked himself; Miss Seymour was not the true recipient of such dire warnings, and-and in any event, did not bear any responsibility for a-a family relation’s failings. 

“Family is indeed difficult to, hrm, extricate oneself from. But I-I do believe in your case, such a-a contrast may well be welcome – and-and show you to greater advantage. A swan among others is-is easily lost in a bevy; a swan among ducks stands out by its-its grace and beauty.”

Lemonade – he was still holding her lemonade. This he offered to her, adding, “Would – would you like an introduction there as well? At the very least, you should make up your own mind about Harcourt – rather than-than on the words of some-some gossip sheet or your-your – cousin.” 

-

“My antics? Surely I don’t know what you mean,” she responded airily, as though she herself had never participated in the flirtations she spoke of. “I am nothing if not merciful.” 

His reaction to Ophelia was expected but did nothing to cure her of the fears that her cousin’s reputation might stain her own. It was why she had avoided Olie for much of the season, approaching her in private corners at parties and visiting with her in the seclusion of their homes, rather than asking her to take a trip out to the park. The balancing act was delicate, she knew, and already there were strikes against her. 

“We are quite different, yes. Ophelia was not blessed with your mother’s instruction, you know.” Perhaps that was laying it on a bit thick, even for her, but Marjorie meant it. Her cousin was intelligent and beautiful, a catch for any man, to be sure, but the way she chose to behave could only be attributed to a lack of proper polish. Had she been given it, Marjorie was sure she would be the belle of any ball. “I was thinking it might be wise to go with her on a few introductions,” she started, genuinely wanting to hear his opinion on her idea, “So that I might… smooth things out, if need be.” 

It was a relief to hear that he, at least, did not think less of her for Ophelia’s actions – and that he did not think the Earl would either. Pleased at the compliment, Marjorie beamed, head ducking so that she would not look too prideful. 

“If you vouch for him and say he is not who the gossips say he is, I shall trust your opinion. You have never steered me wrong before.” Taking the lemonade from his hand, she gave it a small sip. A bit too sour for her liking, perhaps, but any refreshment made a good one on a warm day. “I would be quite grateful for an introduction, though… Are you certain you are right about him? Whistledown, for all her faults, is notorious for her honesty.” 

[marjorieseymour]

thornedrook·:

Kit never imagined that Marjorie would look at him like this, did not even consider it possible for her features to scrunch up in such a severe enough way that her blue eyes darkened. She was both familiar and entirely strange to him, in the most heartbreaking of ways. Kit’s spine stiffened in response, the invisible plated armor across his chest metaphorically digging into his skin. 

She would have paid Emmeline a visit but certainly not him, he finished silently for her. Kit squashed down the adolescent she is my sister retort that bubbled to his lips. It seemed that being in Marjorie’s company transported the Viscount back in both mind and soul, and he briefly wondered if it was only his feet digging into the Earth below him that kept his body here. 

He knew that his own venomous words were cruel and uncalled for but even the best version of himself could not imagine being a big enough person so as to not wield his tongue as a weapon, even at those he admired most. He knew it be a flaw in his personality, that it took only a whisper of raw vulnerability to inspire this ugliness in him, and yet, he could not help it. Could not help it when she was standing there looking at him like that, in the same way that she’d always promised not to, as if he was the one that set their future on fire.

His shoulders squared defensively as she stepped closer and yet he could not help the smallest of smirks. Not to be misunderstood as humor at their current situation but rather the briefest glimpse of the fire that burned in her, so similar to his own it was as if he was looking into a mirror. “Here, as in here in this park, Miss Seymour? Or here, as in here in London? Regardless, neither pertain to you.” He paused for a moment, letting his next words aim true. “A sentiment that I’m sure you’re familiar with.”

-

For all the courtly grace and charm Marjorie wielded in the presence of those who knew her less well, his words brought about a loss of restraint that few would suspect her capable of. But Kit knew her, and she knew him, and some part of her seemed to forget that they were no longer children quarreling in some private part of Canterbury where her actions hardly mattered. 

“Are you suggesting I should be familiar with your callous disregard for how your actions will affect me? Indeed, sir, it is a feeling with which I am well acquainted.” Her eyes narrowed and anger, ugly and borne of the pity and ridicule she had endured after his unceremonious departure from her life, twisted her features. She had never taken insults well, even slight ones, and she would be lying to herself if she did not admit it hurt more to hear them from him, however small. “I suppose you believe, like everyone else, that I should be embarrassed by what happened between us and think that your mentioning it now will cow me into politeness? That I am some wallflower who will wilt if you so much as hint at it?” 

“Allow me to make a few things clear. I do not know why you behave as you do and as you have, and I no longer care.” Even as she said it, Marjorie was sure the lie was evident in her voice, which had risen, growing louder as she ranted at him. “No gentleman would jilt a woman for no apparent reason, and as I have not committed any acts that would stain my character, I can only assume what anyone would: you are a rake of the worst order, and not the friend I believed you to be.” 

“I do not know why I bothered to speak with you about this, as if you would look back on our history and spare even the smallest thought for my well-being.” She stepped away, prepared to turn and leave now that she had said her piece. “After all, it would be most unlike you.” 

[marjorieseymour]

thexreluctantxviscount·:

Another one connected with Effingham, how that man managed to have so many lovely women in his life remained a great mystery to Tolly. A beautiful wife as well as these other lovely young ladies and that man… was at the centre of it all. This must be the one that the man mentioned seeing through society. 

“I would be delighted to hear you play. What is your favourite composition?” he inquired with genuine interest. His own skills were middling at best but he could sing if so pressed, although in fairness he usually only did so when the girls asked or in church. Even his mother had rather given up on asking him to grace anyone with a performance of any kind. 

Tolly laughed and then nodded, “All the tales I recall are the frightening ones. Such as the one of the ghoul who would sing to the ladies, woo them, braid their hair and then if he liked them best, he would fill their plates with dirt and never them eat so they will starve and die so he could wed them and keep them forever. If the young lady survives and does not become his bride, she is forever cursed to marry no one at all. It is a tale told to many young ladies to warn them of seductive strangers I think who would steal away their appetites and take them away from their families.” 

He shrugged lightly and then continued, “But in essence do we all not live and die by the tales we tell one another, the magic we create with music, art, literature, great ships and accomplishments, whether they be at home or abroad. And if the Grand Duke of Tuscany revered it so, it must be quite the piece of music.”

 -

“I love anything by Ignaz Pleyel, but my favourite composition to play is Robin Adair. Do you have a favorite?” Marjorie offered him a smile. “Perhaps I could learn a Spanish tune to remind you of your other home.” 

The story he chose to share was indeed quite frightening to contemplate. Marjorie always believed folk tales had some basis in truth but wondered what truth there could possibly be in such a story. Perhaps it was more fable than anything. “That is horrifying, but,” she laughed, amusement curving her mouth as she prepared to joke, “Perhaps we should produce an English version. Surely there are many mamas who would support such a tale if only to prevent their daughters from running off with one rake or another. Is there a name for this hair-braiding ghoul?” 

Marjorie blinked when he suggested that stories, music, literature, art, and all manner of accomplishments were the very essence of life. She agreed, but she had rarely heard someone else say as much. “Indeed. These things are what men strive for.” Deciding she had to know, even if it might be a rude question, she leaned in to ask: “What accomplishment have you lived for, Viscount?” She wanted to know what he was most proud of – what a man with so many tales and so many travels behind him had done that he would consider most important in all his life. 

[marjorieseymour]

ixnay-on-the-ipshay·:

A man who would jilt a woman for no apparent reason, she said; he twitched, recalling his own, less-than-reasoned withdrawal last Season to another blonde lady with expectations – and felt obliged to add, “Well. No – no apparent reason suitable for-for communication to a-a lady, as is proper; either way, you are well quit of-of such danger.”

She was all poise, all demure delicacy – anyone not previously acquainted would think her the darling daughter of a titled peer, destined to grace some great estate; the only question now was whose –

“Brooksbury? Good God, no!”

His exclamation might have been a bit, hrm, pointed than he intended; a pair of sparrows were shocked out of a nearby bit of-of decorative shrubbery – more than a few pairs of intrigued glances now directed their way.

He cleared his throat and pasted a civil smile on his face. “That-that is – the man is a bit of a-an eccentric; too much time spent abroad, likely – New Spain, I hear, is no good place for-for picking up polish, that is all.” 

They reached the tent, striped awning and all; the drinks, he was pleased to note, were the proper sort and not the garishly colored punch served at previous events. “Orgeat, lemonade, or ratafia, Miss Seymour?”

Then, pausing mid-ladle, “Have you met the new Baron Hastings? He is – new to his title, and a little unused to-to conversing with the ladies, but you are charming enough to put anyone at ease.” 

Hastings, after all, preferred blondes, and securing a baron was no small step up for an otherwise mere Miss.

“Or-or have you considered the Earl of Harcourt? Excellent man, conversant in-in multiple languages – I take it you will not be the kind of-of empty headed chit that believes all the rumors. Just the other day, one such girl took the rumors so much to heart, why – she slapped a peer in a-an art museum, if you can believe it!”

He frowned, trying to recall – “Ah! A Miss Vane. Who also had the temerity to-to start a-a diatribe at someone else’s engagement dinner – some company, you see, can only damage one’s chances.”

-

“Yes, of course.” Marjorie hadn’t thought about her statement before she said it or she might’ve hesitated. She hadn’t meant to offend the captain in any way – she’d simply forgotten that he had his own history with another woman. “He owes me no explanation, but he might’ve given one to my parents. No matter. As you said, it is better for me to be done with him than to worry myself over his motives.” 

There was truth behind that, which is why she was so surprised to hear his sharp objection against Brooksbury. Marjorie blinked and turned her head to look at him directly, eyebrows raised. “My goodness. Is it really such a bad thing to be well-traveled? I rather enjoyed our discussion of New Spain. It seems like a positively lovely place with a very interesting history…” She had been enthralled by the stories Brooksbury shared of his travels and of the musical performances he had seen in New Spain; none of them led her to view him as any less polished. If anything, she’d seen his willingness to share with her as a good thing – too many gentlemen spoke of things like steeplechase and their latest hunting excursion, rather than attempting to engage her on topics she was actually interested in. 

Still, she respected the captain. If he said Brooksbury was too eccentric or unpolished, he must be. A small frown wrinkled her brow for a moment as she considered it, then disappeared as though it had never been there in the first place. “Lemonade, I think,” she responded to his question. A glance around the tent showed a few others situated around them and so Marjorie thought carefully before responding to his next. 

“I’ve not had the pleasure, but I would be very happy to make his acquaintance. In truth,” her smile widened, a touch amused, “I think it would be quite nice to spend an evening with someone less accustomed to the… flirtations, I suppose, of the season.” 

The Earl of Harcourt might indeed have been an excellent man and was certainly a more than appropriate catch for a woman such as she, but Marjorie had heard too much about him already. “Ah. Yes, well… I am unsure if you know, but the Miss Vane you speak of is a dear cousin of mine.” Trust Olie to go and slap someone right in the middle of a museum! It would make her laugh if she weren’t already trying to work out how the offense might reflect back on her. “I doubt he would be interested in me after his dealings with her.”

As he’d pointed out, some company can only damage one’s chances. 

[blltrixlsrnge]

Where: Fortnum & Mason

Who: @marjorieseymour r​​

When: Mid June 1800

Anthony had been through a strange array of emotions as he read the strange letter in front of him - excitement at the mention of Almack’s - a club he was yet to hear about in London. Offense that the writer was unable to gain him entrance, despite the fact he had not even known it existed before opening his letter. Confusion as he asked his Valet about the club and discovered he had already purchased an annual ticket and been granted membership. It was the Valet who eventually figured it out, seeing through all of Anthony’s emotions to the truth beneath. The letter was not meant for him.  

How he had missed that the sender had referred to him multiple times throughout at Miss Seymour he did not know (although he had certainly used stranger fake names in his past). 

So he had left a note at Miss Seymour’s address, asking her to join him for tea at Fortnum & Mason where he could return the letter and meet the Lady who was supposed to receive it. He had taken the liberty of ordering for them both - a pot of tea and some candied fruit tarts to share. 

He rose quickly as he saw a lady approaching the table, dropping into a slight bow, “Miss Seymour?” He asked, producing the letter from his coat, “You will have to forgive me for riffling in your mail - I am quite ashamed to say it took me much longer than it should have to realise this letter was not meant for me!” 

[marjorieseymour]

It was rather strange to be invited out by someone she had not yet had the pleasure of meeting, but Marjorie supposed it was a good thing. Her brother certainly thought so and had hastily agreed that she should go and meet with Sir Fraser, and so, she found herself entering Fortnum & Mason with little idea as to who the gentleman was. Thankfully, others pointed her in the right direction upon her arrival and the gentleman himself stood, dropping into a polite bow as he confirmed her own identity. “Yes, hello, Sir Fraser,” she responded in kind, dipping into a curtsey with a demure smile before straightening again, puzzlement written across her features. “A letter? Surely the postman knew you were no Miss Seymour when he was making his rounds.” 

This gentleman was, after all, quite obviously not a ‘Miss.’ He was instead a rather handsome-looking fellow of Scottish stock - at least if his accent was anything to judge by. “In any case, I thank you for seeing it delivered into the right hands.” Marjorie reached out to take the letter, expression shifting a little when she realized who it was from. Lady Balfour had once been a good friend of her mothers but perhaps their good will had faded over the years – so far, the woman had been anything but helpful. It was embarrassing to know that this man had read what was likely another rejection, but ultimately it was not a matter worth fretting over. Marjorie was skilled enough at navigating the ton and had managed entry into Almack’s once already, thanks to the help of her brother’s more loyal compatriots. 

“It speaks well of you that you sought me out. I’m afraid I have little to offer in return, but perhaps you will take my thanks as appropriate repayment?” 

[jeremiahtheyankee]

Early June, 1800 Royal Theatre Performance of Das Labyrinth @marjorieseymour​

Jeremiah found himself just outside the theater five minutes past the top of the hour. The doors–were locked? “Shit,” he muttered, trying one more futile time.

He’d promised to be there, and meet the Prussian prince, but time had gotten away from him at Brooks’s, and he could blame Chelsea for the distraction.

The repercussions of standing up the Prince of Prussia would be insurmountable. He had to get in. Circling around to the alleyway, he found another door, leading into a storage room. He quickly made his way into a hallway and took the stairs toward the private boxes, but it seemed someone noticed.

“Sir–”

Jeremiah ducked through the curtain and was relieved to find he’d stumbled upon a blonde-haired lady, perhaps he’d gotten lucky and found Lady Fitzroy–

Jeremiah settled into the empty seat beside her, his mouth agape when he looked over to discover he did not actually know this lady. “May–I–uh, join you?”

[marjorieseymour]

He was late. That, or she was being stood up for an outing with a gentleman she hadn’t even particularly wanted to join in the first place. 

Marjorie’s blood boiled in her veins as she sat alone in her box, joined by only her chaperone. It would’ve been one thing had someone else been able to accompany her. Instead she’d traveled to the theatre alone – already a mark against the man who’d invited her, for what kind of gentleman would not escort a lady to the opera – and was now seated in plain view of the whole of polite society with only Agatha by her side. It was humiliating. Even the dulcet tones of Elizabeth Billington struggled to break through her dark mood. 

At least it was a show she truly loved. Few things could stir her the way these performances did, and so she decided to take her unfortunate situation as a blessing. Tonight she didn’t have to entertain anyone with conversation; she could simply enjoy it. If anyone asked her directly about her attendance, that would be her excuse. It wasn’t a good one, mind, but perhaps some would believe it. 

Just as Tipheus made his attempt to divorce Pamina and Tamino on stage, someone slipped through the curtain and into her box. Thinking it the gentleman she was supposed to meet, Marjorie turned toward him with an icy sort of look – one that well and truly froze when she realized it was not her guest at all. 

“Oh.” It was undoubtedly poor manners to sneak into another person’s box halfway through a performance and she certainly did not know this man, but Marjorie could not help but think this might solve her problems. No one could pity her for attending alone if she wasn’t, in fact, alone. “I – well,” her gaze shifted to Agatha, who was watching them with interest. Sensing no protest, Marjorie gave a quick nod, expression shifting to something altogether more polite. “You may.” 

“I’m afraid we haven’t been acquainted…” Marjorie eyed him. He was not a servant, that much was sure and certain, but she still wanted to know the name of the person she was sharing her evening with. “I am Miss Marjorie Seymour. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

[theseasonhq]

Welcome to Meme Friday at The Season! 🧣 Each Friday, we’ll post one or two memes for characters to reblog on their accounts. Reblogging the meme indicates that you are accepting asks from it, and that you’re also sending asks out to others. Feel free to reblog and answer memes until end of day Sunday. After that, save what’s left over in your inbox for the next Meme Friday. Enjoy!

Send a symbol for my muse to be playing a cliché party game in a group with your muse.

🍾  for  SPIN THE BOTTLE. 🤥  for  TRUTH OR DARE. 🃏   for  STRIP POKER. 🥂  for  NEVER HAVE I EVER. 🚪   for  SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN. 🎲   for  MUN’S PICK.

[theseasonhq]

Welcome to Meme Friday at The Season! 🧣 Each Friday, we’ll post one or two memes for characters to reblog on their accounts. Reblogging the meme indicates that you are accepting asks from it, and that you’re also sending asks out to others. Feel free to reblog and answer memes until end of day Sunday. After that, save what’s left over in your inbox for the next Meme Friday. Enjoy!

—

HOW DOES YOUR MUSE FEEL WHEN…

😇- They are given praise 😰- They get scolded 🙇- They meet someone new and make a good first impression 👺- They meet someone new and make a bad first impression 🙌- They see their best friend 👿- They see their worst enemy 💅- They see a rival ❣️- They see their crush 💐- They get asked out on a date 💔- They get rejected 🎁- They are given a gift they like 💣- They are given a gift they dislike 🎎- They find a long lost possession of theirs 📍- They narrowly escape a perilous situation 🚪- They hear someone knock on their door

[marjorieseymour]

Starter for @missvane​

June 1800 - Letter Delivery 

How mail could be mistakenly delivered to one cousin instead of the other, Marjorie was not sure. They did not share residence or a surname and yet it seemed even the post could not keep their identities straight. She laid at least partial blame for the mistake on the letter’s author – one could not expect to have such things properly delivered without clear labeling. She’d been forced to open it and read its contents to discover its intended, and it was a lucky thing, indeed, that she had been the one to do so, rather than Edward. Her brother loved Ophelia just as deeply as she did, but she doubted he would approve of the society of kindred spirits it mentioned. 

Marjorie was let into the sitting room when she arrived to deliver the correspondence and as she waited on her cousin’s arrival, she wondered whether it would be wise to mention the society herself. It would likely be bad manners – cousins or not, Ophelia deserved to have her privacy, and she’d already violated it once by reading the missive – but she was intrigued. Ann Radcliffe was almost universally admired. Even Marjorie who had no patience for the more supernatural elements of the woman’s fiction adored her novels. What did the two of them have to conspire about? 

“Olie,” she greeted her cousin when she appeared, standing to offer her a quick hug before pulling the folded letter from the pocket of her gown. “This was mistakenly delivered to me this morning. I’m afraid I had to inspect it to find out who it truly belonged to. I am terribly sorry for the intrusion.” 

[marjorieseymour]

starter for @eliza-bates​ in hyde park 

Marjorie knew there must be times when Eliza feared for her son. The world they lived in was not a kind one to children born under his circumstances and though he might still be too young to recognize judgment in the eyes of others, his mother was not. It was admirable the way she bore it all, with a grace and pride in her child that Marjorie suspected few others would display in her situation. And yet, how could she blame her? Owen was an adorable little boy who deserved happiness regardless of the hateful gossips who called themselves members of polite society. 

As she watched him play with his toy blocks a few feet away from them, she was reminded of another little boy – Charles, who had nearly fallen under the same fate. Her brother’s dalliance with a noble lady betrothed to another was, of course, secret, as was the true paternity of their child, and yet she still worried for him. He looked nothing at all like his supposed father and whispers already circulated about whether or not he was legitimate. Fortunate though his situation may be in comparison to Owen’s, it was not the future she would’ve chosen for her nephew. 

“He is such a happy lad,” Marjorie commented to Eliza as she reached to take a grape from the picnic basket between them. “You’ve done marvelously with him, I must say. I hope no one has given you trouble.” 

“Regardless, I’m sure you’ve had an excellent time in London so far.” She looked over at her friend with interest. “Have any gentleman managed to catch your eye?” 

[marjorieseymour]

ixnay-on-the-ipshay·:

Her arm securely tucked in his, he started them towards the tent – staying in huddled private conversation would have only instigated more curiosity, family friends or not. 

“Dinner it is; I shall write with –” Stopped, recalling that he was now married. “Th-that is, the Countess shall send an invitation shortly – and-and of course Edward must come, I-I haven’t set eyes on him in-in years.”

The day had dawned bright and clear, but with the-the fickleness common to English weather – and experience from his time at sea – he spotted a clutch of clouds threatening rain, and quickened his pace in response.

Only to falter – then raise an eyebrow at the lady’s reply. 

“Kit?” he repeated, shaking his head, “Miss Seymour. Sensible though your-your intentions may be – I pray you guard yourself. The Season is-is no place to let one’s emotions get the better of one’s common sense.”

Her emphasis on Lord Thorne having no interest troubled him; urged him to add, “And-and – even if – even if Lord Thorne changes his mind, why – you should ask yourself whether it would still be a-a desirable match: not just for yourself, but for your family. After all, a man who has so easily tossed you aside once – well.” 

Then, with a touch of amusement, “You certainly were clever enough to dance circles around us all growing up; ‘ware that that overconfidence does not trip you up here – here be dragons, and only some of them easily spotted.”

He nodded to some of the other guests as they walked by, returning the greetings – eyes scanning the area for a glimpse of their hostess.

“Speaking of-of spotting – have any particular gentlemen shown promise as of yet? I would be happy to, hrm, corroborate any initial impressions, if need be.” Sternly, “Other than Lord Thorne.”

- 

“I look forward to the invitation and am most excited to meet the Countess.” A woman capable of snaring the captain and surviving accusations of witchcraft? She could hardly wait. The two of them started toward the tent at a pace brisk enough to have her marching in double time; as usual, Marjorie found herself lamenting her height. Were she taller, her legs might’ve been long enough to keep step with him easily. 

Unfortunately they were not, and she was further thrown off balance when he repeated the name she’d spoken back to her as though it was a crime for her to speak it. She supposed it was as good as, even if she’d spent her entire childhood shouting it across her mother’s garden. “You are right again, of course. It’s only… given our history, I am still not accustomed to addressing Lord Thorne so formally. Surely you recall how close we were as children.” They had been the best of friends, long before she ever thought to love him. It was part of the reason her heart had been so broken by his disregard for her. The loss of a best friend cut far deeper than the loss of a suitor. 

Pity was the one thing in the world Marjorie could not stomach with grace and she was relieved when instead of it, she was greeted with wise counsel. “Don’t mistake me, Lord Effingham. I only meant that his actions toward me have made me realize we would not suit. As anyone knows, a man who would jilt a woman for no apparent reason,” for she had certainly done nothing to stain her character, “is nothing more than a rake.” Surely it was impolite of her to put it so bluntly, but there it was – and it was nothing she wouldn’t say to Kit’s face, anyway. 

“Never fear,” amusement colored her voice now, too, “I am perfectly capable of slaying dragons if need be. I’ve read a great many books on the subject.” Marjorie inclined her head at one of the ladies who greeted them as they passed, ever the picture of charm and beauty. Only one who knew her very well would be able to tell that moments before, she’d been flustered enough to stumble on air. 

“A handful have shown interest, but I fear many of them are more interested in the hair on my head than the thoughts inside it.” This was not, of course, a reason to shoo them away (a great number of matches had been made based on less) but Marjorie longed for a partner who might truly make her happy, and who she might make happy in return. “Though… are you acquainted with Viscount Brooksbury? We’ve only met the once so I am unsure of his interest, but we had the loveliest conversation…”