𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙠.

[sprklngdust]

#𝘀𝗽𝗿𝗸𝗹𝗻𝗴𝗱𝘂𝘀𝘁  ...  dependent  multimuse  for  cordiallyhqs.  as  loved  by  astra.

.˚✧.‎‎    ‎—‎‎—‎  𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨  𝙞𝙨𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙧𝙖  𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨.  thirty  two.  a  shadow  of  her  childhood  ,  walking  around  with  the  notion  that  becoming  the  ideal  will  save  her  from  a  lifetime  of  heartbreak.  ( intro. )

.˚✧.‎‎    ‎—‎‎—‎  𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙨𝙨  𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙖  𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙬𝙤𝙤𝙙.  thirty  one.  a  woman's  first  blood  doesn't  come  from  between  her  legs  ,  but  from  biting  her  tongue.  ( intro. )

.˚✧.‎‎    ‎—‎‎—‎  𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨  𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙚  𝙥𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙠𝙚.  twenty  nine.  stitching  beauty  from  ruin  ,  one  thread  at  a  time  ,  never  letting  the  world  see  where  it  once  unraveled  her.  ( intro.)

.˚✧.‎‎    ‎—‎‎—‎  𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨  𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙧𝙖  𝙗𝙡𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙚.  thirty.  wears  elegance  like  it  was  stitched  into  her  bones  ,  but  walks  like  someone  who  had  to  earn  every  step.  ( intro. )

[femalescharacters]

Eloise Bridgerton in 3.03 Bridgerton (2020-)

[ofbledwine]

"It is only because it feels such a way with you," Arden finds himself admitting. If he had known better, this was a confession— something worth guilt and shame lingers underneath. Isadora's company is what convinces him that it's a truth to set him free above all else. "You come from a time in my life when it was so simple. Though, I suppose it was our life the way we were all intertwined with one another.

She made him realize how many thorns were in his palm, how much it ached to wrap his hand around the things that were not his. All the same, she left hm questioning if he could hold her in such hands. Would he stain her, or could the very silk that she was made of be pulled by scabs on his hands that he did not even see anymore? Old blood, ancient wounds, still cling to his palms and hiding the lines of fate he defied over and over again.

You speak as if I chose to return. I simply did not know where else to go.

Something threatens to break, the sun to dull, his chest too heavy— of course, Sienna's touch still reaches him even in the moments where he swears he could barely fathom the thought of her. Their loyalty to her returns, a chime like the church bells you can feel in your heart with its slow and heavy growl.

"We have both done things for Sienna that were not our choice," He says quickly, unable to help the stir of aggravation his former wife instills. "She was always interrupting, always scheming. There was never a moment to savor what was unless it was to take account of what was missing. I thought that was the only way to live and perhaps it was, once upon a time, when I needed greed and lust and gluttony to convince myself I was worthy. I knew I would have been content with the things she called too simple."

His gaze returns to her, musings of Sienna like a breath of fire and the burn after a sip of liquor. But Isadora? Just in thought, she is like the splash of the first rain of spring midday.

"Can you promise me something?"

[sprklngdust]

“our  life  …”  the  words  are  not  ones  she  meant  to  repeat.  certainly  not  aloud,  where  he  might  hear  them.  yet  they  linger.  clinging  to  her  ribcage  like  a  gasp  misplaced  on  its  way  to  the  lungs.  pressing  down  against  her  skin,  rivaling  the  sun’s  warmth  now  casting  a  tint  of  rose  across  her  cheeks.  isadora  can't  understand  why.  it  is  hardly  the  first  time  she  has  been  folded  into  the  lives  of  others.  his.  sienna’s.  wherever  they  went,  she  followed.  and  for  many  years,  the  three  of  them  had  moved  as  one.  even  if  the  intimacy  of  marriage  had  always  belonged  to  them  alone.  they  had  not  cast  her  aside  entirely.

but  it  is  the  way  he  speaks  them.  not  the  words  themselves,  but  the  shape  of  them  on  his  tongue.  gentle.  drifting  across  the  water  like  a  sigh.  they  settle  in  the  strands  of  her  hair,  and  she  cannot  help  but  wonder  if  they  mean  more  than  he  lets  on.  simple.  with  her.  and  had  he  not  said  that  he  …  enjoyed  such  moments?

her  gaze  drifts  to  him  once  more,  catching  the  flicker  of  displeasure  that  flares  at  sienna’s  name.  she  does  not  pretend  to  understand  what  it  must  feel  like  to  love,  to  be  everything  to  someone,  and  to  surrender  it  all.  “i  hope  you  have  come  to  understand  you  do  not  require  such  things  to  be  worthy.  not  of  affection,  nor  anything  else.  you,  your  enjoyment  of  life,  your  interests  …  a-all  that  you  are,  and  all  that  you  long  to  be  make  you  worthy,  arden.  of  anything  you  should  desire.”

voice  falters.  the  honesty  sits  heavy,  like  gravel  on  her  tongue.  without  meaning  to,  she  has  leaned  in  again.  half  bent  and  nearly  across  the  narrow  boat.  her  breath  catching  in  the  wake  of  her  own  words.  caught  up  in  him.  in  their  small  world.  in  her  quiet  defense.  she  blinks,  startled  by  his  question,  and  attempts  to  draw  herself  upright.

“anyt—  yes,  o-of  course.  so  long  as  it  is  within  my  power.”

[yenneferblog]

𝕬𝖓𝖞𝖆 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖙𝖗𝖆 𝖆𝖘 𝖄𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖋𝖊𝖗 ♢ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖂𝖎𝖙𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖗

[sprklngdust]

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.” 

[sprklngdust]

who  :  @brassdivinity  ,  lady  aylin  kara. where  :  main  deck  ,  vows  of  larimar.

“you  know,  i  find  it  terribly  rude—”  words  halted  as  florentia  moved,  easing  herself  into  a  quiet  spot  beside  aylin.  despite  the  harsh  cut  of  her  tone,  her  features  bore  amusement.  the  sort  of  twinkle  reserved  only  for  those  who  had  earned  it.  “i’ve  been  here  well  over  an  hour,  and  this  is  the  first  i’ve  seen  of  you!”  gaze  turned  to  the  other  woman  then,  a  flash  of  warmth  softening  the  reprimand.

she  extended  her  hand.  a  second  glass  of  lemonade  held  between  elegant  fingers,  as  though  she'd  been  sent  forth  to  fetch  it  and  was  only  now  returning.  “this  is  far  different  from  the  last  wedding  we  attended,”  florentia  remarked,  her  gaze  sweeping  across  the  deck.  marking  the  corners  where  some  chose  to  hide,  others  where  they  leaned  too  far.  the  marvel.  the  grandeur.  with  all  the  ton’s  extravagance,  she  had  expected  …  if  not  decorum,  then  at  least  better  behavior.  “though  i  daresay  it’s  shaping  up  to  be  equal  in  disaster.”  a  glance  sideways.  spark  of  mischief.  “do  you  expect  anyone  will  fall  overboard?”

[sprklngdust]

who  :  @secretgcrdens  ,  mister  avi  lakhani. where  :  working  class  neighborhood  ,  hours  before  vows  of  larimar.

“are  you  quite  certain  it  is  no  trouble?  we  might—  well,  i  am  certain  a  single  missed  lesson  shall  not  impede  his  progress  greatly.”  but  ambrose  had  been  most  insistent.  he  had  stood  tall,  squaring  his  small  shoulders  with  all  the  might  he  could  summon,  and  declared  that  she  must  bring  him.  precisely  on  time.  as  he  always  met  with  mister  lakhani  on  such  days.  how  was  she  to  explain  that  the  day  held  other,  more  pressing  demands?

charlotte's  hand  had  rested  lightly  on  her  brother’s  shoulder  as  they  entered,  steadying  him  until  the  room’s  familiar  hush  put  him  at  ease.  then  he  was  off.  brushing  her  aside  with  all  the  self-assurance  of  a  boy  who  belonged,  pulling  out  the  last  pages  they'd  worked  through.  “you  need  not  let  him  rule  over  you  as  he  does  me,”  she  whispered.  the  hush  of  a  secret.  wrapped  like  silk  around  her  laughter.  “if  you  have  the  evening  engaged,  you  mustn’t  let  him  hinder  your  preparations.  truly,  he  will  be  alright.”

[sprklngdust]

who  :  @rosewcterdrunk  ,  sir  thayer  claremont. where  :  below  deck  ,  vows  of  larimar.

“i  do  hope  it  is  not  i  you  intend  to  hide  from,  sir  claremont.”  where  others  might  have  taken  the  proverbial  hint  …  florentia  did  not  bend  quite  so  easily.  or  rather,  she  preferred  to  press  where  nerves  wore  thin.  to  hold  a  thread  bare  until  it  frayed  against  the  edge  of  acceptable.  one  hand  rests  lightly  at  her  hip,  her  gaze  set  with  stony  regard.  she  is  not  surprised.  everyone  who  is  anyone  has  been  in  attendance  tonight,  and  she  has  made  no  shortage  of  conversation.

nor  has  she  lacked  for  mischief.  particularly  in  seeking  those  who  might  have  preferred  not  to  be  found.  if  the  evening  is  to  be  spent  in  theatre,  she  sees  no  reason  why  her  enjoyment  must  remain  confined  to  the  bliss  of  others.  “are  you  aware  how  long  it  has  been  since  last  i've  seen  you?”  she  questions,  a  note  too  light  to  be  entirely  warm.  “i  needn’t  tell  you  such  avoidances  appear  rather  deliberate.”  a  pause.  one  brow  lifted  in  delicate  offence.  “and  hurtful.”

[sprklngdust]

who  :  @ren0wned  ,  miss  chanmi  mun. where  :  the  palace  ,   hours  before  vows  of  larimar.

it  is  not  a  graceful  nature  that  wraps  around  the  unsuspecting  girl’s  wrist.  nor  is  it  much  like  that  of  a  viscountess  to  tug  her  behind  a  rather  large  plant,  ducking  them  both  out  of  sight.  but  there  is  laughter  upon  florentia’s  lips  as  she  does  so.  only  daring  to  straighten  her  skirts  when  she  is  certain  they  are  unseen.  “i  could  not  take  another  second  of  it,”  she  exclaims.  eye  rolled  high  to  the  heavens.  a  half  sipped  glass  swaying  in  her  grip.  “do  forgive  me.”

the  music  spills  out  in  warm,  clumsy  ribbons.  a  violin  dragging  behind  the  laughter.  the  hush  of  gossip  or  seasickness  clinging  to  the  woodwork.

where  others  had  seen  the  ship  as  confinement.  adrift  and  untethered  from  the  certainty  of  land  …  florentia  had  felt  something  quite  different.  something  bright.  a  quiet  kindling  in  the  chest.  and  it  was  that  same  fire  that  had  her  pulling  chamni  away  from  the  crowd.  and  from  expectation.  “they  mean  well,  i  suppose.  but  it  is  all  so  dreadfully—  all  that  talk  of  forever.”  florentia  sways  a  step,  leaning  her  hip  against  a  rail.  the  sea’s  breath  threading  through  her  curls.  “as  though  love  were  a  season  one  could  promise.  rather  than  a  storm  one  survives.”

[sprklngdust]

who  :  @ren0wned  ,  miss  chanmi  mun. where  :  the  palace  ,   hours  before  vows  of  larimar.

fear  was  a  dreaded,  useless  thing.  yet  it  had  climbed  its  way  up  the  lining  of  her  throat  and  near  robbed  her  lungs  of  air.  charlotte  did  not  know  why  she  had  come.  why  she  still  tried  to  mend  what  had  long  since  frayed.  but  like  a  threaded  needle,  she  kept  to  the  work.  patient.  steady.  drawing  the  same  path  through  worn  fabric,  tying  hope  into  seams  too  delicate  to  promise  strength.

even  if  she  had  faltered  when  announced.  like  a  thread  pulled  wrong.

“my  lady.”  she  dipped  a  careful  curtsey,  the  box  shifting  awkwardly  in  her  grasp.  a  gesture  more  formal  than  once  would  have  passed  between  them.  “i  know  you  do  not  wish  to  see  me.  and  i  beg  your  pardon  for  coming  without  proper  notice...”  charlotte  set  the  parcel  upon  a  side  table.,  then  stepped  back.  as  though  distance  might  soften  what  closeness  once  had  not.  “you  are  not  obliged  to  wear  it.  i  only  thought  with  this  evening’s  celebration  …  it  might  please  you  to  shine  a  little  brighter.  as  you  deserve.”

[evangeline-huntington]

It made complete sense to her that God would have such a sense of humor as to berate her for spending time in the kitchen at a party by having someone nearly run over her. A sharp pang hit Evie's gut at the cosmic collision, and the sprig of thyme nearly flew clean out of her hands. Scrambling to bring light back into her field of vision, the sudden shroud of darkness coming over her from the whole person who slammed into her, Evie held fast to their arms. She felt them do the same, mostly out of fright, she imagined, than security.

Rapid blinking, as if to test her own draft of reality, kept Evie from doing anything but smiling, a short, stuttered incredulous laugh hitting the guttural part of her throat. She recognized Miss Blythe, she was an easy spot. Hard-earned respect under drapery for dresses. Something lethal hidden among jewels - at least, that's how she appeared.

Still, she offered her apologies. Evie snorted. "Right, of course," she chuckled, "bottom feeders need not be surprised when they find themselves underfoot." A comment laced with a tangle of good humor and truth serum.

Another small laugh, this one without the weight of an assumption. "Where else does a working class lady like me belong at a party like this?" She held up the stem briefly before hiding it away in her reticule again. "Thyme. New recipe." Then, her expression soured - not into one of contempt, but of concern. A crinkle between narrowing brows, the telltale dip of her mouth into a top-heavy crescent. "I'm sorry, Miss Blythe, but are you all right? You look..." a wince, a flinch, "green."

[sprklngdust]

it  is  not  until  miss  huntington’s  words  echo  back  that  amira  feels  their  weight.  clinging  to  the  corners  of  her  mind,  as  stubbornly  as  she  herself  clings  to  the  paneling  of  the  wall.  of  course  she  meant  to  keep  upright.  of  course  she  meant  no  harm.  but  words  thrown  without  care,  have  landed  far  from  their  mark.  her  expression  tightens,  features  gathering  into  something  far  from  the  composure  she  wore  upon  first  stepping  aboard.

“no,  i’m  sorry—  i  did  not  mean…”  but  the  ship  sways.  cresting  over  a  wave,  she  imagines.  and  her  stomach  follows.  the  contents  floating,  unmoored  from  what  had  once  anchored  them.  “if  you  are  a  bottom  feeder,  i  dare  not  ask  where  you  might  place  me.”  and  again,  her  tongue  betrays  her.  the  words  fall  without  thought.  without  understanding  the  truth  they  reveal.“i  truly  am  sorry.  for  both  my  misstep…  and  my  misguided  tongue.”

she  does  what  she  can  to  follow  the  shape  of  conversation,  to  fold  herself  into  some  silhouette  of  normalcy.  but  the  gods  are  not  paying  enough  attention  to  keep  her  steady.

green.  she  repeats  the  word.  the  sound  of  it  a  whisper  fragment,  half-twisted  by  a  helpless  sort  of  laughter.  “i’m  fine.  something  about  sea  legs  and  i’m  afraid  i’ve  yet  to  earn  mine.”  small  boats  were  one  thing.  a  quiet  drift  across  a  still  lake.  summer  sun  freckling  the  ripples  with  color.  she  could  manage  that.  but  this  was  a  different  beast  entirely.  “as  you’ve  said  —  at  a  party  such  as  this,  where  does  a  working-class  lady  belong?”  a  breath.  barely  a  smile.  “i  had  hoped  the  kitchen  might  not  be  too  empty.  perhaps  someone  there  might  spare  a  bit  of  mercy.  or  at  the  very  least…  a  cup  of  tea.”

[ofbledwine]

He leans close to hear the soft breaths in which she speaks, devour it for all it is worth as he knows it is his. No one else is privy to such fragile words and he holds them in his teeth, pearlescent frame to just the sound of each letter and no matter the meaning. How blessed he must be to catch them. Yet, Arden is seemingly too close— his own breath grazes against her cheek as hers does just over his lips.

"I do hope you did. We were stuck with them all until they died for over a week— fifteen arrangements to every room in the manor," He nods, the furrow of his brow unraveling with a mockery of delight and wonder at the memory. It is not difficult to pretend, as he swears through her eyes and the moments beside her make them more than bearable. "When was the last time you had so many flowers in your possession, hmm? I should think a crime was committed that day. The florist must have eradicated an entire meadow from existence."

And if she dared to tell him it had been less than a week, he'd ensure a funeral would proceed if only to steal flowers from a grave for her.

"You would not mind such public displays of adoration and affection?" He asks her, his voice dipping low once more to the very whisper she let graze the smile he leans into. Hanging to every word, he can just barely fight the hiss of disappointment when her laugh silences her confession. Still, he basks in the warmth of such a sound. "What other ways would you be so privy to, Isadora? I-I ask only to ensure if someone dares to cross your path this season, they exceed your expectations but still remain true to your... passions."

Ardens fingers catch hers, and it surely a mistake so openly. He does not drop her hand, though— never, not even when Sienna would catch his other hand to lay claim. Her hand slips across his palm and off the tips of his fingers, swift but diligently.

Would he seek love again? The sun burns where is reaches them, and he thinks of her. Woven in a web is the only way he ever finds her, ever loves her again and is loved. He does wish even a semblance of the same fate on Isadora, but it does not mean he doesn't want it at all.

"Would you hold it against me if I said I did?" Arden asks her softly, like it's a secret but there's distance between him and his own words. His focus remains on her just as it always has when she is in the same room. "After all there has been with Sienna, and the way it has ended. Is it greed to still want love?"

[sprklngdust]

“sixteen,”  she  corrects.  but  it  slips  out  like  a  secret.  fragile  where  it  drifts  between  them.  and  she  feels  everything.  the  erratic  rhythm  of  her  heart,  the  tremble  in  her  voice,  the  waver  of  her  lips.  his  breath  grazes  the  edge  of  hers,  close  enough  to  steal  the  air  she  meant  to  keep.  “i-i  had  sixteen  in  my  room.  i  stole  one,  from  the  kitchen.  they  thought  to  brighten  it  but  ...  it  was  too  close  to  the  stove.”  teeth  catch  the  curve  of  her  lower  lip.  it  seems  silly,  almost  childish,  to  admit  aloud.  but  she’d  never  even  told  sienna.

humor  and  embarrassment  mix  across  her  features.  whisper  of  a  smile.  but  the  lightness  falters.  it  always  does.  “that  would  be  the  last  time,  i  suppose.  i  kept  them.  even  long  after  they  turned.  curling  inward  …  like  they'd  been  scolded  for  staying  too  long.”

her  breath  catches  when  his  words  turn  toward  affection.  toward  her.

“arden,  i—”  words  slip  before  they  can  root,  stolen  by  the  weight  of  his  fingers  curling  against  hers.  his  touch  sears  through  the  thin  barrier  of  her  glove.  how  she  regrets  wearing  them.  her  gaze  drops.  fixed  on  the  place  they  touch,  the  way  their  hands  move  as  if  they’ve  always  belonged  to  each  other.  she  nearly  forgets  what  she  meant  to  say. 

when  she  does  manage  to  lift  her  eyes  again,  there  is  something  too  raw  in  them.  “how  could  i  know?”  question  aches  in  its  vulnerability.  because  truthfully,  she  hadn’t  known.  if  she  could  accept  affection.  or  even  recognize  it  when  it  came.  the  suitors  had  once  been  there.  not  many.  just  enough  to  soothe  the  bruises  of  her  ego.  but  she’d  turned  them  away.  thrown  herself  into  a  best  friend  who  demanded  more  than  she  ever  returned.  “i  do  not  think  you  need  worry  too  much.  there  are  so  many  lovely  young  ladies  this  season.  i  am  not  exactly  at  the  top  of  anyone’s  list.”

her  tone  is  light.  a  veil  she’s  worn  too  long.  but  the  next  words  rise  through  her,  timed  with  the  waves.  “no,  of  course  not!”  isadora's  hand  lands  against  the  curve  of  his  forearm.  meant  only  to  reassure.  but  for  a  moment,  she  forgets.  not  just  herself.  but  the  world.  the  rules.  the  watching  eyes.  she  sees  only  him.  “i  do  not  think  it  greed.  after  all  that  has  been,  you  do  not  shut  yourself  off  from  the  possibility.  that  is  a  wonderful  thing.”

her  thumb  shifts.  a  small,  unthinking  movement,  up  and  then  down.  breath  that  hitches  behind  it  is  not  meant  to  be  heard.  and  though  she  does  retrieve  herself,  it  is  not  a  fast  movement.  she  does  not  want  to  go.

“h-ha—”  gaze  drops  again.  and  with  it,  something  sinks  inside  her.  weight  so  sudden  she  fears  she  might  break  beneath  it.  “have  any  of  the  young  ladies  caught  your  eye  this  season?”

[promisedhexvens]

as beatrice looked to the woman beside her, she felt a sort of kinship to her that she could not describe. the battle between head and heart was one that she battled with often - constantly. especially as of late. she wished to press isadora a little more but she refrained. she had only known this woman a matter of moments - that was something which she had to keep reminding herself. she did not want to do something which would scare her away.

though as she described the person that she had been thinking about, her smile widened a little bit. "ridiculous sounds like a pretty good word for it." she joked. she could certainly picture that feeling too. the giddy feeling that you could feel when thinking of that one person. before a few weeks ago, that person would have been callum. but now? she wasn't so sure. "well, if you want my opinion on a situation that i hardly know the details of and should not be poking my nose in -" she giggled, "if he makes you feel happy - then maybe it is something that you should pursue. what is the worst that could happen?"

"of course." beatrice quickly nodded, "lemonade!" she eager took isadoras arm and fell into step beside her. she hadn't expected to make a new friend at the races but she certainly thought that she might have found it. "i think it would be pretty wonderful to be known for something like that, definitely."

[sprklngdust]

it  was  the  first  time ,  or  perhaps  too  long  had  passed  for  her  to  rightly  remember ,  that  isadora  had  felt  the  soft  brush  of  encouragement.  had  been  offered  support  rather  than  subtle  correction.  though  such  things  often  occurred  only  within  the  confines  of  her  own  mind.  a  quiet  withholding.  but  in  a  case  such  as  this  …  it  was  all  she  could  do  not  to  lay  herself  bare  for  the  woman  whose  growing  ease  made  isadora  long  to  cling  tightly  to  something  like  friendship.  a  stranger  still.  not  the  sort  before  whom  one  should  confess  one’s  sins.

“how  is  one  to  know  if  they  are  happy ?  is  it  like  some  ache  behind  the  quiet  moments ?  or  a  retreat  into  childish  delight ,  all  laughter and  no  sense ?”  she  wishes  to  bury  her  face  in  her  hands  the  moment  the  words  pass  her  lips.  there  is  a  spiral  upon  which  she  cannot  quite  stand.  and  arden  ..   he  has  become  the  very  tipping  point.  “oh ,  please  do  not  answer  that.  i  do  not  even  wish  to  know  the  truth  of  it.  especially  in  the  world  of  men.  but  …”  she  falters.  tries  to  still  the  fluttering  in  her  chest.  “he  does  make  me  whatever  sort  of  happy  one  might  hope  for.  though  i  fear  it  is  not  so  simple.”

she  will  not  give  thought  to  the  storm  that  would  tear  london  apart  should  she  pursue  him  and  sienna  come  to  know.  nor  the  humiliation  that  would  bury  her  should  arden  not  feel  the  same.

she  turns  them  gently  toward  the  stand  serving  lemonade ,  requesting  a  fresh  cup  for  herself.  and  another  besides.  but  she  is  no  more  ready  to  relinquish  her  companion’s  arm  than  she  is  the  comfort  of  her  presence.  “please  tell  me  you’ve  known  something  similar.  do  not  leave  me  to  bear  the  shame  of  being  so  easily  undone  by  a  man  entirely  alone.”

[whereaway]

. closed starter. @sprklngdust. amira .

EVERY FACE AND NAME INVITED WERE ETCHED INTO PIET’S HEAD SO HE KNEW WHO WOULD BE ON HIS BOAT. People would fall through the cracks with nobles feeling the need to bring whoever they wanted on the ship but without telling him or the people he hired to help run the event. It was rude. He let it slide. Seeing a face he did not recognise, friendly he walks over but with caution for who was on his ship without his knowing. “I would offer you a party favour, but we only had enough made for invited guests onto the boat. Who are you here with?”

[sprklngdust]

“as  lovely  as  they  are,  that  will  not  be  necessary.  i  do  not  require  my  own.”  amira’s  reply  is  softened  by  the  slight  bow  of  her  head.  not  a  full  dip  into  curtsy ,  but  she  knew  when  a  signal  of  respect  was  meant  to  be  displayed.  “the  duchess  of  whitlock.  she  has  requested  i  remain  ..  near  her ,  this  evening.”  such  has  been  the  rhythm  of  recent  years.  where  emma  walks ,  amira  follows.  just  far  enough  not  to  cast  a  shadow.  though  on  this  particular  night  …  she  would  not  have  protested  remaining  behind  at  the  manor.  or  any  solid  ground.  “it  is  a  lovely  celebration.  i  shall  do  my  utmost  not  to  disturb  it.”  she  is  not  so  naïve  as  to  believe  this  is  an  evening  meant  for  the  likes  of  her.  she  wishes  only  to  remain  within  reach.  should  she  be  needed.

[ofbledwine]

Arden swears he can feel her heartbeat through the thin skin of her fingertips, and if he moves too quickly, she'll pierce the delicate flesh and bleed out over him. He finds himself holding his breath, taunting sedated if only to drink the very same air as her. Never once had Arden ever thought to savor anything, and here he stands with the aching fear hat if he takes too much too fast— he will consume her completely, and she will vanish once more. Like a match struck in the dark, her light will be swallowed whole against him.

But all he does is stand still, wrinkle between his brow to feign disinterest until she echoes the dream he plays out in his head. It is only then that he softens, makes it known that she is all that is in focus in the face of the indulgence and extravagance that spills around them in promises, clamor, and the crash of waves below.

His gaze is on hers, fixated no matter where she turns or coos. "My wedding was a demonstration of power and wealth, nothing else. It was all by design to convince the Oliviers that the House of Grant was a worthy gamble. Five days of incessant promises, enough flowers to make everyone weep with sneezes and mistake it for real sentiments, and look how that ended," He recounts, and it's an old complaint because his eyes trace her against that day. There is hardly a difference even after all these years. Even then, he had wondered about her blushing face under the veil. Sienna wore it like a disguise then, and he knew it would only be an injustice if it was over Isadora. "I think love is strongest when it is quiet, and patient. London and the practices of the ton mistake it for a race to the altar. It is very much possible, but when it burns so bright, how long will it take such a flame to lick the entire match clean?"

Her sigh, the dispel of breath he only wishes to catch for her, brushes against him ever so softly. He could nearly pretend he felt it, but it leaves with the softest little thrill over his skin.

"Would you ever want to love someone that much, Isadora?" He asked.

[sprklngdust]

the  intricate  retelling  of  his  wedding  day ,  in  details  she  is  ashamed  to  admit  she  still  remembers ,  pulls  at  her  attention.  drawn  impossibly  closer  to  him  as  the  crowd  beyond  gathers  in  intimate  celebration.  vows  shared.  a  blinding  contrast  to  the  ones  she  had  borne  witness  to ,  up  close.  the  ones  she  had  helped  sienna  practice  for  days.  needing  the  delivery  to  land  just  so.  perfection.  not  that  she  had  ever  floundered  a  single  time.  isadora  did  not  know  how  she  had  maintained  such  grace.  not  when  arden  had  looked  …  power  and  wealth  indeed.  it  had  been  a  moment  straight  from  a  fairytale.  or  so  it  had  seemed ,  at  the  time.

“excuse  you !  i  loved  those  flowers ,”  she  murmurs.  voice  not  more  than  a  breath  above  whisper.  the  sort  of  quiet  opinion  not  usually  offered.  but  still ,  isadora  nods  all  the  same.  her  gaze  transfixed ,  wrapped  around  his.  how  was  he  able  to  make  her  feel  seen  and  safe  all  at  once ?

it  is  hard  to  ignore  the  violent  swell  of  her  heart.  rivaling  the  crash  of  waves  beneath  the  ship’s  hull.  as  if  she  might  be  knocked  off  her  footing.  sent  tumbling  into  his  arms.  and  what  then  —  would  that  feeling  of  safety  remain?

isadora  cannot  bring  herself  to  blink.  nor  clear  her  throat  as  a  means  of  escape  from  her  thoughts.  the  burn  of  color  warming  her  cheeks  only  makes  the  spiral  worse.  this  is  unlike  her.  but  the  last  few  weeks  spent  in  london ,  alone ,  had  made  her  feel...  “pa-patient ,  yes.  i  agree.  but  i  am  not  certain  it  need  always  remain  quiet.”  word  catches  in  her  throat ,  clinging  to  dry  patches  she  had  not  realized  had  grown.  her  tongue  swells ,  needing  reprieve  as  she  drags  it  across  her  lower  lip ,  resisting  the  urge  to  chew  down.  “if  love  is…  true ,  rare  as  it  might  be  —  there  should  be  nothing  which  stops  it  from  being  expressed.  perhaps  not  a  race  to  the  altar.  but  surely ,  there  are  other  ways.”

but  her  words  make  her  laugh.  a  quiet ,  sad  little  chuckle.  as  if  she  would  know  anything  of  love.

“i  would ,”  she  replies.  too  quickly.  unthinking.  as  if  her  heart  had  leapt  from  her  chest  before  her  mind  could  catch  it.  “i  do  not  think  there  is  a  single  woman  in  london  who  does  not.”  she  should  look  away.  should  school  her  breath  and  mend  her  posture.  instead  she  finds  herself  leaning ,  just  slightly.  her  hand  shifts ,  barely  brushing  his.  as  if  proximity  alone  might  slow  the  storm  beneath  her  ribs.  her  lips  part.  she  hesitates.  “—  would  you?”

[sprklngdust]

who  :  @whispercd  ,  duchess  emma  whitlock. where  :  whitlock  manor ,  hours  before  vows  of  larimar.

“what  of  this  one ?”  the  gown  is  draped  delicately  across  her  arms.  outstretched ,  still.  allowing  the  late  morning  sun  to  scatter  itself  along  every  stitched  glimmer.  the  fabric  catches  light  like  glass  beneath  water.  a  soft ,  sparkling  pink.  unlike  the  others  strewn  across  the  bed.  not  quite  dismissed.  but  neither  does  it  summon  that  particular  brightness  in  the  duchess’s  eye.  the  one  amira  has  been  chasing  all  morning.

she  had  spent  hours  at  the  modiste.  in  truth ,  at  both  lady  may’s  and  queen  anne’s.  should  anyone  press  her  for  loyalties.  she’d  drifted  between  them  like  a  thread  with  no  needle.  searching.  hoping.  and  yet ,  she  returned  home  with  the  unmistakable  weight  of  having  come  back  empty-handed.

the  other  gowns  were  nothing  short  of  beautiful.  emeralds  and  pale  blues ,  like  seafoam  and  sky.  gowns  fit  for  a  ship’s  deck  and  salt  sweet  wind.  they  would  shimmer  beautifully  beneath  the  sails.  but  she  had  served  emma  long  enough  to  know  when  something  was  amiss.  even  in  silence.  especially  in  silence.  a  small  frown  gathers ,  faint  as  a  sigh  at  the  edge  of  her  mouth.  her  head  tilts.  just  enough  to  catch  herself.  “we  might  consider  something  less…  new ?”  the  suggestion  tastes  like  something  left  too  long  on  the  tongue.  but there  are  gowns.  still folded  in  quiet  corners.  tucked  behind  older  laces  and  dust.  never  worn.  simply  waiting.  “your  grace ,  if  i  may  —  try  them  on.  we’ve  time  yet ,  before  your  hair  must  be  done.  and  the  choosing  may  be  easier  if  you  feel  them…  more  than  you  see  them.”

[thenextlordthorpe]

OPEN STARTER | VOWS OF LARIMAR EVENT LOCATION: PIET'S BOAT

Time had gotten away from him but he didn't notice or care. Before the guests had arrived, he and Piet had gone through every inch of the boat to make sure it was perfect and exactly what they wanted. Tobias being the instiable man he was had seduced Piet, unable to resist each other they had lay claim to nearly every room in the ship then an old favourite: the crow's nest. They'd been too distracted to notice guests arriving and only when he'd droppped his coat from the nest did Tobias notice. "I think we better get going," he laughs.

On deck, he quickly gets himself dressed and looks to the shocked eyes that greet him. "What?" he grins not even blushing. "We're newlyweds!"

[sprklngdust]

shock  and  awe  flicker  beneath  the  delicate  reserve  of  her  usual  expression.  she  tries  to  withhold  herself.  to  maintain  the  proper  grace  of  a  simple  modiste ,  lingering  at  the  edge  of  the  gathering  she  helped  dress.  but  there  are  too  many  memories.  too  much  history  laced  between  them.  “you  are ,”  she  breathes.  and  then  brighter ,  uncontained.  “you  are !”  her  delight  spills  through  her ,  arms  flung  about  his  shoulders  before  thought  can  restrain  her.  he  is  to  be  a  lord.  far  above  her  station.  but  she  sees  only  the  poor  sailor  who  worked  with  her  to  ensure  they  both  survived.  “congratulations ,  dear  friend.  i  cannot  think  of  anyone  whose  happiness  would  please  me  more.”

she  pulls  back.  rights  the  folds  of  her  dress,  cut  to  the  very  fashion  the  ton  demands.  and  behind  a  composed  smile ,  she  presses  down  the  heat  of  tears.  joy.  threaded  with  something  lonelier.  but  she  does  not  let  it  mar  the  moment.  “please  do  tell  me  that  you  intend  a  long  honeymoon.  somewhere  far  from  london ,  if  you  are  wise.”