#ls.open

[queendonati]

Charlotte had not been out much in society since the death of the previous Duke of Wellington, but she knew that he had not left her his fortune for her to hide away with it like an old miser. She had understood that parting gift to be his way of telling her to keep standing up for herself. It could be hard to hold your head high when people made you feel like dirt under their shoe, but having wealth certainly carried a lot of weight with the ton. His gift might have worked better if people didn’t assume she had acquired it through nefarious ways. She had attempted to visit a favourite coffee house of herself and the Duke, but it hadn’t taken long before the whispers were too loud for her to ignore. Overhearing the comment ‘thieving whore’ had been the final straw that led to her swift exit, and she leaned against the door outside, chastising herself for allowing the words to get to her. No matter how tough she thought she was getting, it still hurt.

But Charlotte didn’t have long to dwell before she almost fell through the door she was leaning on as someone opened it from the other side. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get in your way.”

[ladylydiacavendish]

Lydia walked through the rose gardens at Devonshire House, tending the the beautiful plants that were the cusp of a full bloom. Her mother have loved these rose gardens and refused to let anyone else tend them, not even the extensive gardening staff that their family employed. When Estella Cavendish died Lydia had made a promise to herself to continue caring for the rose garden just as her mother had, and it soon became her pride and joy and her favorite pass time when she was in London for The Season. 

She when tending to a pink and yellow dog-rose bush when she heard a twig snap underneath someones shoe. Turning around she was greeted by a familiar face. “Oh hello,” She said, giving her new companion a charming smile and hoped that she didn’t have any dirt smudged on her person that she didn’t know about. “I’m terribly sorry I wasn’t expecting any company, I would have put on something more appropriate.” She said looking down at her sage green gardening dress.  

[henriettavillicrs]

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑.

       ––– AS THE ORCHESTRA GREW LOUDER, the heat in the room seemed to swell and in spite of the copious amounts of ratafia and champagne being served throughout Almack’s, the sudden swelter had reduced the Countess to little more than a blushing bride–– refusing Lord Palmerston her next dance in exchange for the ability to flee onto the balcony. Breezes from the Thames’ eased Henrietta’s reddening throat and the roseate tint to her cheeks, though within moments she found that she was not alone and turned to the newcomer, gracing them with a tight-lipped smile. 

❝ ONE WOULD BELIEVE WE WERE in the thick of summer with all the dancing and mingling ensuing inside, ❞ the Countess of Jersey remarked mildly, continuing with a more zestful, ❝ yet, perhaps the night’s success shall be a harbinger for a lucrative season to come! Tell me, have you any thought as to the potential engagements this year? I am no gambler, but I’d be willing to bet that John Temple’s daughters will be affianced before the night is through. ❞

[frederickaugustus]

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑.

      ––– WITHOUT THE PRESENCE OF ITS precious aristocrats, London had become like a crown without its jewels–– a hollow thing, quiet as it clattered upon the floor. The Regent’s light eyes surveyed the assembly room with a joyful, nearly boyish glint, absorbing the various sights and sounds to be had. Yet, as another Quadrille sounded, pounding in his ears like a second heartbeat, Frederick excused himself; reluctant to seek out a partner, he instead moved toward the smorgasbord of libations and delicacies. 

Plucking a glass of ratafia from the artful array of mousseux, he turned to once more watch the various couplings dance, receiving a waggle of fingertips from one such woman whose eyes he met halfheartedly. ❝ That pitiful roué, Lord Petersborough, appears moments from collapsing, does he not? ❞ Frederick smirked as he watched the elder Lord stumble through the motions of the French country dance, before lifting the ornate wristwatch that adorned his arm, ❝ my watch if his partners’ feet go unscathed for the rest of the dance. ❞

[exrlspencer]

The scent of fresh blooms rang thick though the air. Spring had arrived early and George had only wished he had spent he earlier days of dewful April at his estate to take in the early mellowness of the countryside. He had boasted a pretty penny on the upkeep of the scenery and if only his mother knew how rarely really promenaded the space, she would be appalled. As a child George and his sister would be forced to recite prose while circling the serpentine paths. It was an afternoon ritual now forgotten as he was a lone bachelor and his siblings left for their familial lives. Nowadays, he only had opportunity to truly marvel at what his money once patroned when country parties visited his lands for a leisurely getaway. Fortunately, The Ton  had decided, through the grace of Lady Hesworth to hold the weened soiree at Anthrop where he was to host a number of activities to entertain the Season’s participants. The task was long prepared for by his servants and George merely needed to be present at his own estate. 

The house bustled with people. Here and there were women in increasingly beautiful – and some most excessively extravagant – dress, and men equally as well attired too. His show was yet to start, and this portion of the evening was mostly used for his friends to peacock and socialise in the drawing room. George, uninterested in the peacocking, but an unfortunate victim of attention nonetheless managed to slip away into the fountain of greenery. 

However, it seemed someone had bested him to his destination. No person to be seen but a left behind sketch-book. Its middle page open to a rough drawing of a too familiar face. Picking it up a rough laugh parted his lips. They were his features. Someone dared to copy his likeness. His laugh was thus overheard and a rustling from behind forced George to turn, sketchbook in hand he placed it near he cheek. 

“Are my eyes really SO close together?”“

[ladylydiacavendish]

tag drop