beatrice bennett - (23) lady in waiting to princess alexandra ⌜facts | pinterest⌟
elijah hall - (26) actor & backroom staff at the kings theatre ⌜facts | pinterest⌟
josephine hermance - (34) ruling countess of hermance ⌜facts | pinterest⌟
amos locke - (27) younger son of lord locke ⌜facts | pinterest⌟
millicent grant - (40) estranged wife of lord grant ⌜facts | pinterest⌟
isaac hawkins - (31) footman for the house of claremont ⌜facts | pinterest⌟
lalita approached slowly, the scent of salt and perfume clinging to her silks as the sea teased the hem of her gown. she had seen him earlier—stiff and sour at the edge of the deck like a man awaiting execution. there was something familiar in that posture. something that pulled at her. so when he did not look back, only tightened his grip and barked his words through gritted teeth, she did not flinch. instead, she raised a brow, then tilted her head with a smirk too soft to be cruel.
“not a drink, no,” she said lightly, folding her hands before her. “though had i known it would spare me such a venomous greeting, i might have fetched you something stronger than what they’re serving on trays.” her voice was measured, not mocking, but wrapped in that usual velvet she wore when something was watching. or when she was watching something herself.
she stepped beside him, not too near, and glanced out toward the waves. “you’ve the look of a man trapped in plain sight.” a moment passed, quiet but not unkind. then she added, with a small tilt of her lips, “if you're planning to throw yourself over, do warn me. i'd hate to have to dive in after you—this gown cost me favors i’ve not yet repaid.”
as soon as the lady spoke, amos knew that he should have tried to school his tone. it wasn't like she had done something to deserve it ... nothing more than simply existing near him. "depends on what the stronger is." he muttered. though amos knew that he was unlikely to turn anything down at this point.... even the hypothetical.
as she spoke again, amos sighed. was it so easy to read him? amos supposed that he didn't even try to hide his emotions all too well. maybe he should have been a little more guarded here. "we're on a boat with no way off - isn't that the definition of being trapped?" he countered, although he knew that, that wasn't what she meant.
he glanced down, as she spoke, over the edge of the boat, "ah, so you are here to play guardian angel, is that it?" amos questioned. he still hadn't looked at the woman to his side. it was easier for her to remain faceless, a voice. that way, he didn't have to think too much about his own behaviour and what might be proper. he could simply be.
After their first meeting, Adrian had done what he always did. He stepped back and regarded the situation with realism. This was a strategy, after all. Josephine was not the first heiress he had been introduced to, nor the first to cross his thoughts. But she was the only one whose name stayed with him hours after parting. Whose words replayed in his mind. Still, he had told himself it was nothing more than good fortune, a promising match. A plan that he needed to execute with care. Flatter her, entertain her, make himself just charming enough to keep her attention, but respectable enough to earn her trust.
And yet… none of it felt rehearsed anymore. Not when she seemed to be a step ahead in every conversation, clever in each remark with a wisdom that stretched beyond her years. And it did not come merely from duty, for she carried her role with her chin held high — not like him, as if it were a curse heavy upon his shoulders. She wore her title like silk, not a mask. Her confidence was not the typical arrogant entitlement of the ton. It was earned and entirely hers.
What had begun as a calculated courtship — his first of the season — had slowly become something he no longer felt in control of. It had no name, this feeling that bloomed within him whenever she was near. It was not purely desire, though it burned. Nor could it be devotion — not when his heart still felt locked somewhere far away, perhaps left behind in a cottage tucked deep in the vast green of the countryside, out of his reach. And yet, he found himself lingering longer than he should, waiting for her laughter, seeking the sparkle of amusement in her eyes when he jested. It had become a subtle pleasure. The way Josephine challenged him, the way she watched him, the way she saw him. Adrian had not anticipated that. And now, standing there with her, he realised he could no longer separate what was genuine from what was supposed to be strategy. And he did not mind at all. He could almost see his resistance fade at the corner of her smile.
“Oh, a lady indeed.” He murmured, stepping closer. The warmth in his eyes made room for something deeper — a kind of awe tinged with want. His fingers brushed along her arm, featherlight, tracing a path upward with the softest touch. “The Countess in her own right. Who walks into a gentlemen’s club and makes the room more hers than theirs. Who laughs and speaks freely, never hiding behind a fan. Who looks at me as though she is still deciding whether I am worthy of her attention.” He let his thumb and forefinger gently lift her chin, as if he could not bear to look away. “A danger to my peace of mind.” A low chuckle poured from his lips. “And entirely irresistible.”
A moment passed. Silent and charged. Something unspoken filled the space between them. The space Adrian was resisting the urge to close. “You claim you could never say such things aloud…” He said, voice low. “But you do not need to. I hear them anyway.” His hand moved to cradle Josephine’s jaw, his thumb brushing along her cheek. His gaze dropped to her lips for a second before returning to her eyes. And suddenly, he was but a breath away. But he did not give in. Not yet. “And if I have misheard you… I have no doubt you will correct me. You always do.”
Then his lips found hers. There was no urgency, no desperate hunger like that of someone drowning in lust, nor any trace of doubt. A kiss that lingered and wondered, that asked a question. One of delightful curiosity for what might stir beneath the surface. His hand slid to the nape of her neck, drawing her closer without quite realising he had done so, allowing himself to fall into it. The thrill he had so carefully tried to resist. It was unexpected. Captivating. Just like Josephine Hermance herself. It was not a kiss to dazzle or to claim. It was one to feel. And Adrian felt it, deep in a part of himself he had believed long calloused.
Josephine had never really thought about what it was that she wanted from Adrian. When the two of them met, she had been caught completely unaware by him. He disarmed her. His effortless charm seemed to work it's way beneath her skin and when he had called on her a few days later, she had been all too happy to see him. She still wasn't sure what it was that she was feeling for him - did it compare to what she felt for a certain Sinclair? She didn't think so but she was also trying not to think about that. Something which was easy when she was around Adrian.
The way he spoke about her was like nothing that she had felt before. He made her feel seen. It was something which Josephine had always struggled with. And as he felt his touch against her, a shiver of anticipation ran through her body. "If I haven't already been on your mind constantly, then I clearly am not doing something right." Josephine countered. It came out as a joke, though there was a small part of her that did believe what she said to him.
As he moved closer to her, Josephines heart started to thump a little faster. A part of her nervous - though she would never show it. She had only kissed a handful of people before. She didn't think of it as a small thing. It was a promise. A promise of what was to come, of what they could maybe become. A kiss said more - at least to her - than words ever did.
She didn't let any of that show on her face as he lent to kiss her. She wouldn't let her feelings betray her like that. She wanted him to know how she felt without her having to say a word. Was there a voice in the back of her head which told her this wasn't who she should be kissing? Perhaps. A louder voice drowned that out and all she could hear was him and how much she truly wanted him to kiss her.
As he swept her up against him, she happily allowed him to do so, her body pressed against his. It was not the done thing, it was improper and yet Josephine found herself not caring - as she so often did. The 'done' thing was never how she typically went about things. She was four and thirty and not yet married, she was inside Gentleman Jacks and she could not think of a single thing other than him. She brought her hand up to rest against his chest.
who : @promisedhexvens , mister elijah hall.
where : kings theatre.
“please, elijah.” she makes no effort to temper the volume of her plea. it is met only with clasped hands. rung together hard enough to blanch the knuckles. there is no room for shame. no time for it, either. “i am not asking some wild undertaking. only that you attend with me. have a glass of champagne. perhaps even dance. it is meant to be an evening of delight.” but the more she speaks of it, the less she understands this dread coiled tight within each shaken breath.
except .. she does understand. the familiar divide between herself and the ton. it turns her stomach. “are you truly to have me believe you’d prefer to spend your night...” charlotte’s gaze drifts about the theatre. she does not mean to look upon it with such unkind uncertainty. not when she adores these walls, and all the art that dwells within them. “just say yes, elijah. please.”
how long had they been here with her begging him to escort her? elijah was pretty sure that it had been hours. although it had probably only been moments. he was nothing if not dramatic, after all. "ah, see, you don't know who you're talking too." elijah laughed, "i don't even like champagne." really, he had let her go on and on to see how long she would do it for. he had already been fairly certain that he would go with her. he was never one to miss a party. "would you dance with me? what if i had two left feet?"
elijah raised an eyebrow as she looked around the theatre and he did too. this was his home. it was always going to be his home. "you say it like it's some pathetic endeavour!" elijah laughed, shaking his head. "i was going to take the time to try and learn my lines for the next production." his mind had been elsewhere recently. but after another moment of looking at her, he sighed and nodded his head, "alright, fine. i'll come with you. quit it with the puppy dog eyes."
"It is quite the wonderful color, yes." Atticus agreed with the air of someone who had no idea truly what worked when it came to jewelry. All the same, he had promised the other that he would help them find it is what they wanted and needed. And Atticus Sinclair was, above most if not all things, a man of his word. So on that idea, he found himself among the small droves of others searching for objects and tokens of love. Ones for family and other for engagements and ones for...mourning? It was hard to know what everything he was for.
It was not as though he did not like the idea of it all. It just did not stick its way in his brain. "Are you planning on getting more things to go with it should you decide on that one? Are there ways to match it to your clothing and other jewelry of yours? Or is this a standalone piece?" Heavens above help him.
Beatrice had only realised a second after she had turned that it was not her mother that was beside her but rather the eldest Sinclair. And she instantly felt a little on edge. How much did he know? Had he been laughing behind her back at how foolish she was? She tried not to let her insecurity show on her face but, as always, Beatrices face was like holding up a mirror to her emotions. "You think so?" She questioned as she placed the bracelet back down.
"I shouldn't indulge in too much. My mother would never allow it." Beatrice giggled as she glanced over her shoulder to where the woman stood. She already looked impatient and she knew that if she didn't hurry, then she wouldn't be allowed to have anything. "I think maybe the necklace?" Beatrice had, pointing to what it was that she was talking about and then glancing to Atticus, "That isn't too ... I don't know ... garish, is it?"
How Aylin wishes for a remedy anytime she is near him, that she can bite him and he only answers with a smile because she hasn't drawn blood. He was the only one, she was certain, that could endure all of her without a fight. How she tried to make him second guess her, and Amos only gazed upon her with some kind of hope that she would stay. She wondered if he ever knew that when she took a step back it was only to see how much space he took up.
"Then your wish shall be granted," She smirked, but the curl of her lip is hidden upon the bow of her head when she dips her knee is the faintest obedience. "Forget the rest. If anyone imposes upon you, place the blame on me. I can be your villain or your savior tonight— decide."
Delicate fingers pierce the space between them like a needle, glinting in the rings on her fingers that mean nothing at all anymore. She tucks away a curl from his face if only an excuse to touch him. A woman of her standing, of her loss, is given more grace than the rest and how she abuses it.
"And what pretty face shall I pull from the other guests to make whatever you don't cut me out to be, hmm?"
When did it become this way? How his heart sung any time she was close? He wasn't sure but he didn't like it. He wished to dampen those feelings. Those closest to him had a habit of dying and he didn't wish to see that fate befall her. It was why he had pushed his brother away. It was why he refused to allow himself to fall in love. He had started to wonder if he had any control over that or not.
"You will be my saviour." She had been from the very moment that he had met her. When he was around Aylin, the world didn't seem quite so bleak. "Until you decide to be my villain, i'm sure." He was under no illusion that she would be that way for him for forever.
A part of him wanted to reach for her hand, to hold it in his own... but he refrained. She was granted grace but he knew that, that would be a step too far. Instead, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed for a moment, savouring her touch for a mere moment. If it was the only moment of peace he got on the blasted boat, then he would take it from her.
"No other pretty face will suffice." He shook his head. "Your will be the only one I need."
for: amos & frederic ( @whispercd )
where: somewhere on the locke grounds
When Amos realised he couldn't sleep, he had gone to the tavern in search of a distraction. And he had found one - in the shape of the only person who seemed to understand. If there was anyone that Amos could count on to know what it was that he was facing, it was Frederic. So when the tavern called last orders and the two of them were tossed out, Amos was glad that Frederic agreed to go to a spot Amos had retreated to as a child. "Do you think that it will ever end?" He sighed. "The nightmares. The constant torture. Do you think we will ever know peace?"
who: isaac & charlotte ( @sprklngdust )
where: lady mays
There she was.
The woman that he had spent the better part of four running from, hiding from. Like the true coward that he was. Could he take the few steps to head on inside? He watched her through the window for a moment. His heart was thumping so hard that he was half convinced it would beat right out of his chest. It had been years since he had seen her but it felt like the very first time all over again. He had fallen in love with Charlotte from almost the first time he'd ever seen her. He had never thought that he deserved her. He'd proven himself right in the end.
Instead of backing down from the challenge and without really thinking about it, Isaac moved towards the store. He had hoped to slip in unnoticed...that was until the blasted bell sounded as the door opened. "Shit." He hissed, under his breath. He froze. There was a voice in the back of his head that was screaming at him to look at her, to talk to her. But he couldn't get himself to do it.
"Sorry." He muttered as he turned around and let the door close - and the bell ring - behind him. He only took a couple steps away from the shop and stopped. What was he doing? He turned back around and started back towards the shop. He couldn't avoid this.
A DRESS that fits a tad too loosely and seems to be out of season. slippers that her heel comes out of if there's a large gap between her legs when she walks. signs that indicate maybe she doesn't belong there. that doesn't stop her from pretending. maintaining a facade had come naturally to her and now was no different. with her chin held high, she approached the table of refreshments. in an attempt to appear nonchalant, she curls lithe digits around the first crystalline glass that comes into view. the cup is brought to her lips, parting them to quench her thirst.
citrus bursts across her tongue, nose scrunching in disgust. manners go entirely out the window as she spews the drink out, liquid landing on the deck and . . . on someone who had been passing by. for a moment she is stunned into silence with her mouth hanging open. what exactly was the protocol for accidentally spitting out your drink onto someone?
“ i i am so sorry ! ” head turns in search of something to aid in cleaning them up. can hear her heart pounding in her ears as she grabs a nearby napkin, holding it out to them. “ i did not mean to you must forgive my manners. i am deeply sorry, really. ”
all of those times elijah spent playing as a pirate as a child now seemed to come flooding back to him as he stepped aboard the boat. although as the set off - that child like glee that he had been feeling previously seemed to fade away as the seasickness took hold. elijah had been a little annoyed that the kings theatre weren't asked to perform but now? now he was glad of the fact. he didn't know if he would be able to get on a stage feeling how he was.
he was trying to do whatever he could to keep himself distracted as he wondered around the ship. his stomach had settled a little since they'd started moving but it still wasn't good. and then, as if by magic, a distraction came in the force of her spitting up her drink.
elijah couldn't help but laugh a little as he saw the look on the others face. not out of ill will but because he couldn't really be less bothered about it. "don't worry about it, friend." he beamed. he looked down at the drink in her hand, "not to your liking?" he questioned. "i don't think i've tried it myself."
who: isaac & canmi ( @ren0wned )
where: streets of mayfair
coming back to town felt strange. everything seemed to be the same and different, all at the same time. he still knew the streets like the back of his hand, though. the thought of what he would do if he came upon someone he had known before had crossed his mind before but never one he'd given much thought to. although as he spotted mun chanmi he wished that he had.
if he never saw chanmi again, isaac wouldn't have cared too much. it wasn't that she particularly disliked her but he was fairly sure that she never liked him. and after taking her friend away, he was sure that she liked him even less now. still, he wasn't one to back down from a challenge ad so, instead of standing around gawping, he moved a little closer to her.
isaac nodded his head in greeting as he neared the other. "chanmi." He sighed, "I'd say it's good to see you but..." he shrugged, "i'm not sure that you would agree with that, right?" she didn't really need to wait for her answer. the ghost of a smile flickered across his face, "what do you say? you miss me?"
(jack o'connell, thirty one, cis male, he/him) you do not know me but rest assured i know you, ISAAC HAWKINS. you are the FOOTMAN TO THE HOUSE OF CLAREMONT. you maybe be known for your DEVOTED but it is only a mask for the true nature of your TEMPERMENTAL ways. however, i am not here to spread slander on the queen’s jewels, though i suspect you are her JASPER. the ton says your name reminds them of KNUCKLES WILL BRUISE LIKE VIOLET, THE CRUELTY IN ABSENCE, SWEET BOURBON RUNS THROUGH YOUR VEINS. how scandalous! you have been warned, dear reader, that i will prove if this is true and share every last detail.
GENERAL
full name: isaac hawkins
nickname: n/a
age: 31
zodiac: leo
gender: male
pronouns: he / him
sexual orientation: bisexual
relationship status: single
some peoples childhood was one of bedtime stories and forehead kisses, or scraped knees and hugs of comfort - this was not isaacs childhood. the hawkins family were a happy family for the first few years of isaacs life. he was the third child and first boy for thomas and esther. esther doted on her children. they were her very reason for living. it only seemed fitting that they were the reason for her death.
when isaac was coming up to three, he saw his mothers stomach swell - a little brother was on the horizon. he had never seen his father has happy as when he told his children that they had a new brother. that happiness was cut cruelly short. something was missed and one moment esther was there, the next she wasn't.
the smiling face of his father turned to the face of a haunted man and the bottom of his bottle became his new love. his children were the least of his concerns. the older two did their best but it was often that they went without. they learnt quickly that whenever their father was drunk, it was better to scatter lest they catch a stray fist - something easier said than done in their tiny little house.
his salvation - as it so often is for young people - was found when a woman entered his life. she showed him what it was to feel really loved and he did his best to give her everything. he tried to fight the voices telling him he wasn't good enough and he loved her with every fibre of his being.
around the same time as meeting her, isaac started getting into trouble with some older children. they were friends of his biggest sister and when they told him that he could help them and it would be worth his while, isaac went along with it. it gave him enough to be able to help his family stay afloat - his father having lost his job a year before. he knew what he was doing and yet ... he loved it. it gave him the first real sense of community. that found family that he had never had before. but like everything good in isaacs life, that went sour too.
after his friends turned on him, isaac fled london. his salvation came with him and for five years, the pair lived in bliss together.
until he was alone again.
isaac has spent the last four years just getting by. the parents of the woman he loved bribed him to stay away from her and so he did. he listened. except now, the money has stopped and isaac wants to find out why. so back to london he went. he got the first job he could - a footman for the claremont family - and has been in town for a couple months now. a part of him is still gathering up the courage to seek out his past love and her family.
theodosia barely had the chance to step properly onto the ship before she was swept into her sister’s arms, the familiar scent of josephine's perfume wrapping around her like a memory. she let out a breathless laugh, arms instinctively circling her sister's waist in return, clutching her tightly.
"josephine," she murmured, her voice warm with affection. "you greet me like i've returned from battle rather than the countryside." though her tone teased, there was no mistaking the relief that flooded her features at the sight of her sister.
when josephine pulled back just enough to look at her, theodosia took a moment to properly study her—she looked radiant, as always, though there was something in her eyes that theodosia knew too well. the ache of having once shared a bedroom wall and now finding only silence in its place. it struck her then, how much she had missed this closeness. how much she still did.
"i know," she said gently, her gloved fingers brushing over josephine’s arm in a quiet reassurance. "and believe me, not a day passes that i don’t think of coming home—if only to sneak back into your room and borrow your ribbons without asking."
her smile faltered only slightly, and she pressed her forehead against her sister’s for a heartbeat, as they used to do when words felt too heavy.
"but tonight, we’ll speak of anything but weddings. please." her tone softened further, almost pleading, though still wrapped in gentle humor. "i think if i hear one more word about floral arrangements or who’s sitting next to whom at supper, i shall leap overboard and take my chances with the sea."
she drew back, looping her arm through josephine’s with a quiet sigh. "come. let us speak of books, or dresses, or who has caught your eye this week. anything that does not involve vows or veils." her smile curved again, wry this time. "i’m afraid i’ve grown quite allergic to matrimony."
josephines sisters were everything to her. they were her whole reason for being in london still. they needed her. she needed to be there for them. and she wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
she squeezed her sister gentle, "you may as well have been! you were so far away from us." her sisters living their own lives was everything that she could hope for. she just missed them dearly whenever they weren't with her.
it was bittersweet, to see a sister get married. on the one hand, she was so incredibly excited to see them get the life that they wanted - to start their life with a person who would bring them a future that they deserved to have. she wished them happiness and security. but it also felt like they were taken away from her as well. they left and got their own lives. josephine was worried that she would be left behind.
josephine quirked an eyebrow at her sister, "you room will always be there for you. we would be so happy for you to come back to us."
"of course." she nodded. "then you better avoid, gia." josephine laughed, shaking her head. she was sure that her sister had never spoke about anything but the wedding. it was gorgeous to see but she just wasn't sure that she wanted to discuss it too much longer.
"ah, so you would not like to discuss my courtship with a baron?" josephine questioned with a laugh. the idea of any sort of vows with him was not in her head but still, she couldn't help but tease. wasn't that the job of the eldest sister? "or your wife?"
She never wanted to admit the miserable, stubborn sting in her gut that always arose whenever she felt people saying something that might, in a theoretical sense, wrench her away from her family. An inexplicable hold on her heart, the little unit of Huntingtons was attached to the brink of delusion, and she knew it. And yet she couldn't find any shred of her inside that was willing to separate from it, not an iota that desired deviation. Growth, of course, and additions, and interweaving of families and cultures and life's desires.
Nor did Evie want to argue the point. She'd asked for insight, and she received it. So she chose not to rebuke the sentiment, not even for the sake of fleshing out a thought to its completion. The unresolved fear in her heart hung in pieces around her. "I know you're right," she surrendered, voice dropping - but was it from shame, or humility? "And I am happy. I'm... I'm quite happy, actually. I believe I lead a very full, satisfying life."
With a sigh that seemed to release the last of the pressure around her joints, she began mixing the colors on her palette, eyes shifting from the canvas to the paints, trying to match the grass - with a new tint of yellow to fix the lighting problem.
She slowed to a pause when Millicent answered the question. It wasn't a choice - such startling words, in any other context. There was a force, but not by external parties. By fate. The universe. The result of a cosmic equation. The thought both soothed Evie and unnerved her, that her fate was lost to something untouchable, and yet she would never have to worry another day in her life.
A smile, gradual and pure. "So what are you hoping will befall you now? Surely it doesn't go against the universe's great plan to have dreams, desires."
Millicent nodded her head as Evangeline confirmed that she was happy. "If you are happy, then I'm not sure that anyone needs to force you to change things." She truly hoped that Evangeline was going to be able to forge her own path. She thought that it was important for young women to be able to do their own thing. "Your family will understand, whatever way you go."
Fate went against logic. But she thought that books were maybe what gave way to that for her. Imagination had very little logic. She had always felt a pull towards the cosmic something and Benedict had only confirmed that. She wasn't sure how she felt about it now.
Now that question stumped her. For a little while, she had thought that her new dream had been Adrian and everything that they had together. That was no gone too. "Perhaps ..." She shrugged, "Maybe it's this." She glanced from Evie to the painting supplies and back again, "Teaching you - and perhaps others - is something which I enjoy. Maybe it can be that."
From the unseen table beside the door, Evie picked up a slipper and lobbed it at his back with a strength known to a woman who'd spent a lifetime throwing bags of flour over her shoulder and drums of milk into creamers.
"Ratbag!" she laughed, setting the door open wide and turning back into the room to change. "Get back here, idiot."
Evie liked to think of her home as a crucible - where every form and flavor of life could come in, be warm, and meld with one another. The boundaries of class and status weren't just invisible within the Huntington walls - they were outside the realm of possibility. An alternate universe, a time and space separate from reality. No facades of separation or prejudice. Just people, helping people, feeding people, welcoming people. Their front door was a turnstile, their dinner table an altar. No one was turned away from the Huntingtons, and everyone adopted the family name upon arrival. It was a good home, and Evie was most proud to be part of its royalty.
Folding through her few options for dresses that day, Evie called to him without so much as looking over her shoulder. "So what's got you here today? If it's just breakfast, you wouldn't have chosen to risk getting your head violently ripped off from waking me."
"Ow" Elijah cried as the slipper hit his back. He turned around to face Evie, a smile on his face and a laugh falling from his lips. "I'm the ratbag? You threw a slipper at me!" He threw it back but purposefully missed her, letting it fall short a little.
Before London, Elijah had never really met anyone like the Huntingtons. There were people in his hometown who he had - his mother had a couple friends around who helped her out as much as they could but it was like nothing compared to the level of the Huntingtons. They had taken him in when he needed someone to help him. And as such, he'd gained siblings, a family. People that he had never thought that he would have around him. He didn't know if he would ever be more grateful for that. And he showed his gratefulness in coming in to eat all of their food.
"And why couldn't it just be that I wanted to see your pretty face, huh?" Elijah countered with a laugh. "And, besides, who can resist food from you guys?" He smiled as he crossed his arms over his chest. "And maybe i'm hope there'll be some ice cream in it for me as well."
His gaze darkens, but it is not a cruel shadow. For just a moment, his is distant— his mind fallen away, as though he looks past her at something he cannot forget. It is as though he has looked at the sun too long and it burns against his sight, blurring where he dared to look away with the shape of what he is missing. He ruined her and he knows it. There are pieces of Beatrice when she came undone for him that were not put back in the same place. Does she know that she could cut him on those jagged edges if she so desired it?
Of course she does, but she knows the same for him. They sit so very still because the scales are their to balance. To run towards the other, create a collision worthy of summer's heat, do they cheat.
His voice is still soft and light— sober. There is no misconception to be made from the coating of wine.
"You are not the reason I am afraid, but you very well could be if we keep this dance," Arden speaks slowly, each word one he cannot deny despite how he tries to. "I wanted her, but I thought I would kill everything good in her if I dared to try. You came to me shrouded in the same naivety, but I should have known it was a hunger. I needed to prove to myself that even something so good could break under me but you didn't. And that's what haunts me."
His hand reaches for hers again, but he doesn't take her fingers into his. It offers nothing and yet he asks for her silence that he knows is everything. He is turned to her, chair tossed against the pavement so he is all she can see and the sun blinds him behind the fire of her hair. Is this what it is to surrender?
"I loved you not as a substitute, but the very dream I could never have. We are both liars, Beatrice, when we say we want better, we want the pure of heart. We want fire, and to be consumed where there is no room for doubts that crawl in our skin," Arden points out to her. "We are both in love with others who are cold in preservation, too fragile for their own good— and we are burning against them."
The cigarette is brought back to his lips, but he does not take the smoke. He needs something to hold on to now that he has let this go— let them both go if only for a moment of sanity.
“Can love truly die?” He asks her, but the question still hangs for him to answer it. “Or is it only a weapon to kill? Miss Bennett, what ever is it that we want from the other?”
There was once when Beatrice would melt under his gaze. She had wanted to be the woman that he wanted her to be so badly. She could barely be the person that she truly was - he helped her find that woman. But now, as Arden looked at her, she was able to keep her head held high. He had changed her. She was stronger now. She wouldn't let another man ruin her in quite the same way that he had. She couldn't afford to let anyone do that to her again.
Yet if there was anyone who had the power to destroy her, it would be Arden. Her reputation laid delicately in his hands. One wrong move, and he ruin her for good.
Beatrice sighed, "This dance will never be over between us. We never had the chance. Your wife saw to that." She threw back at him with a quirked brow. "We got angry words and slammed doors and that was not how this was supposed to end. Not something that was so good. So consuming. It should never have ended like that."
Perhaps if there was some sort of closure, would they be able to move on with the very people that he was speaking of? Or were they bound to run circles round one another for forever? Were they going to spend an eternity ruining everything that came close to them, only to end up together all over again?
"We are burning against them." Beatrice repeated, with a nod of her head. She shifted so that she was at the edge of her seat and lent in a little closer to him. If the pair had been on their own, she might've even whispered it to him. "Then wouldn't it be better that we create our own inferno together? Rather than destroying them?"
She let the words linger, her gaze locked with his. If they were to ruin the people that they truly loved, then why couldn't they find solace in one another? Beatrice knew that she could be content in that.
Beatrice shrugged her shoulders and sat back in the chair, "You tell me. You're the one who is divorced. Can love truly die, my lord?" There was a whisper of a smile on her lips as she spoke the name that did not belong to him but knew that he cared for.
