𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 101| 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 (𝐣.𝐲𝐡)
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫
Series Masterlist! ♡
Pairing: Lord!Jeong Yunho x Lady!Reader
Genre: non-idol, regency/Bridgeton
Chapter Warnings: alcohol
Word Count: 4.3k
Synopsis: The largest ball of the social season has arrived, as has the penultimate act of you and Yunho’s grand matchmaking plan.
Author Note: One more and we're done! If you’re a regular, thank you for having patience with me on getting this penultimate chapter out. I was having a really hard time with this one, but I really like how it turned out. Enjoy!
You pace around your chambers, shoes hard against the wood beneath. Your hands are crossed over your chest, breath rapid as you do your best to calm your nerves.
You would be leaving for Lord Kim’s in an hour. As the clock ticks, you periodically find yourself standing in front of your full-body mirror, tweaking your hair or adjusting the neckline of your frock.
You requested a specific gown just for this night. It has sat in the back of your wardrobe for some time now, but you insisted it be fished out for the occasion. It is the same gown you wear nightly, in your recurring dream in the garden: a soft blue and white split-front gown with crisp white detailing. Myrtles bloom from the silky fabric as if it were its very own garden. Your shining silver accessories were chosen explicitly to match the dazzling moonlight, your hair styled to your dream’s accuracy.
Maybe it is a sign of manifestation.
Or maybe it's a demonstration of your silly fantasy.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
Lord Kim’s house was precisely as you imagined. Somehow—someway—the Viscount made his estate look like an entirely new location for each ball. Rumors suggest that the family’s exuberant taste—particularly surrounding the ever-repeated, copious amounts of foliage used in the décor— is the doing of his wife, who, it is said, comes from an illegitimate background as the daughter of a groundskeeper and a noble. Regardless of unfounded gossip, the Kims’ position as the most renowned party hosts allows their marriage to fly under mass speculation; most of society is too busy drooling over their amenities to question further. You suppose you are no different.
The garden spans the entire grounds for what seems like miles, lush beds of flowers in every color lining the dozens of pathways leading to the large brick mansion at the center. Snaking ivy trellises juxtapose ornate stonework, and large stained-glass windows steal your attention one by one. You note the sheer amount of candlelit lamps glowing overhead as you and your mother make your way to the front door with the other arriving guests.
Upon entry, your mother clutches your arm in shock. The floral aesthetic continues even in the interior, making the entire home look like a forest out of a fairytale you read as a girl. High marble pillars spring to life with blooming flora; the Kims even went as far as to have their grand chandelier carefully decorated with small ivy vines that run between pristine crystals and lit candles. You would think the entire combination of foliage and the countless amounts of candelabras would be hazardous, yet the sight puts you at ease. The colors of the ballroom transport all its guests to a world far beyond the countryside and well beyond England. Here, it feels as though miracles could happen.
You certainly hope they can.
Your eyes catch a glimpse of midnight blue amongst the green. The swish of a tailcoat as its wearer weaves through the crowd, their contrasting white gloves held neatly behind their back.
You smile, following the figure as you excuse yourself from the growing crowd. In the center of the room, people have already begun to dance. Finely dressed bodies move in perfect step to the pleasant melody, but your focus is more directed on Yunho, who finally stops his movement beside the lemonade table.
“How do you like it?” You ask, admiring the gilded gold etched into the ceiling. Yunho turns at the sound of your voice, but says nothing. As you face further away to watch the influx of attendees moving into the space, you miss it. His eyes grow just a touch wider as they scan you up and down, right from the top of your hair accessory to the very tips of your glimmering shoes.
“I like it very much.” He responds, his voice a near whisper.
“Pardon? I’m afraid I didn't catch that.”
Yunho stutters, his cheeks growing hot. “I said I like it very much. The ball—I mean. And perhaps if we succeed tonight, we shall celebrate with a dance. It is about time we have our own fun.” He attempts to shed light on the strange atmosphere. You simply nod in agreement, unable to fully meet his eyes.
You stand there, looking at one another in complete silence, the surrounding merriment fading into obscurity. Yunho pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. He gives you a small grin, his hands fidgeting behind his pack.
“Yunho!”
Lord Song claps his friend on the shoulder, disrupting your shamefully improper thoughts as the moment passes. His eyes flit to you, then back to Yunho, the tension in the air palpable.
“Am I interrupting?” Mingi questions, slowly sliding his hand off his friend.
“Not at all!” You swiftly respond, turning to face Lord Song. You note his attire, his deep crimson tailcoat complementing his otherwise black outfit. He is more bold than his friend, opting for loud golden accents instead of Yunho’s mundane silver. You shoot Yunho a glance, wise to the evident panic in his face.
“I am afraid we have not made acquaintances yet.” You say to Lord Song. “At least, not in many years.” Your remark causes his brows—and Yunho’s—to knit. “You went to Eton with my best friend’s brother, Miss Baek.”
“Miss Baek?” Mingi’s eyes subconsciously scan the room for Maya. His gaze returns to you after surveying, his lips parted and eyebrows frowning.
“Yes, I think I remember.” You can see his mind is somewhere else. “Is Miss Baek here tonight?”
You smile cheekily before adopting a contemplative expression. “She did tell me she would be arriving.”
“That is a relief.” He sighs, shoulders visibly relaxing. “Oh, where are my manners?” He bows to you. You catch Yunho rolling his eyes in the corner of your vision. “Lord Song. But you seem well acquainted with my dear friend here, so…” Lord Song looks at Yunho, who stares at him with an expression you cannot decipher. Lord Song shoots a similar expression back before resetting his appearance. “You can simply call me Mingi. A friend of Yunho is a friend of mine.”
Truthfully, this is the first time you have gotten a good look at Mingi up close. He carries an air of mischief tinged with childlike adventure. You smile to yourself. He and Yunho remind you of you and your own friend. Perhaps Maya was right. There is an appeal in Lord Song’s unconventional conduct, and if tonight goes your way, you will be happy knowing such a suitable gentleman has formed an attachment to your Maya.
You move to speak, but a familiar, feminine voice amongst the crowd cuts you short. So, you simply nod in response, offering a polite “thank you” before pivoting. You clear your throat to break the strange silence between you three.
“I am going to go over there now!” You say a lot less smoothly than you wish, motioning to the other side of the ballroom. But the effect is all the same. With your rather absurd statement, Yunho gives you a curt nod, pulling his friend aside so you can take your leave.
He watches you go, your gown squishing behind you in a captivating manner. “So, will you dance with Miss Baek?”
Mingi does not respond, nervously surveying the sea of people, hands fidgeting. He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply before letting out a steady huff of air.
“I think that sounds like a fine idea, my friend.”
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
Mingi approached Maya when you least expected it. She and you had been engaged in a rather heated debate about whether you believed the rumors that Lady Kim was with child. Maya had just been loudly expressing her opinion when someone cleared their throat behind her.
“Miss? May I have the next dance?”
Now, you stand on the fringes of the dance floor as a waltz floats through the air, romantic and lovely. You watch as the pair takes position in the center, holding one another as if they were made to fit each other’s embrace. The music carries their bodies side to side, front to back. You melt at the look on Maya’s face—it was something you had never seen before. She laughs and smiles and blushes. Mingi only returns each action with an enthusiasm as clear as the cloudless night.
From across the room, you make eyes with Yunho. He stands there, equally as impressed, marveling at his friend’s blossoming content. He smiles—a wide, toothy showing of joy that you cannot help but return. You begin to slowly walk the perimeter of the floor, eager to visualize every angle of the love blooming right before your eyes. You notice your slow steps are matched from across the room.
Yunho watches the movement of your body with each step forward. It pulls him in, inviting him to mirror your steps before he can stop himself. He admires the way you demand attention just with your presence. The exuberant wealth surrounding him? He could not care less. All he sees is you, an intriguing light in an otherwise uninteresting ballroom.
Your joint movements are slow, calculated, and perhaps a bit tedious. It is like your own dance choreographed on a whim, with neither of you able to break from your secret melody.
As the music persists, you lock eyes with Yunho. You catch him mid-smile, his gaze focused on you. It caused you to laugh at the absurdity. You both must look silly to the other guests. But you do not care. Your laughter spurs Yunho’s own silent chuckles. You both break away and watch Maya and Mingi spin around, eyes fixed on one another as if they were the only two people alive. Your heart swells with happiness, but then falls into a profound, unnamed sadness.
You had done it. The matchmaking is complete, for Mingi and Maya are most evident in their adoration. You and Yunho are through, mission complete and personal desires sated.
So why do you feel so unsatisfied?
“Listen to me!”
Your haze breaks from the sound of your mother’s urgency. She stands in front of you, hands on your biceps, caging you away from Yunho. You see behind her as he looks on with curiosity, his head cocked and lips pouty.
“Mother! I am sorry, I seem to have lost my thought.”
“That is exactly the issue!” She berates, strengthening her grip and pulling you away from the dance floor. The waltz drifts on, the strings moving in a steady tempo.
“When will you finally be engaged to Lord Jeong?”
You open your mouth to speak, but words fail. You are unsure if you misheard, but she repeats herself, causing your pulse to spike and your voice to wobble.
“What?”
“Oh, do not play me for a fool! Do not think me a blind woman. I see you two—speaking at every waking moment of every event! People are beginning to talk.” She whispers her last words. You follow her eyes to the surrounding crowd. Indeed, you watch the occasional pair of eyes dart between you, your mother, and Yunho.
You had thought you were discreet. You were careful—Yunho said you would be careful. But the judgmental gazes of your fellow society members set you on edge. You pull your mother further away from attention, settling in a small crevice beside the staircase to the mezzanine.
“We are not courting!” You whisper aggressively.
“And why not? You certainly seem to be well-acquainted—”
“Mother!”
“I am tired of you, at six-and-twenty, still complaining about marriage. Every respectable young lady does it, and if you plan on our family remaining respectable, you will do the same.”
“So am I not respectable?” The music builds to a steady crescendo as the waltz continues.
Your tone is condescending, only causing your mother’s annoyance to spike. You watch her face contort between hurt and fury. Her words come out stern. They come out hurtful.
“You are not!” She shouts. You are completely silent, any witty comeback or argument fading from your tongue and disappearing down your throat. Instead, you let out a pathetic croak, eyes blurry and fists tight with shame.
“Why don’t you ever care about what I want?” You question, wounded and desperate. “It has been my whole life—you have been like this since father passed. And I cannot keep up with your every demand because I am a person!” You reason. Your mother’s face is unreadable. She inhales sharply before quieting her voice, though you sense a fair amount of restraint.
“Young ladies are not people. They are wives. I know that better than anyone.” She delivers her words slowly—painfully. She looks at you, her eyes cold. She is trembling, her tongue poking at the inside of her cheek.
Time slows.
You look up at the ceiling, eyes catching a light pink flower hanging from the greenery above. It is a rose, swimming in a sea of endless flora. Yet somehow it stands out, partially because it is imperfect. The petals are not exactly rounded. The bud is too compact. The flower is not fully bloomed. You wonder if anyone else has noticed the rose. Have they noted its flaws—its shortcomings? Perhaps the rose refuses to bloom. Perhaps it will when it is ready. You wonder whether it might be allowed to, or if it will be pried open or discarded once noticed. You wonder if there is a gardener out there who desires to tend to it.
Your eyes travel down, following the curve of the ceiling until they land on Yunho. He is still there, standing and waiting for you to regard him again. His silent kindness grounds you, bringing you back to your challenging reality. Your eyes rapidly switch between your mother and the man on the other side of the room. The music reaches a pinnacle, bows moving rapidly against the buzzing strings of the chamber orchestra.
The candlelight feels hot. Your dress is too tight. It is too crowded. You miss as the waltz comes to a stop, bodies moving rapidly on and off the floor. You begin to move with the crowd, ignoring your mother’s shouts as your hearing turns to buzzing. You feel a pair of hands grasp your own. You look up, barely making out Maya's frame. She looks happy. Elated—even.
“Did you see that? Lord Song and I got along most agreeably! He is a magnificent dancer, and the way he looked at me? Oh, I wish you could have experienced it for yourself. Love is truly a wondrous thi—”
You are excusing yourself before she can finish, pushing past people as you search for air. Your chest rises and falls quickly, your entire world moving in distortion.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
As you catch your breath, you orient yourself with your new surroundings. You stand quite a bit away from the main house in a gazebo hidden in the maze-like garden of the estate. You lean against the banisters, huffing large helpings of air into your needy lungs. Your breaths steady after some time, yet the sound of labored inhaling does not fade. In fact, it grows louder. Footsteps accompany them, first running on dirt, then climbing wooden stairs until they stop some few feet behind you.
“Are you alright?”
You beg to be anywhere else. Hell, you would even prefer to be back with your mother, stuck in a never-ending disagreement. You seem to be the most unfortunate soul in all of England tonight, for you find yourself stuck in a perpetual state of agitation caused by the very man who seeks to comfort you in your distress.
“Yunho, please, I am not well. Leave me.” You say, refusing to meet his gaze as you pace. He steps closer. You feel the worry emanating from his very being.
“I said leave!”
You did not mean to shout. Deep down, Yunho knows that, but it doesn't subside the unshakable foolishness that rushes through his veins. Your eyes—finally meeting his—are panic-stricken. Your hands shake, and your chest ripples with each swallow of breath. Yunho feels his pulse in the exposed skin of his wrist, clutched firmly in his own grip behind his torso. A loud silence moves between you both.
“Forgive me, my lady. But I cannot.” He says. A cool breeze of wind blows by, rustling the surrounding gardens. The movement of blossoming flora mingles with his loud breaths, each one turning to a puff of smoke as his words meet the cold darkness.
“You cannot?” You involuntarily step closer, challenging him to continue. He only steps forward, stopping a respectable distance away yet close enough to make your eye twitch.
“I cannot. I will not. You are acting strangely. I saw what happened. You think I don’t notice when you are in distress?” His words arrive harshly, voice crescendoing with each complete sentence.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“Are you joking?!” You feel the hurt in his voice. The utter betrayal. It makes you cringe, yet you remain unwavering in your stance against him. “We have spent the better half of a month working together, and yet you claim I know nothing about you?”
“It is improper for you to know anything about me. We are not courting.” You demand. Yunho lets out a scoff, looking away before regarding you again.
“Is that what this is about—courting?” He questions, words dripping in sarcastic mockery. "You think I don’t know that we are interacting improperly?”
“Then why do you continue?!” You laugh, the idiocy of your own plan finally coming to reality. “Why do I continue?”
“What do you mean?”
You let out a pitiful noise, landing between a whine and a sigh. You find it hard to look at him. Finally, you meet gazes once more, and you feel your composure slipping with each rapid blink of Yunho’s sorrowful eyes.
“I have been—” You begin, each word a hurdle. “I have been lying to you. I have been lying to you, Yunho. I have been for quite some time.”
“I am afraid I do not understand. Lying to me?”
The world feels as though it is collapsing around you. You have been living in a fantasy—a perfect little garden where you and Yunho could exist and be happy, together. But that is not what he wants. That is not what you are supposed to want. So what more can you do than cut your pathetic dream off at the stem?
“This entire arrangement has been improper, and seeing as Maya and Mingi are now enraptured with one another, I think it best we never speak again.”
“What?”
His expression falls. It is a painful, slow descent from growing frustration to confounding shock. You can barely face him head-on, but you must. There is no room to allow emotions to drive your decisions any longer. It would simply be unfair to Yunho.
He looks meek. His cheeks and nose are red from the cold bite of the wind. His hair is tousled, and his breathing is irregular. You silently pray he does not pass out from the lack of oxygen. He looks, for the first time, messy. Well, almost. A sliver of perfection remains in the posture of his hands. You wonder if you have ever seen him without his hands clasped.
At the sight of his hurt, you grow hot. His glossy eyes, his knitted brows—they all remind you of the faces you wish you could give him. A joyful expression during riveting banter. Peaceful content while together at afternoon tea. The face of satisfaction as you hold him close, sheets and limbs tangled as a sign of your union. There is little you can do to stop yourself, even as every fiber of your being wills you to stay put.
“I do not understand why we must cease to even speak with one ano—”
Yunho’s complaints are swallowed by the press of your mouth against his, hot and desperate. His eyes are wide in shock, yet he makes no move to stop. Instead, he flutters them shut, savoring a sensation he never knew he needed so desperately. His hands unclasp, gravitating to your waist as the earth does to the moon.
This is wrong. This is reckless. The moment is gone before it has properly started as you push your palms against his chest, shoving him away. You watch as Yunho’s unwavering eye contact looks you up and down, desires torn between lust and regulation. Before he can make up his mind, you find yourself moving, dress pinched between your fingers as you run back toward the ballroom.
Yunho stands there, reality fading back into perspective. You are gone from this moment, but you are not gone for good. He follows after you, mind still reeling.
Upon reentering the ballroom, you find your mother right where you left her. She barely registers your appearance before you speak.
“Mother, I feel ill.”
“But I–”
“If you want me to find a husband, you will take me home right this instant, lest I embarrass myself in front of suitors.”
She opens her mouth but says nothing, instead grabbing your wrist and leading you out of the ballroom, pace fast and expression as unbothered as she can manage.
Yunho enters the space, catching the corner of your blue dress disappearing into the foyer. He weaves through the crowd, almost reaching the doorway, before a familiar face appears before him.
“Yunho, I think I am in love!”
“That is great.” Yunho responds curtly, pushing forward. Mingi grabs his shoulder, forcing him to halt.
“Are you not happy for me?”
“Mingi, go attend to Miss Baek. I promise we will speak later, but I must leave.”
He has no chance to respond, for Yunho exits the ballroom, heart rate spiking with each stride in your path.
He arrived outside, the vastness of the estate grounds taunting him in his search. But as he moves to speak to the footman stationed outside, he sees a familiar carriage rolling down the cobblestone and out of his life.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
Yunho has never been more inebriated in his life. He got up to the occasional hijinks in Paris, sure, but all of it was in good fun. Now, he finds himself alone in a gentlemen’s club, drowning his sorrows in endless glasses of brandy. He swirls his nearly-empty drink in his hand, the silvery shimmer of the glass reminding him of your gown. He sighs.
“Mind if I join you?”
A gentleman—Yunho guesses around his age—stands before him with kind eyes and a strange sense of calm considering the rather rowdy environment. He has blond hair that reminds him of Mingi’s, though it is cut much neater than his friend's.
“You look lonely.”
“I am.”
The stranger wordlessly takes the seat next to him, nestling his own libation in his hand before setting it down on the table with a light clink.
“Would you like to talk about it?”
Yunho’s silence prompts a small, reassuring smile to grow on the man’s face. “Do not if you do not wish. It is just that I am a rather good listener. And I quite dislike seeing people sad, especially when I believe them to be normally bright people.”
Yunho tells him everything: the arrangement, the banter, the ball, the fight. He purposely keeps the kiss vague, though he senses the stranger knows of his secret. There is something about his eyes—intense yet comforting—that tells Yunho the man is, in fact, the perfect listener he claimed to be.
“You love her.” He says, his lips and eyes smiling together. Yunho looks at him sheepishly, voice barely above a whisper.
‘Do you think I should not?”
“I think you should do what makes you happy.”
“I am afraid it is not that simple. She does not want to hear from me.”
The stranger chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. “I fear perhaps I have entered too briskly into your personal matters. Kang Yeosang.” He extends his hand, which Yunho accepts.
“And you are?”
“Yunho. Jeong Yunho.”
“Well, Mr. Jeong Yunho—” Yeosang says, placing a hand on the other man’s shoulder tenderly before removing it. “I think you and I are not so different.”
“Are we not?”
Yeosang smiles again, and Yunho finds it impossible that a person can be so content. In contrast to his current misery, it only intrigues him more.
“I once met a young lady—the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. But I did nothing. I stood and watched from afar, and with each day, my affection only grew. It grew into love. An unmoving, ever-growing love. Until one day, I saw her courting another man. It pained me to know my love was unshared, yet I could not be mad. I had been a fool, unable to express my feelings out of pure fear of rejection.” Yeosang says, voice tender in a palpable fondness. “That was how I knew I could not be inactive any longer. I could not let my worries, my pride—whatever it was—get in the way.”
“So what did you do?” Yunho asks.
“I told her how I felt.”
“And?” Yunho waits for a tale of disappointment, his hopes dying in his mind with each passing moment.
“And now, I spend every day with her by my side. And to think I could have had more if I had said how I felt right when I felt it.”
Yeosang laughs, the sound of love pushing from his throat and into the open air of the club. He gives Yunho a look before tending to his drink, taking a long sip. Yunho pushes his own glass aside, and out of the corner of his vision, he catches Yeosang's hidden smile of satisfaction.
Yunho’s galloping heartbeat matches the speed of his thoughts. There was simply no other option in his mind.
He would set things right, even if it killed him.
taglist <3: @huntress-artemiss, @soupbinlily
