#kismctt

[beauregared]

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡    . . .    kismet   dudley    (    @kismctt    )    𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞    . . .    knot   garden   ,   hampton   court    .

the  paleness  of  his  flesh  glowed  with  the  last  vestiges  of  warmth  as  winter  frost  nipped  at  their  heels,  the  trimmed  hedges  of  knot  garden  providing  an  endless  labyrinth  in  which  he  was  the  hunter  and  she  was  the  elusive  white  fawn  ─  golden - haired  and  tanned,  he  was  helios  in  pursuit  of  selene,  moon - faced  and  shy  as  she  darted  through  the  rows  of  towering  greenery  to  escape  her  company  after  he  had  slipped  a  note  into  her  soft  hands  as  his  group  of  boisterous  young  lords  passed  her  circle  of  tittering  maidens,  exchanging  nods  and  smiles  and  gentle  teases  until  duty  had  called  them  back  to  their  respective  masters.  foolishly,  he  had  waited  for  her  dark  eyes,  so  compelling  in  their  depths,  to  peer  from  behind  a  potted  plant  yet  she  had  been  too  quick  for  him  to  catch  at  first  sight,  leading  him  further  into  the  knotted  design  of  the  gardens  until  they  came  to  the  bench  that  he  had  seen  her  weep  upon  some  eight  weeks  prior,  salty  tears  glistening  down  her  cheeks  as  he  had  intruded  on  her  privacy.  beauregard  had  not  meant  to  make  his  presence  known,  watching  in  admiration  from  afar  as  kismet  dudley  entered  court  holding  onto  the  skirts  of  the  princess  elizabeth.  he  had  been  content  in  writing  endless  letters  devoted  to  just  her  features  and  the  sound  that  her  laugh  made  in  the  hallways  of  hampton,  like  bell  chimes  in  the  wind,  never  to  be  sent  to  the  recipient  of  his  adoration  but  kept  in  the  drawers  of  his  desk,  multiplying  like  parchment  rabbits  but  he  had  been  compelled  to  approach  at  the  sight  of  her  distress,  falling  to  his  knees  and  begging  her  to  share  her  sorrows  with  him.

looking  back,  he  had  been  surprised  she  had  not  just  kicked  him  aside  for  his  sheer  impertinence  but  had  instead  shared  her  woes,  spilling  words  and  tears  into  his  offered  kerchief.  their  meetings  had  grown  more  frequent  following  that,  her  gaze  meeting  with  his  own  across  a  room  or  during  sunday  service,  and  soon  after,  she  had  dared  to  touch,  to  kiss,  to  pick  at  his  cheeks  and  lips  and  neck  until  he  was  squirming  in  his  seat,  a  servant  to  her  explorations  ─  beauregard  had  been  good,  patient,  serving  her  to  the  best  of  his  ability  with  his  fists  clenched  beside  his  thighs  until  she  entreated  him  to  touch  as  well.  even  then,  he  had  not  pressured  her  into  satisfying  his  desires,  going  at  her  pace  and  sending  her  off  first,  red  cheeks  and  swollen  lips,  while  he  took  himself  into  hand,  biting  down  whatever  she  deigned  to  leave  behind  (  be  it  a  glove  or  an  embroidered  kerchief  or  a  scarf  )  to  muffle  his  sounds  of  pleasure.

he  was  left  feeling  like  a  lecher,  undeserving  of  her  goodness  and  in  constant  need  of  bettering  himself,  yet  he  was  drawn  to  her  like  a  moth  to  the  fire,  lengthy  gait  bringing  him  closer  as  he  cupped  her  face  between  his  palms,  pressing  a  kiss  to  both  corners  of  her  mouth  in  greeting.  ❝  darling  one  ...  my  light  in  the  darkness  evening  ...  you  gave  me  quite  a  chase.  ❞  the  words  were  panted  against  her  cheeks,  his  lips  busy  pressing  mindless,  hungry  little  kisses  to  the  span  of  her  face  as  he  spoke.  greedily,  his  eyes  took  in  her  appearance,  the  delight  in  her  eyes  but  also  the  exhaustion  beneath,  gathering  like  the  rings  of  saturn.  ❝  do  not  strike  me  for  my  honesty  but  you  look  tired  ...  is  the  princess  still  determined  to  overwork  you  as  though  you  are  a  peasant  in  the  fields  and  not  lady  dudley  of  kenilworth  ?  tell  me,  tell  me  so  that  i  might  think  of  ways  to  make  you  laugh  and  chase  the  tensions  from  your  limbs.  ❞  his  hands  moved  down  from  cupping  her  cheeks  to  travel  to  her  shoulders,  squeezing  gently  at  her  arms  as  their  foreheads  rested  against  each  other,  breaths  intermingling.

[thunyielding]

With each day a marvel of challenges and societal graces, Elizabeth rarely found a private moment to thus enjoy with her inner circle of well-bred ladies. However, though one may have complained at this lack of solitude or isolation, Elizabeth had found it quite the breath of air needed to swallow the melancholy that had plagued her since the news of Lady Dudley’s quickening. So it did not help then, that she found herself more than often with either the lady who had brought her the intrigue in the first place or the assailant’s sister-in-law and by Elizabeth’s own reckoning, her love’s younger sister. For most of her career beneath the Princess and from within her prestigious household, Kismet Dudley had been offered and presented with luxuries and favouritism that the Princess could not give directly to the Earl himself. She was given leave whenever she wanted, or made to complete such tasks that heightened her name before other wanting courtiers. But with the fall from grace, Kismet had been pushed aside for one of the first times. 

So far, Elizabeth had deemed it necessary that Kismet was kept from her audience till the very first and last hours of the day — when not taking buckets of hot water to her linen lined bathtub or preparing the ointment that another pressed into her skin, Kismet was kept apart from her Royal Highness. This unfortunate turn of events would ripple onto her family, that was, if the distance was kept within renewal, and though some took it upon themselves to tread openly onto the past roles Kismet had once boasted off, some mentioned her in whispers. Why was it that Kismet Dudley had suddenly fallen so far? Had she not been, alongside Elizabeth’s childhood companion Meg Welles, but a favourite of her flock? 

As the day drew into night, Elizabeth returned to her rooms where the other maids began the usual routine of undress. As nimble fingers unwound the ties that kept her sleeves taut and her bodice tight, Elizabeth cast her stare around the room to find the shadow of Kismet. Biting back a hot-headed hiss of temptation, the Princess and presently the Lady Regent, lifted a hand to pause her girls before banishing all but Kismet from her rooms, the private audience an affair barely ever kept since the night Meg had sought it for herself two months previously. “Unbind my hair,” she commanded, sitting atop her stool before a looking glass, her hands clasped together upon her lap, her eyes unblinking as she watched Kismet through the reflection. “How is it, Kismet, that you are finally beyond your brother’s shadow and yet have nothing to show for it?” She asked, her patience thus worn thin before she removed her sleeves by her own two hands, relieving the pleasure of doing so for anyone else. “I should congratulate you on your family’s good luck…” @kismctt

[leiccsters]

Letter penned by Lord Leicester's own hand at Dover, 1559, and delivered via a page to Mistress Kismet Dudley.

Our most Dear and Beloved sister,

Thee may beest rest assured of the pain Mistress Leicester doth feel at being parted from thee, though of health the lady is stout, and eager to convey to thee, sister, her most earnest commendations and well wishes. The lady is desirous to heareth well of thee, and is at this moment tugging upon mine own sleeve and imploring me to tell thee that the miraculous babe swelling in her belly hast thrown another boot to her ribs. In respect to the king's summit at Dover, we has't yet nay news to report but that Her Majesty the Queen of Spain appears in fine health and is, save for frightful pallor and a Spanish jaw, so near in appearance to His Majesty. I wouldst that thee were here with us to taketh parteth in the entertainments, though in all matters I trusteth thee to beest honourably comporting yourself at court, taking great pains to reconcileth our poor case with Her Highness the Princess, in whom I knoweth thy gentle and loving spirit to work many wondrous things.

Thy most assured loving brother, Leicester

[MODERN TRANSCRIPTION] You may be rest assured of the pain Lady Leicester feels at being parted from you, though of health she is stout, and eager to convey to you, sister, her most earnest commendations and well wishes. She is desirous to hear well of you, and is at this moment tugging upon mine sleeve and imploring me to tell you that the miraculous babe that swells in her belly has thrown another boot to her ribs. In respect to the King's summit at Dover, we have yet no news to report but that Her Majesty the Queen of Spain appears in fine health and is, except for her frightful pallor and Spanish jaw, so near in appearance to His Majesty. I would that you were here with us to take part in the entertainments, though in all matters I trust you to be honourably comporting yourself at court, taking great pains to reconcile our poor case with Her Highness The Princess, in whom I know your gentle and loving spirit to work many wondrous things.

@kismctt

[thunyielding]

If one was to try and explain the dynamic that fostered the space between the Princess and her Ladies-in-Waiting, they would only stumble at the first hurdle. What remained was the loss and gain of various powers, favouritisms showered upon during certain moods or days of the week — girls played against one another for entertainment’s sake before she grew bored enough to once more become the centre of attention. In one moment, she thought to love Kismet Dudley and Marguerite Welles as her own beloved sisters, but with the turn of the moon all cherished emotion crumbled to frustration and annoyance. 

No one, Elizabeth thought, could ever understand the precarious and difficult position she was in. To love, was to give way to a weakness unfathomable to a Princess and heir of England. It did not help that Meg was known among the many courtiers as beautiful and eligible for any great match. It didn’t help either that Kismet was the beloved younger sister of Elizabeth’s own great love, Robert, and had her own slick admirers to boast of. Elizabeth, whom had grown up to understand that she was the fairest, the most intelligent and gilded treasure of court, only thought herself to garner such opinion — and so, she kept them close, twisting her hands around their throats before either could question what their Lady was up to. 

With the end of September approaching, Elizabeth had asked her girls to follow her out onto the garden for some last bursts of warm sunshine, picking at her skirts to free the movement of satin kept toes as she lead them out into the sprawling space, of which remained with a few trailing groups still merry from the previous celebrations. Choosing a tree to sit beneath that ached with picked remnants of English apples, Elizabeth arranged her skirts promptly, her head turning one way and then the other in some wasted hope to spot her most cherished Robin, before settling with the fact that he was not close enough to seek. Putting a hand to both of her ladies, she sighed and flared her nostrils with the same manner adopted by her father when bored with what life had offered him. “Are we to continue our needle work out of doors? Have we no joy to muster in terms of news? Say, there must be some harmonious gossip to enjoy on these sweet September noons?” @kismctt @ladymegwelles

[robsartd]

‘  i  would  never  kiss  anyone  who  doesn’t  burn  me  like  the  sun .  ’ / kismet

pale  lashes  dusted  the  freckled  tops  of  her  cheeks  as  the  countess  of  leicester  blinked  in  rapid  succession  (  once,  twice,  thrice  )  to  keep  amusement  at  bay  even  as  her  good  sister  played  the  act  of  an  affronted  maiden,  hand  pressed  against  her  collarbone  for  good  measure.  the  question  had  been  an  innocuous  one,  borne  out  of  gentle  teasing  for  kismet  had  not  yet  quenched  the  dark  curiosity  in  her  gaze  from  that  evening  when  amy  had  been  pulled  from  the  comforting  arms  of  hypnos  to  answer  her  questions  and  to  bear  witness  to  her  confessions  of  interest  in  the  lord  privy  seal  ─  it  had  taken  great  reserve  not  to  leap  out  of  bed  and  pursue  the  gentleman  with  a  vengeance  so  that  she  might  demand  to  know  of  his  intentions  with  her  impressionable  young  sister  but  amy  knew  that  if  she  had  overreacted,  kismet  would  simply  keep  such  desires  to  herself  until  the  damage  to  her  reputation  was  done.  no,  it  was  better  that  she  kept  calm  for  now  though  the  passionate  declaration  evoked  by  her  teasing  was  rather  concerning,  marring  her  humor  with  hints  of  nostalgia.  

had  she  ever  described  robin  thus  ?  perhaps  once,  when  he  was  still  far  from  her  grasp  and  the  mere  thought  of  his  eyes  upon  her  was  enough  to  send  a  heat  through  her  limbs,  her  body  naturally  turning  to  wherever  he  was.  now,  the  only  burning  was  the  flood  of  embarrassment  that  would  come  after  he  would  depart  from  their  sacred  bubble  of  domesticity,  reminding  her  sharply  of  her  choices  to  remain  by  his  side  as  the  humiliated  wife.

❝  for  my  sanity,  sister,  try  not  to  kiss  him  just  yet.  ❞  she  would  have  to  find  james  cecil  before  that,  the  old  lecher,  and  twist  some  good  sense  into  his  ear.  ❝  if  you  imagine  that  he  burns  like  the  sun,  i  fear  the  both  of  you  might  come  to  light  too  quickly,  too  passionately  to  see  sense.  ❞

[thmagdalene]

Alice knew little, if anything, about the Dudley family. Most of the time, it seemed as if they were never due to meet — where the eldest boy had clearly grown to become a close ally to the Princess Elizabeth, Alice had been kept to the camp of the King and the Queen, if only because the wisest bet was to remain by the shadow of the throne. She had watched, of which was her duty to the court’s wandering eye — but most of the time, she felt her attention waver over the subject, often throwing to the side all caution of the Princess in favour of saving her own neck. Alongside her own comings and goings from court, Alice had thought little of it, till she found herself in the company of one of them just before the timed execution of the newly chosen traitors. 

Eyeing this girl of particular prettiness, Alice wondered if there was anything to justify her genetics — if there was anything of worth behind her eyes when compared to the usual ilk of ladies-in-waiting. Before her approach, dressed in a flourish of dark emerald, Alice slowed her entrance before catching the little thing in the many hallways that lead to the place of their convergence. “Lady Dudley,” she called, her head held high once met face to face, the glimmer of ocean-blue eyes trailing over the other’s visage in a quiet judgement hidden behind the embrace of a smile. Yes, she thought to herself, she wouldn’t have been surprised if James had already seen her tracing the corridors of Court — though, if anything, Alice’s own intelligence and opinion remained of more importance.

“I hope you are not too scared of the incoming events, that you must stand tall upon the swing of the axe. Is this your first execution? Oh, it must. For you are but a babe,” Alice stated, her berry-stained lips falling into a faux-worried expression, her arm extending towards her with an intimate touch. “Do not worry, if we are lucky it shall be over in one quarter of the hour, and then we can return to breakfast.”

@kismctt