An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
It is a truth universally acknowledged that an unmarried woman of eight and twenty must be a spinster, and thus removed from all want of men and society.
Miss Robin Nico, despite being as clever as she was beautiful, had such a lack of fortune, such a ready temperament, and such a disappointment in the qualities that men abundantly lacked, that she had inevitably become a spinster, the greatest shame a woman could endure. She is determined this will never change, especially when she meets the handsome and wealthy, yet prideful and deeply infuriating Mr Law Trafalgar.
From their first meeting, she is certain he is the last man on this earth that she could ever be prevailed upon to marry.
This marks the end of Part One (with the exception of the epilogue that will be posted soon!) Thank you all for the immense support. I almost didn't continue writing after I didn't see anyone liking it after I posted chapter one. Thank you all so much :,)
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My parents were right…
The woods are dangerous…
I ran through the woods, pushing through branches and jumping over roots. The wood growing out the ground had transformed into hands with misshapen fingers. They latched onto my ankles and my chin fell against the dirt. I clawed my nails into the soil as the hands clawed theirs into my skin. I saw Simon in the distance. I opened my mouth to scream for him, but nothing came out. He looked right at me, a pained look in his eyes.
“I love you.” He said. In the blink of an eye, he was gone.
My eyes shot open and a harsh gasp filled my lungs. I looked around, I was in my bedroom. The sky outside was dark.
All of my skepticism soon faded when I looked to the chair next to my bed and saw Simon sitting there, slumped over with his eyes closed. I watched him for a few minutes, not wanting to wake him up but my mind begged him to do so on his own. His eyelashes soon began to flutter, and he adjusted his posture in the chair. He soon opened his eyes abruptly as soon as he realized I was sitting up in my bed.
“(Y/N)!” He flew out of the chair and onto his knees, landing on the floor next to my bed. He grabbed my hands in his. His fingers were trembling, and his breathing was shaky. He brushed my hair out of my face and cupped my cheek in one hand. I watched his eyes eagerly scan my face, seemingly to see if I was hurt.
“I was so worried, I thought my heart was going to give out. Oh, (Y/N), I was so scared. Are you okay? How are you feeling? What happened? Oh God, I am so sorry! I shouldn’t have turned my back. I should have stayed right there with you! I am so sorry-”
“Simon,” I interrupted, “I actually feel… okay… I think.”
I swung my feet over the edge of my mattress, and stepped down. As I did so, it felt as though the weight of the room was all placed on me. My knees gave out completely. He rushed up off his knees to grab me, one arm wrapping around my waist and the other grabbing me from underneath my shoulder. His hands rested up and down my spine. He lowered me back down onto my bed. I sat up in the middle of my plush comforter.
“Please, (Y/N), be careful.” he said, sitting on my bed by my feet, “Can you tell me what you saw? What exactly happened to you?”
I tried to assemble my thoughts as best as I could, my brain was scrambled. Between the monster I had seen in person and the nightmare I just had, it was hard to form a coherent sentence.
“A demon,” I said, it was the first time I could admit what I truly thought it to be.
“Did it speak?” He asked, not missing a beat.
“Yes. It said that whoever summoned it had ‘chosen wisely’.” I tried to put the pieces together as best I could. Simon had a look of disgust on his face, as if he couldn’t believe that a monster could be so crass.
“And it didn’t say who this so-called ‘summoner’ was?”
“No.”
“And you’re sure it wasn’t a… hallucination? I’m sure what you experienced was incredibly traumatic, but I just want to make sure it wasn’t just a vision caused by sleep deprivation.”
“It felt too real. The pain I felt, it was real. Please believe me, Simon.” I pleaded. He firmly placed his hands on my shoulders.
“Of course I believe you.” He softened his gaze. He wasn’t just saying this to appease me; he truly meant it. He believed me. I let out a sigh of relief.
“Thank you. I feel like you’re the only person who would. My family would call me crazy.” I said. He nodded in agreement.
“Do you want to tell them?” He asked quietly.
“Absolutely not. Not only would they not believe me, they would go into cardiac arrest if they knew I went into the woods.”
“I could take the blame.” He suggested. I laughed.
“I feel that would be ineffective. They would either think I convinced you to take me, or they would praise you for being so open and honest. Either way, I will remain in the wrong.” I explained. As I looked over at him, he had a sad look in his eye.
“I wish I could take you away from here.” He said, quietly. I did too.
“Living here isn’t all bad… Just the people I share the house with are unbearable.” I said. He chuckled. We both sat there on my bed for a while, just enjoying each other’s presence. As we sat there, not doing anything in particular, my mind wandered. I thought about how I would be able to sleep tonight after the events that transpired. What if the demon came back?
“Simon?” I broke the silence.
“Yes?” He responded.
“If it’s not too much to ask of you… Can you stay in my room tonight? Or at least… close by? I can sleep in my armchair, if you’d prefer to sleep in my bed for comfort. I just can’t be alone tonight.” I looked up at him with pleading eyes. I saw his jaw clench, and his Adam’s Apple bob as he gulped.
“O-Of course, (Y/N). But please, let me take the chair. I can’t ask you to leave your bed when you’re already so weak.”
“You’re my guest, I insist!” I argued. He stood there with pursed lips for a moment.
“You said you wanted me to be close by, right?” He asked.
“Yes…”
“If you would allow me to, I could stay in the bed with you.” I looked at him, then down at my bed, then back at him.
“Well… I suppose that would make me feel safer. Oh, alright.” I conceded. He smiled at me. I attempted to stand again so I could dress myself in my nightgown, which made him flinch forwards to stabilize me.
“Relax, Simon. I’m just walking to my dresser. I need to change.”
“At least let me help you.” He said, grabbing my hand and arm to walk with me. He assisted me over to my armoire and opened the doors.
“Which one is it?” He asked.
“This one,” I said, tugging the hem of my white nightgown. He grabbed it off the hook that it was hanging off of and threw it over his shoulder. Then, he walked me to my dressing screen.
“Do you need any further assistance with dressing?” He asked. I shook my head and let go of him, lowering myself to the ground.
“You’re going to change yourself on the floor?” He asked, laughing a bit to himself. He walked to the other side of the screen to give me privacy.
“Well it made more sense then having you watch me do it!” I said whilst putting on my night clothes.
“I mean, what would the house workers think if they walked in on such a scene?” I laughed, “I’m done dressing, by the way.”
He came back around the divider and looked down at me on the ground. He held out his hands and pulled me up, my face ending up inches away from his.
“That reminds me…” He whispered, I could feel his breath on my face. He took a few steps back and locked the door to my room.
“I would hate for anyone to come in and see two unmarried souls in the same bed.” He explained. He offered his arm to me and I took it, walking back over to my bed with him.
“Oh, the humanity! Hath God forsaken us?” I joked. He laughed loudly and I shushed him, giggling as I did so. He quickly covered his mouth to stifle himself.
I could look at his smile all day. Every morning when I wake and the sun bathes the floorboards of our kitchen, and every night when I’m engulfed by the warmth of his arms and the hearth of our library’s fireplace. His joy was becoming a necessity to me now, like air.
He helped ease me back onto my mattress, my hands gripping his forearms to keep myself from falling backwards. I gazed into his eyes, and he into mine. Despite being back on my bed, I kept hold of his arms. My hands touching his skin, so innocent and yet bringing forth the unholiest of thoughts in my mind.
If he could see only a glimpse of the thoughts racing in my mind, would he run or would he mirror every image that my brain had conjured up?
I soon got my answer.
His lips were suddenly pressed against mine.
I inhaled quickly, as he had caught me off guard. Soon after the initial shock, I reciprocated. I removed my hands from his arms and placed them on the back of his neck. His hands rested gently against my waist. I started to lean back onto my mattress, and he followed; like a dog being guided by its owner. He removed his hands from my body and placed them onto the mattress next to my head. My palms wandered from the back of his neck, down to the front of his chest, and back up again to his jawline. My heart was pounding against my ribcage, I thought it was going to rip a hole through my skin and bones. I could have sworn I felt his beating too.
Two hearts beating in tandem with one another. The world was pulsing around us.
He pulled away slowly, lifting himself off of me. His brown eyes stared straight down at me, through my pupils as if they were pure glass. In this moment, I felt him looking into my soul. It was as if he truly knew me.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to kiss another man again.
“I’m sorry… I-I don’t know what came over me.” he said. I let out a short laugh.
“Please, don’t apologize.” I said, looking up at him, “Just promise me that won’t be the last time.”
“I think if it were, existence would be meaningless.” He sighed.
“I don’t ever want you to feel meaningless.” I said.
“Then let me kiss you again.”
“Okay.” I smiled, lifting my head up to him. His lips latched back on to mine. This was less of a hunger and more of a thirst. If I had been left in the desert for days and a mirage were to appear, he would be the only thing in the oasis.
While my thoughts wandered, I hardly noticed that his kiss began to trail down to my jaw. His hands wandered below my collarbone and onto my chest as his hot breath exhaled onto my neck and behind my ear. I closed my eyes and let out a few small sighs.
‘I never realized how sharp human teeth were…’ I thought. My eyelashes slowly fluttered open, wanting to see him as his lips praised my body like it were a goddess.
I was met with torturous red eyes.
I let out a yelp and pushed the demon off of me, flinching as I did so. My eyes squeezed shut. Maybe this was all just an ongoing bad dream. If I kept my eyes shut, it would go away.
“(Y/N)?” Simon’s voice cut through the darkness brought upon me by my own eyelids. I slowly opened them and saw him sitting on the foot of my bed on his knees. Oh god, did I just push Simon? Did I hurt him?
The expression on his face showed no hurt at all. Just confusion and worry.
“Are you okay? I’m so terribly sorry- I should have restrained myself. Forgive my behavior, it won’t happen again.” He said.
“Simon?” I managed to choke out, “Are you- Did you see-”
“Did you see something?” He asked.
“Y-You weren’t you.” I simply stated.
“I’m here, (Y/N), I’m me. I promise.” He reached out to grab my hand, but I pulled back. I wasn’t convinced that this nightmare was over. His expression that was missing pain before was now full of it.
“(Y/N)...”
“Simon, that… thing… It was here in the room. It was you. I’m not sure what caused it, but I don’t know if I can- I’m not sure if you’re…”
His face softened into understanding.
“I know you’re scared, (Y/N). But please understand, I would never hurt you. Whatever you saw in the woods tonight is playing with your mind and your perception of reality. I would never do anything to cause you harm. I only want you to be safe.” He said.
I stayed silent, avoiding eye contact with him.
“I understand if you’d like me to return to my quarters for the night.” He whispered, standing up, “I think I might have overstayed my welcome.”
He began walking towards the door.
“Goodnight, (Y/N).” He reached to unlock the door.
I wasn’t sure why, but the idea of him leaving me made me begin to cry.
“Simon,” I said, looking at him with tears in my eyes. He whipped around to face me.
“Please… stay.”
A small stoic smile danced across his face, but something told me he was overcome with joy. He walked back over to the bed and sat on the other side of it from me.
“I think it’s best if we sleep for the rest of the night. You’ve been through so much this evening and you need your rest.” He suggested; it felt more like an order.
“I agree.” I said.
I pulled my duvet over my legs and slid down under the covers. He brought my pillow under my head for me, I thanked him in my mind. He smiled as if to say, ‘you’re welcome.’ I watched him get under the blanket alongside me.
Was this domestic life? This seemed like a future I could see us living. We would tuck our son into bed together, and retire to our library where I would read him my favorite stories for an hour. Then, we would go back to our bedroom. He would kiss me ‘goodnight’ each evening, just like he had moments before. I would sleep soundly next to him- his arm around my shoulders, and my hands on his body.
As if to assure me “...someday” he slowly intertwined our fingers together. I drifted off to sleep.
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Thud thud thud thud thud
I was suddenly woken up by a banging on the door. I opened my eyes and realized I was wrapped in someone’s arms. Simon’s. His chest was pressed firmly against my back. I couldn’t feel him breathe, it was as if the aggressive knocking woke him up too and he was holding his breath.
“(Y/N)? (Y/N), are you in there?” I heard a male voice calling into my room.
Simon and I sat straight up in bed, looking to each other with wide eyes. He motioned for me to speak, I stuttered and tried my best.
“Yes, hello! Who- um…” I cleared my throat, “who is it?”
“It’s Garrison. Are you dressed?”
Simon slapped his hand over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. He looked at me nervously, and let out a small groan. I nudged his arm and placed a finger to my lips to make sure he knew to stay silent.
“Yes- I mean no! I haven’t gotten dressed yet. Don’t come in.” I said, proud of myself for thinking fast.
“Is Simon in there?” Shit. Shit shit shit.
“How did he know?!” Simon whisper-yelled. I flailed violently, trying to say ‘I don’t know!’ and covered his mouth again with my hand.
“No! Wh-Why do you ask?” I lied through the door.
“Ah, maybe he left already... He wasn’t in his room. Strange.” I heard him sigh and his footsteps trailed off down the stairs.
Simon and I both let out a unanimous sigh of relief and flopped down onto the mattress underneath us.
“That was way too close.” I said, looking over at him with a mischievous smile.
“Would it really be so embarrassing to be caught in a bed with me?” He asked, not taking his eyes off my high ceilings and not reciprocating the smile.
“No,” I turned onto my side and pulled myself closer to his body, “It’s not that. I just don’t want them to get the wrong idea… I already bring enough shame to my family. I don’t know how they’d react to me laying in bed with someone I’m not married to.”
“If they knew it was me, would you be forgiven?” He asked, glancing down at me.
“I think we both know the answer to that question…” I replied. He looked back at the ceiling with sadness in his eyes.
“You know I will return to my home today, right?” He said.
“I do.” I answered.
“And you know that I likely won’t come back for a while, right?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Possibly for several years.” I paused. I didn’t know that.
“I-I do.”
“Then you must know, I will live my life in agonizing pain every day that I’m not with you.”
“I do.” I said, “and do you know that whatever pain you’re in will be worse for me, tenfold?”
“I do.” He said with a smile. How morbid. We both know that the rest of our days without each other are destined to be torture, and yet we’ve never felt so loved.
I brought my hand underneath me and propped myself up over his body to kiss him. He leaned forward into it and placed his hand on my lower back and pulled me in. It felt like he was trying to melt our bodies together so we would never have to be apart from each other. We separated from the kiss and I looked down at him with a smile that I failed to conceal. Gravity brought a strand of my hair down over my face, but he quickly tucked it behind my ear. His hand lingered on my cheek, and he pulled my head down to his chest- a gesture that I accepted. I felt him kiss the top of my head. I never wanted this to end, but I knew it would.
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“I think that’s the last of it, sir.” The coachman said to Simon, placing his final box of luggage in the carriage that was to take him home. He nodded his head at him.
“Thank you, Gentry!” He responded.
“I thought you would have packed lighter for three days.” I said, coming around the side of the carriage to meet him. He smiled warmly at me. He placed his hands behind his back and bowed slightly to greet me formally. My family didn’t have the slightest clue that there was anything going on between us.
“I wanted to make sure I was prepared for anything.” He replied. I rolled my eyes playfully at him.
“And were you?” I asked, “Prepared- I mean?”
“I’d say yes… for the most part.”
“What exactly do you mean by that?” I giggled.
“Well I was prepared to go riding if I had any extra time, formal events if the opportunity presented itself, attire for the outdoors, my day-to-day garments…”
“Naturally.” I interjected, nodding along.
“But there was one thing that I wasn’t completely prepared for… But I like to think that I made do.” He said, looking off in the distance then back at me. He seemed like he was patrolling the area around us.
“And what would that be?” I asked, genuinely confused about where he was going with this.
“I wasn’t expecting to meet someone like you.” He finally said. I quickly pursed my lips and looked down, my face growing hotter. Before I could even say ‘I want you to stay here with me so we can live out the rest of our natural lives together!’ I heard voices chattering behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw my family approaching. I assumed they had all come to see him off.
“Ah, (Y/N), you’re here? We thought you were hidden away in the library for the day.” My mother said.
“Yes, I just wanted to say goodbye to our guest!” I said, “Thank you for visiting us, Simon. It was… enchanting to meet you.”
“The pleasure was all mine.” He said, with a smile. Despite his grin, I could still see devastation in his eyes that we wouldn’t have a moment to speak with our hearts before he left. I curtsied to him and took a step back to stand off to the side of my family.
To them, I would always be someone to tag along. The relative that most wouldn’t realize was there. Obscure. Enigmatic. A secret made of glass.
But when I was with Simon, I knew I was something. I was everything. The air that filled his lungs. His moon and stars; sun and sky. Radiant. Magnificent. A paragon of perfection.
I watched as they all said their goodbyes. Sad to see him go, but happy to know that he would never experience anyone or thing like me again. In between their individual conversations, he and I would glance at each other.
I didn’t want him to go. I tried to scream, but nothing came out.
“You all have been so welcoming to me these past few days… I would love to return someday if you would all have me.” He said to us.
“Simon, please come back any time you’d like. You were such a pleasure to have around the house.” Mother said. Father nodded his head in agreement. He was never one for words, so the rest of us knew that this nod meant, ‘You’re an honorary member of our family.’
My mind started to wonder about the possibilities that could be if Simon dropped everything right now and professed his love for me in front of them. Would they think it outrageous? Would they laugh? Would they approve? Would I finally be heralded as a queen in my family for doing something right in their eyes?
Simon seemed to have been reading my mind all weekend- but for what felt like the first time, he was blind to my wishes. He just stood there and accepted their praise. He was completely oblivious to the fact that if he dropped down on his knees and asked me to marry him, I’d say ‘yes’ in a heartbeat.
The time finally came for us to see him off as he climbed the steps of his carriage. My family waved at him and he flicked his hand as a way to wave back. His eyes landed on me.
He mouthed something to me. Or, at least I thought he did. Maybe my mind was letting me see what I desired. My family yelled out a cocktail of various forms of goodbyes, and turned to go back inside.
The coachman let out a brief yell to the horses and cracked his reigns. I saw Simon’s head turn and look at me out through the back window. Once I was sure my family was gone, I gave chase.
I ran and ran, not stopping for a single breath. My mind was racing just as fast as my feet.
What about the future my brain had so craftily curated just for us?
I was shocked to see Simon peek his head out of the side of the vessel.
“(Y/N)!” He screamed. I was beaming, ear to ear that he hadn’t forgotten my name in the past minute.
“I’m in love with you!” He screamed again, “Madly!” My heart was racing from running and from finally hearing him say those words.
“I love you, Simon!” I yelled back, “Don’t forget me- Please!”
“I could never!”
The distance between me and his ride grew and grew. I was giggling like a mad schoolgirl. I couldn’t run anymore. My giggling turned into panting and panting turned to sobbing.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: When your father passed away, you had no choice to survive but to take after him as Feldcroft's herbalist. It was a simple, if unusual life that you came to enjoy. But when the dashing Mr Sallow struck your cousin Poppy's fancy, it unleashed a spiral of events that propelled you into the opulence of higher society, where the apparent glamour only served to hide darker secrets. That's coincidently where you met the handsome but insufferable Mr Gaunt.
Pairings: Ominis Gaunt/Reader and Sebastian Sallow/Poppy Sweeting (with the usual misunderstandings and drama of matchmaking and love triangles)
Duke of Hastings/Rege Jean Page x OFC Jemilla “Jemi” Remmington
Warning: Plot, Regency Historical Piece, Slow Burn, Tiny Bit of Angst, A Little Steam
Words: 4.3k
Summary: After your four weeks on the marriage mart and the tumultuous way yours and the Duke’s budding friendship that turned into a faux courtship, then a real crisis that could have tarnished your name forever, you are now married to the Duke. Only this is no traditional marriage. The Duke has professed to never fall in love, never get married, and never sire an heir, a matter you know nothing of. Furious that his wanton, lustful desires have gotten him to forego one of those vows, he is determined not to break the other two. That would usually be an easy feat. Only with you, it might be more challenging to keep those vows, seeing as no matter what, you are the only thing on his mind.
Note: Inspired by Rege Jean Page’s portrayal of Simon Bassett. This fic will not have any other characters from the series, except Lady Danbury, mainly the portrayal version of her by the incredible Adjoa Andoh and maybe Queen Charlotte portrayed by Golda Rosheuvel. This series will focus on The Duke and an OFC female character and will be a sultry and erotic historical romance. Anyone under 18 is advised not to read.
***Glossary of terms at the end of the chapter for period specific words/items for greater comprehension.
***Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Julia Quinn’s characters, nor the Characters established by Bridgerton. I own the rights to the original characters created in this story.
If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘
As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️
***VERY Loosely Edited/Proofread***
***Interactive***
Previous Chapters: 1 |
Chapter Two: The Beginning
“I pronounce you husband and wife.”
Once the words left the mouth of the officiant, Simon smoothly slid across to you, closing the immense gap that was between you. His arms wrapped around your waist, then rested on your hip. With you flush against his prime and proper attire, Simon continued his less than proper actions. His eyes bored into yours as his lips inched closer and closer. His walnut-colored eyes looked to be pulsating as they radiated another color altogether. The moment you felt Simon’s other hand slink down the small of your back to cup your backside you gasped.
His mouth evaporated the sound that began to echo around the church. In complete shock stood there allowing him to do as he pleased to you in front of your friends and family. Suddenly Simon’s tongue dipped into your mouth and curled around yours. Your breath hitched and your heart raced. You didn’t know what to do, but it didn’t seem like he cared. He took full control. You felt his teeth nibble into your bottom lip and inexplicably a moan escaped you. It wasn’t just a single one either, it was one that invited others along for the ride. When you heard Simon’s husky moan your knees buckled and the hand on your hip and backside squeezed and held you so fully against him that you could feel the manly curves and dips of his toned body.
Ripping his lips from yours, Simon spoke; “I burn for you.”
Just like that he pressed you to the railing that was at the alter separating the rest of the church from the front. All around you, you could hear the loud gasping and shocked exclamations from those in the church. You paid them no mind and focused on Simon’s hands that were quickly removing the articles of your clothing that were holding your body prisoner from his. After a few moments of battling the buttons of your stay, in frustration, Simon grunted released it then began lifting the hem of your gown.
“I will claim every part of you as your only man,” he gruffly said before fastening his lips to your throat.
Your body was on fire and the only thought on your mind was finding a way to cool it. You were convinced he was the only way.
“Do you consent?”
“Yes. Yes, I consent,” you shrieked.
At that moment you leaped from the bed you laid flailing your arms and legs shouting.
“I most certainly do not consent!”
Your voice bounced off the walls as you took in your surroundings. Slowly it sank it that you’d only been dreaming and weren’t in the church, but the bedchamber.
“Goodness.”
You dropped back onto the bed and took several calming breaths. Your heart was still pounding as if horses resided there. You also took notice of the slight knot in your gut that twisted then untwisted only to repeat its actions. You took a few moments to analyze yourself. This was something new. Your mind drifted back to your dream and replayed it. It was different from the actual marriage ceremony—drastically different.
Your mind fixated on the moment Simon’s lips met yours. The propriety in you tried to shake free from the hedonistic thoughts but your propriety was given a run for its money by something else, something you hadn’t pinpointed quite yet. The memory of his hands grasping your backside was what made you spring upright once more.
Clearing your throat loudly, you leaned against the headboard of the ornate bed while trying to get a hold of yourself. This hadn’t happened before. You’d never dreamt of a man’s lips on yours, or his hands on your body.
“I can’t be that much different from yesterday that I’ve turned into a whole different person.”
You thought about it for a few more seconds, then your eyes drifted to the other side of the bed—the empty one. Sighing, you closed your eyes and angled your head backward. Reality crept back in.
“Pull yourself together, Jamilla. You are alone. You were alone your wedding night and alone your marriage morning. This is where you stand.”
A little time passed before there was a knock at the door. “Lady Hastings?”
You almost snorted. That was your name now. You were Lady Hastings. Just as you were going to reply, the voice called again. “Duchess?”
Slapping your hand to your forehead you groaned. You were also the new Duchess and beginning from today every eye in England would be trained on you. Those were your mother’s words.
“Yes.”
The door opened and a line of maids walked into the room. The first carried a silver basin, the second a neat stack of cloth rags, the third another neatly folded stack of garments, the fourth a rather large box, and the fifth an arm full of chopped wood.
“Good morning, Lady Hastings,” they all said in unison with head bows as they walked to place the items around the room.
The one from last night, Ingrid, approached the side of the bed with a friendly smile on her face. “Were you pleased with your night, my lady?”
Almost as soon as she said the words, her eyes darted to the empty spot on the bed then quickly dipped down.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean--.”
You slid to the edge and placed your hand on her wrist. “It is all right. It was a restful night indeed.”
Ingrid dropped to her knees to help you with the dressing slippers that rested there. Until the fire was roaring again the floor would be deathly cold. You watched one of the other maids stoke the fire with a polker, rolling the logs to where she desired them to be.
“My lady, this way for me to wipe you.”
Glancing at Ingrid she nodded. “This is Louise. Her there tending to your fire is Ann and these two are Mary and Sarah,” she explained.
You liked that she understood what you meant with just a glance. Making note of it, you warmly smiled at the maids as you approached the mirror closest to the rekindled fire. Mary and Sarah got busy pulling the screen for the room that would give you some privacy while keeping the warmth mainly on one side of the room.
“Apologies my lady, you are at right more accustomed to a bath, but I took the liberty to decide on wiping. You will arrive at Clyvedon by mid-afternoon and thought your bath would be better tonight. Forgive me if--,” Ingrid announced. She spoke as if she expected to be punished for thinking.
“It is all right Ingrid. Your choice is fine.”
Glancing back, Ingrid looked as if your response was not expected. You guessed the head housekeeper of Briarvale was not a friendly woman who took anyone’s thoughts but her own too kindly. You knew many housekeepers like that. They governed with iron fists and steel tongues. Your mother, though she was strict made sure all the maids of your family properties knew inhumanness was not tolerated.
Once your nightgown had been lowered to your waist, you stood there with your arms out as Louise did her duty and wiped your body. The scent of delicate rose and fragrant lavender filled the room as the soap did what it was meant to. From the side of your eye, the other items that had been brought in caught your attention.
“What is all that?” You nodded to the pale-colored box that laid on the chaise nearest the fire.
“Oh--,” Ingrid began before she walked around to it. “I was instructed specifically by the duke to present this to you.”
Your eyed dropped back to the box for a few moments then went back to Ingrid.
“The duke?”
Ingrid nodded with a smile and blush to her cheeks.
“The duke instructed you to bring this here?”
Ingrid nodded again.
“For me?”
“Yes, my lady. Would you like to open it?”
Ingrid lifted the box and held it out to you then waited for your move. you hesitated as you thought about what it all meant.
“So he is cold all night to the point of ignoring me, then disappears the entire night having me spend the night alone for me to be the topic of gossip the next morning. Then sends me a present? For what? Is this supposed to appease me? Is it a peace offering?”
Your thoughts rambled while you chewed your bottom lip.
“My lady?”
Looking back to Ingrid you were met with her quizzical eyes. Looking around at all the maids you realized they were all looking at you with a blatant question. Are you going to open it? You reached for the top of the box and the pretty white bow that was wrapped around it but stopped once your fingertips touched the silk fabric.
Of course you were curious about what was in the box, and it was that curiosity that won out. After untying the ribbon, you lifted the top of the box. All the maids around you gasped in unison as a fuchsia-colored material came into sight.
“Tis beautiful Lady Hastings,” Louise gaped.
Ingrid took the item out of the box and the gown came to life. The material looked like a mixture of silk and satin, and it complimented the pinstripes that ran up and down the dress. It was not quite simple but also not flashy. It was a mix of the two but done in a decadent way. It was meant to say something.
“The duke really cares about you, my lady,” Ann said through a giggle.
You could have laughed out loud. She had fallen for whatever little ploy he’d set. If you guessed correctly he knew you would be the gossip of the house because of his disappearance the night before and was using this as a way to preen the situation. The “gift” and his choice of words when instructing Ingrid to bring the box only aided this moment right here. Scoffing you ran your finger across the material and admired its superiority. It probably cost close to three pounds. It was a hefty sum to spend on one item.
Ingrid held the gown to your body so you could see it against you. The color complimented your skin and the way the morning light caught it made it shimmer slightly. It was a beautiful dress. You, however, were not the slightest bit moved. Turning from the dress you walked back to the basin took up the cloth rag, rung out the excess water, and began cleaning your intimate areas.
“Send it back.”
All eyes darted to you.
“My lady?”
“Send it back. I will not be wearing that today. Bring me my white gown with the blue vines and flowers. That is what I will wear.”
“My lady, this gown would be ideal to arrive at Clyvedon in,” Ingrid pressed.
“I prefer the other one.”
No one moved and you decided to give them a few more moments to wrap their head around your choice.
“Will you not anger the duke by not wearing it?”
“Is it the duke or I wearing the gown? If it angers him so, he is welcome to wear it himself,” you snapped.
“Ma’am,” Ann said her voice low while bowing her head.
They all went into motion. Ann folded the gown and placed it back in the box, Louise, Mary, and Sarah all brought your undergarments to you while Ingrid prepared your shoes. As they all helped you get yourself together there was no more talk. You were not easily bought, or placated and if he thought so, he had another thing he’d gravely miscalculated about you.
By the time you walked down the long staircase, fully put together from head to toe you were more than ready to show him just how grievously he’d calculated. Ingrid led the way to the dining room past a long line of paintings of those from the Hastings line. You studied them all for a few moments and noted the one of the woman with gentle features and kind eyes. You wondered who she was.
When Ingrid motioned to an open glass door you walked through it and found Simon standing before a set of French windows bathed in sunlight. Stopping in your tracks, your gut twisted then untwisted as it had when you’d just awoke from your improper dream. In seconds you recalled the words he’d grunted out.
“I burn for you.”
Simon spun and the glare of the sun blotted behind him making him appear to have a halo. Using your hand to block the harsh glare, you peeked through the gaps of your fingers and found the softness of the sun that remained worshiped him. Sunlight was his friend. You stood there as he did staring at the other with neither of you making any moves toward the table.
After several long moments, you cleared your throat and looked away.
“My lord,” you muttered with a slight head bow.
Simon sighed then cleared his throat as well. “My lady.” A terse bow followed before he walked away to the opposite end of the oblong table.
It was a table that looked as if it could seat twelve people rather than just the two of you. Once you sat you looked over the multitude of plates and platters that were scattered around. There were meats, breads, fresh fruit, preserved fruit, dried fruit, eggs three different ways, vegetables, and pastries. You could tell it was done not knowing your tastes and preferences. You reached for a few items nearest you and placed them on the plate before you.
This would be the first time you were eating alone with another man that was not family, you thought. As soon as you formulated the thought you corrected yourself. He was now your family. The saying was a woman leaves her born family and embarks out to make one of her own. You peeped up and across to the man sitting at the other end of the table. You were to make your own with him.
Simon used a knife to spread butter than preserved fruit across the surface of the slice of bread he held. He kept his eyes on the item and his jaw clenched. You weren’t surprised. You were actually convinced a clenched jaw was his normal resting manner. You sighed and acknowledged the butler to your right.
“Tea madam?”
“Thank you.”
Once he’d poured you a cup you lifted it to your lips.
“You can ease your mind and have a bit of sugar in your tea,” Simon began making you halt with the cup at your lips.
He met your eyes and continued, seeing the question.
“On my travels, I made the acquaintance of an Annabeth Wilson in the West Indies. After a battle of wits and brawn with slave owners and traders, she is now the sole and rightful owner of the sugar plantation that was taken from her family decades ago. She is also the only one that pays her workers an above decent wage and does not mistreat them. We’ve developed a friendship and every month she supplies our sugar.”
You let the information sink in. You’d heard the Duke of Hastings had traveled extensively but you didn’t know he’d gone that far around the world. You’d only read books about the West Indies and here he’d been there. He must have heard of your family’s stance on not using certain products and items because of their connection to England’s past slave trade.
Glancing at the small jar of cubed sugar you didn’t feel inclined to take any. You’d gone without for quite a while and did not see a reason to add it. You weren’t tempted. You took your sip of tea and began wondering about this friendship he’d developed.
“What kind of friendship can a man and a woman develop? Sugar was a precious commodity. Those in the business were abundantly rich. She must be losing quite a bit of wealth to send this to him every month.”
A few more minutes of silence passed between you. All that was heard was the soft clatters the dishes and utensils made.
“I take it you prefer the color blue to fuchsia?”
You fought back your smile and took another sip of tea finding it too hard to accomplish. It had taken him long enough to address the shadow in the room.
“No. Fuchsia is a beautiful color—as is blue,” you replied.
Simon didn’t speak right away. He slowly chewed the food in his mouth, then took a sip from his teacup. Once he put it down you nodded to Ingrid, signaling her. You watched her softly sigh, drop her head and walk out of the room to return with the box she’d brought to you earlier. Unable to fight your smile once again, you took another sip of tea.
The moment Simon’s eyes landed on the box his entire disposition changed. The ever-present clench of his jaw became tighter, his nose flared and that sigh that you were sure would be your companion for the many years you’d be married made another appearance. Ingrid placed the box on the table beside the fireplace then backed away to her stop from before. Simon didn’t speak, he kept his eyes on the box for a few moments, then looked across to you.
Your eyes locked. You chose the moment to speak with the expressive eyes your mother had always reprimanded you for. You’d spent so many hours training yourself to keep your eyes cloaked, and void of emotion. She’d said being able to keep your thoughts, emotions, and reactions under control and your eyes clear was one of the powers of every woman.
Looking at Simon, you were sure he was also using the moment to speak. You doubted your messages were the same, but from the way the side of his mouth curled up you knew he got part of your message. You may be a proper lady, but you were in no way submissive. As soon as his lip curled up, it dropped back down, and a smirk spread across his face.
“Good to know. Please enjoy your breakfast Lady Hastings, we do have a schedule to keep,” Simon replied looking back to his plate. Those were the last words that were uttered between you all through breakfast.
Three hours later, you found yourself in the carriage treading over the bumpy terrain of the countryside and your nose in a book well on your way to Clyvedon. Reading was a great pleasure for you, and you were grateful you’d had the good sense to pick a few selections from the library of Briarvale before you departed. Your current read was a great distraction and the then but not anymore controversial topic of marriage between different races. You were a little more than halfway into the novel and were enjoying it immensely.
While you knew Simon was there thanks in part to his scent and overpowering presence you were able to ignore that fact. It took effort but not too much. When you did give in and looked at him, he too had his nose buried in a book. One one of your glances at him, you couldn’t help but get slightly angry. There he was in broad daylight and plain sight, reading a book called “The Courtesan” and he didn’t look one bit ashamed.
“Insufferable.”
You went back to reading and held the book higher to blot him out of your view completely. Though you tried, your concentration was ruined, and your thoughts ran rampant. You’d heard plenty of chatter about the book in passing all from the men of the ton of course. Its contents comprised of detailed accounts of appointments women had with various men, often already married men. You of course hadn’t read it because no proper lady would, but you knew for a fact what was in it was far from proper.
“He may not want to be married, but the fact was he is married. How can he sit in front of his wife reading something like that? How could he so blatantly be so flippant about the matter? Do I not matter? Is there not even any respect between us?”
You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. Your emotions were getting the better of you.
“Stop! Stop the carriage.”
“What?”
“Stop the carriage right now. Please.”
Simon studied you for a few seconds then hit his fist on the wall of the carriage.
“Stop the carriage, Rufus.”
Slowly it rolled to a stop. Before Rufus could come around to open the door and assist you down, you’d pushed it open and jumped down yourself. The breeze was gentle and warm. You were grateful for it being near the end of April because the weather was just right. You walked away from the carriage into the deeper grass with no destination in mind.
Among your friends certain traits were always listed when the discussion of the right man to marry came up. Attractiveness was always at the top, and wealth was underneath it for many of your friends. Intellect was what always rounded out the top three traits for them. Propriety came in fourth, gentleness was fifth, and kindness was sixth.
Finding a spot, you sank into the grass and sighed loving the fact that the height of the grass hid you from the view of the carriage. You dropped back and stared at the light blue sky. Your list of traits was slightly different. While kindness, gentleness, and intellect were high on the list. Attractiveness was nice to have, but you knew not always possible. You didn’t care too much for wealth because you were wealthy enough in your own right. You’d deduced to be comfortable you couldn’t marry too below you. Respect for one another was paramount on your list. You couldn’t see yourself marrying a man who didn’t respect you or your thoughts and just treated you as a possession to be brought around.
“Is that what I am now?”
Of the lists among all your friends, Simon possessed every trait. He was attractive, he was wealthy, held properties, title, land, and social stature. He was intelligent, gentle, and kind in an overall manner, but he viewed propriety very differently. You could tell from the moment you met him that his leisure travel around the world afforded him the chance to witness many cultures and societies and decide what mattered to him. Propriety was probably very low on his list of what mattered. A flash of the memory from your moment in the garden together solidified things for you.
“I wonder what is on his list.”
“Whose list?”
Bolting upright you found Simon standing above you. His frame blocked the sunlight and again gave him an angelic halo and soft background. As a sigh began, you stifled it, ending with a hum.
“Em.”
“Are you unwell?”
“I am quite well. I just needed a break from the bumps,” you answered turning slightly from him.
A few moments later Simon dropped down in front of you and reached his hand out to the side. Rufus handed him a basket then walked off. You watched him open the basket and take out some bread and cheese.
“A snack,” Simon said holding the items out to you.
After careful consideration, you took them and slowly ate. Neither of you spoke for long minutes, you just enjoyed the sunshine, breeze, and open field.
“Whose list and of what?”
You knew you shouldn’t have replied but since he brought it up, you did.
“Your list of traits of the right person to marry.”
Simon paused chewing for a few moments, scoffed, and continued.
“Do women sit around having tea and cake making lists of traits for potential suitors?”
You could hear the amusement in his voice.
“Do you not think it wise to know what is acceptable especially considering the rest of one’s life?”
Simon took you in for a little while then looked away to the distance.
“I suppose I see the value looking at it from a woman’s view.”
“And not a man’s?”
He looked back at you but he didn’t speak, he just chewed with a soft smirk on his lips.
“Most men only care if she is wealthy and beautiful.”
“Is that what you cared about?”
Simon scoffed and shook his head.
“No, I didn’t care about wealth nor beauty,” he replied.
Your curiosity was killing you. “Then what was on your list of traits?”
With his eyes still off in the distance, he spoke, “I didn’t have one.” He looked back to you and his eyes held no emotion, as they locked with yours. They were completely empty. “I told you, Jamilla, I had no intention of ever marrying—ever.”
This was the fourth time you’d heard these words. You didn’t believe him the first two times but the last two—you believed and knew he meant. You’d ruined his plans.
“What is the sense in making a list?”
When he finished his words, he looked away from you again. Both of you continued eating wrapped up in your thoughts.
“I take it you had a list.”
Rather than speaking, you nodded. You didn’t have to look at him to know he was smiling that cocky smile of his.
“Pray tell Lady Hastings, how many traits on your list do I possess?”
You prided yourself on your honesty. You usually always told the truth and were true to your feelings. Right now though, honesty was not the best policy.
“Not a single one, my lord.”
With that, you rose and walked away back toward the carriage with a pleased smile.
“Take that, Duke of Hastings.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Glossary of Terms:
-Stay: An undergarment for women similar to a half corset stopping just at the ribs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
***If you want to be tagged/untagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!***
In the General’s Bed finally updated | A Regency Hux x Reader story
VI - To Resent a General available on AO3.
Summary: The General is cornered… Upon returning from a successful campaign in Battle of Waterloo, Armitage Hux knows he has no excuses left; he must produce the much-needed heir. The problem is, when the two of you parted five years ago, it was not in the best of terms. Now, he may not find his wife, you, so willing as he first expected, nor keen on taking part in any of his political games. [Hux x Reader – Hux x You – Regency AU].
@trelaney another gift for you. I hope you like it xD
It was utter heaven when they met halfway. Even if bittersweet, being with her, kissing her, was the same of being back to home after a long time drifting in the lonely ocean. He had never had some place to call home before — the Silent Hall, Berry Pomeroy 🏰, the manor in the Saint James street were all houses, not home.
There was only one place he could call home and it was her arms.
One of her ✋ was over his chest, right on his ❤️ and the other held him by the neck, bringing him down at the same time she lifted on her tiptoes. It was ironic and even funny how a small, petite being could be the one who could make all the pain go away and quiet the voices in his head.
He had always been a man full of demons. They looked at him, spoke to him and judged him. Besides the pain of losing so many precious people in his life — besides the guilt of taking so many lives that were precious to someone else —, the voices — demons — were the only constant in his life. They only quieted in her presence. They only went away when they were together. And he knew he could only be happy — or any closer to it, for a monster like him should never be allowed to be anywhere closer to happiness — when he was with her.
Byakuya pressed her against him harder. His hands cradled her head, holding her closer. His 👄 devoured hers as if he could put into the 😘 what he could not express into words.
When they broke apart, he 😘 her forehead slowly and breathed in her scent.
“You don’t hate me, but you can’t forgive me either.”
He did not utter a single word in response, which made her 👄 tremble with the need to 😭.
It was true.
He could not bring himself to forgive her. Not yet.
There was so much unsolved between them. So much heartache. So many lies… It did not mean he hated her or would never forgive her. But he could not do it right now.
It was beyond him.
How could he forgive someone when he could not even forgive himself? When he could not move from the past — the painful past where his father died, his grandfather died and where he killed so many in the name of a justice, or a War he did not believe in anymore.
Duke of Hastings/Rege Jean Page x OFC Jemilla “Jemi” Remmington
Warning: Plot, Regency Period Piece, Slow Burn, LOTS OF WORDS
Words: 5.7k
Summary: After your four weeks on the marriage mart and the tumultuous way yours and the Duke’s budding friendship that turned into a faux courtship, then a real crisis that could have tarnished your name forever, you are now married to the Duke. Only this is no traditional marriage. The Duke has professed to never fall in love, never get married, and never sire an heir, a matter you know nothing of. Furious that his wanton, lustful desires have gotten him to forego one of those vows, he is determined not to break the other two. That would usually be an easy feat. Only with you, it might be more challenging to keep those vows, seeing as no matter what, you are the only thing on his mind.
Note: Inspired by Rege Jean Page’s portrayal of Simon Bassett. This fic will not have any other characters from the series, except Lady Danbury, mainly the portrayal version of her by the incredible Adjoa Andoh and maybe Queen Charlotte portrayed by Golda Rosheuvel. This series will focus on The Duke and an OFC female character and will be a sultry and erotic historical romance. Anyone under 18 is advised not to read.
***Let me know if you guys want me to add like glossary terms at the end of the chapters for period specific words/items.
***Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Julia Quinn’s characters, nor the Characters established by Bridgerton. I own the rights to the original characters created in this story.
If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘
As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️
***Loosely Edited/Proofread***
***Slightly Interactive***
Chapter One: The Duke & Duchess Of Hastings
“I pronounce you husband and wife.”
You kept your back straight and your limbs stiff though you felt at any moment either or both would give way, sending you tumbling to the ground in a heap of white lace, silk, and tulle. Perhaps you’d even be sucked into the ground for good measure, you thought. No one spoke once those words had been uttered. Almost a full minute passed before the clergyman spoke again.
“Eh-em, I declare you husband and wife.”
You gulped and slowly found your head swiveling toward the man beside you. a man who was practically a stranger, a man you’d now found yourself joined to until you were parted by death. Your husband—The Duke of Hastings. When your eyes met his, you noted a look of strangled fear and disgust. His jaw was clenched, and he looked as if he were seconds away from revealing the contents of his stomach right on the front of your gown.
Long moments seemed to pass with the two of you just gazing into each other’s eyes. This was not the gazing of enamored lovers or even lustful suitors. It was the gaze of a man who’d been forced into a marriage he did not want and a woman riddled with guilt for her part in it.
“Your grace.”
Simon’s head snapped back in front of him to find the clerk holding out the book he was to sign his name into. You watched as he took the quill from the clerk and slowly signed his name. He paused after every word as if he were seriously contemplating scratching his name from the book entirely. An act that was to be seconds took a full minute, and the entire time you wondered if he would turn to you and call the whole thing off, leaving you a ruined and jilted woman.
Simon held the quill to you for your turn. As you took the object, your gloved fingers grazed his. Even though your skin did not touch his, you shivered all the same—that was before Simon snatched his hand away to drop them to his sides. You glanced down at his hand that you’d ever so softly grazed a week or two ago and watched his fist clench tightly.
“Your grace,” the clerk repeated, this time to you.
Bringing your attention back to the book in front of you, you proceeded to sign your name beside Simon’s. Instead of writing the name you’d been accustomed to your entire life—Lady Jamilla Remmington, you signed your new one for the first time—Duchess Jamilla Bassett, The Duchess of Hastings. It looked strange to your eyes, but it did not look terrible.
“Congratulations, your graces.”
The voices began to overlap as each of those in attendance for the small ceremony extended their felicitations to both of you. Neither of you could find your voices or the words to reply to even thank them. There was nothing to be thankful for, you thought. You’d traded one unhappy future for an equally unhappy one, quite possibly more unhappy as you’d just entered the very thing you’d refused to—a loveless marriage.
Thankfully leaving the church, there weren’t people outside ready to shower the newlywed couple with rose petals and cheers. Unfortunately, you had to ride in the same carriage as your new husband. Simon sat across and diagonal from you, peering out the window at the scenery. Holding your bouquet of fresh flowers while fiddling with the blush-colored silk ribbon it was tied with, you watched Simon take a flask out of his coat pocket and knock back something strong from the whiff of it that caught your nostrils. He grimaced, then groaned before he looked at you.
The way he looked at you nearly made you stop breathing, not from him taking your breath away, but from the hostility you saw in his eyes. Simon grumbled before looking from you back out the window. Your stomach fell, realizing just how severe and hopeless your fate was. For the remainder of the carriage ride, you worked to keep your eyes off of Simon. It was a task that seemed more manageable for him than you.
Every so often, your eyes found their way back to him to take in other parts of him. Either it was the way his cravat looked around his neck, and the sly way peeks of his throat could be seen through the tiny slots, or it was the way he tightly gripped the flask he held. A flask he didn’t bother to hide. He was already so unhappy with you that he didn’t care to continue the ruse of propriety for you. It was disheartening.
Simon kept his jaw firmly clenched as he watched the scenery pass, but he didn’t look as if he were looking at the rolling hills or passing farms. He appeared to be looking directly through anything that passed. This was just day one of your “new” life, and if the two of you couldn’t muster any conversation, you didn’t know what hope there was for the future.
The carriage ride from the church to your reception took all of fifteen minutes, give or take a few. You’d tried to plead with your mother to forgo the reception, stating that it was outdated and unnecessary, but your mother wouldn’t hear a word of it.
“The wedding reception is one of the joys of the beginning of a married woman’s life. It is the time she greets the ton as a Mrs. She is no longer a miss. You will get to revel in your new role in front of all the other unmarried women. The reception lets everyone wish you well while being the source of envy in their eyes.”
You sighed, hearing her words in your memory from the night before. You did not fault her. she did not know the true way your nuptials had come about. She thought you and Simon had genuinely fallen head over heels while pretending to have fallen head over heels. She did not know about what had transpired to bring the two of you to this outcome. You didn’t dare tell her.
While a loving and kind one, your mother preferred her children, mainly her daughters, to be the supreme example of propriety. She had groomed you to be nothing but a proper lady. That meant you always had a chaperone when you were going most places. You were never alone with anyone that wasn’t a woman. Your hemline was the exact number of inches deemed appropriate, as was your neckline. It also meant that your education was top of the line—well, most of your education.
You learned to read, write, do arithmetic, play the piano, do needlework, draw, paint, sing, dance, how to catch the eye of a suitor, the propriety of courting, and how to run a household for marriage. Your accomplishments could have been seen as superior, but your mother said you had to be better than average. You had to be perfect. She pushed you further, saying because your skin color was different, expectations for you to be perfect were high. So, you expanded your education to learn two languages, French and Latin. Excelled in piano and learned to play the harp. You were quite accomplished, usually more than those around you.
The part of your education that was lacking was knowledge that went past things others could see. Your mother made sure to keep any discussions of inappropriate topics away from you and your sisters, only giving you the smallest of details. She sure stressed what was inappropriate but skimmed past any other things. It was while learning about science and animals that you grasped procreation at the most basic level.
You had plenty of unmarried friends. There was Tessa Carmichael, your best friend who lived across the road, Abigail Prowler down the road on the left, Edith Bunfeld down the road on the right, and Letecia Grother, whose aunt was on the neighboring street. All of you often spent your afternoons walking around the park and gossiping about many things, including the joys and privileges of married life. None of you really knew what to expect. Of course, many unmarried ladies tried to grill the ones who were married, but they all remained tightlipped. All they did was giggle into their fans, saying, “you will find out on your own.”
Here it was, the evening of your wedding day, and you still had no idea. Your mother had assured you earlier in the day before you left home for the final time as a Miss that “The Duke will take the lead, all you must do is follow it.”
“Your grace?”
You came out of your memories to see the footman holding out his hand to assist you out of the carriage. Once you stepped out, you rearranged your dress until Simon stepped out beside you. You watched him tuck his flask in his jacket before he held his arm out for yours without even sparing you a glance. Sighing, you looped yours with his and let him lead you into the building.
Once you walked in, the first people you saw were your mother and Landy Danbury. They both had bright smiles on their faces.
“Your graces,” Lady Danbury said, dipping her head.
“Oh, you know you never have to bow your head to me—never to me,” Simon said with a fond smile on his face as he looked at Lady Danbury.
You knew his affection for the woman went deep. You weren’t entirely sure about most of it, but you knew that she’d taken care of him helped him become who he was. You’d only known him about five weeks, and that wasn’t nearly enough time to peel back the many layers of The Duke Of Hastings. You suspected you’d need a lifetime for that. A lifetime which you now had.
“Are you all right, dear?”
You plastered a smile on your face and nodded.
“Of course she is mother, she is now a duchess,” your sister Jerrikka piped up as she came over to pull you into an embrace.
“You know very well I am not the type to hold so much weight on a title,” you replied.
“Is that so? Not too long ago, I remember you bragging you were to be a Princess,” Simon dryly shot out.
You glanced at him trying to keep the glare away. You remembered the conversation you’d had where you’d uttered those words and remembered why you’d said them. You’d wanted to pointedly show him that you were desirable though he behaved as if you weren’t. Perhaps part of you wanted to enrage him or garner any reaction from him at all. He’d been so damned stoic. It was next to impossible to know what toiled in his head.
To not draw suspicion of trouble so soon after wedlock, Simon smiled at you. It almost looked like a real smile, a warm one, but his eyes remained cold—detached. He then led you into the ballroom, and as he did, all eyes floated to you. Everyone in the room held broad smiles on their faces as they dipped down into a respectful half curtsey or head bow. You and Simon both returned the gesture before the members of the ton flooded around you, each offering their happiest felicitations for your marital bliss.
You kept your back straight, face neutral, smile stretched, and hoped it shone all the way to your eyes. Your eyes always gave away whatever you were thinking or feeling. It was what you considered your fatal flaw. Your mother could hide everything behind her relaxed expression and only allow others to see what she wanted. Even, your sisters, Jerrikka and Jacinda, could remain relatively stoic, you were the one who was cursed. Your father always called you his little lightning bolt because of how quickly your emotions flashed.
By the time the congratulations finally subsided, it gave you time to take your first ever taste of Ratafia. Your mother had never allowed it. She said it was for married women. You and Jacinda had only been allowed one glass of cordial at any event. Once you’d had your one glass, it was lemonade after that.
You were standing close to the fireplace in the corner of the room. It gave you a good view of all that was happening. Simon was beside you, slightly turned away with one elbow resting on the stone of the fireplace. His stance allowed you to take in his side profile. Even standing leisurely with his other hand on his hop and one leg crossed over the other, he still looked regal. Before you thought it was conceit you sensed in him, but you’d come to see it as pride.
It wasn’t a detrimental pride or one that said he thought himself high over others. It was a different kind of pride entirely. It was one that made him more attractive in your eyes. His slim but masculine frame you’d gazed over tens of times over the last month always set your curiosities running wild. Right now, you found yourself wondering if all of him had the muscles he’d displayed two weeks ago when he rolled up his sleeves.
You hadn’t even seen your brothers in that state before. he was the first. As your eyes traveled the length of his body, you raised your glass to your lips and took a sip of the coveted Ratafia that many ladies seemed to love. Your eyes stopped at his backside, and that was where they remained. The liquid passed your lips and washed over your tongue.
The most unexpected flavor filled your mouth. It was one that was stronger than anything you’d ever tasted. As soon as you swallowed it, you began coughing. Simon’s head spun to you with a worried expression.
“Are you all right?”
Your response was another fit of coughs, which made Simon take a step toward you.
“Jemilla?”
You held up your hand as you cleared your throat once more.
“Good heavens, this is absolutely terrible.”
Simon’s eyes flittered between the glass in your hands, your face, and back to the glass. Slowly a smile spread across his lips before he pressed them together.
“Is this your first time having Ratafia?”
You nodded.
“How? Every lady in London has a Ratafia habit they think no one knows of,” he said with a smirk.
“Is that so?”
“Why yes. Look.”
He stepped to the side then nodded his head to the ladies of the ton. You looked at a few of them, and each of them brought glasses of the horrid tasting drink to their lips, including your mother, older sister, and Lady Danbury. He was right. It would seem the ladies did have a liking for the thing.
“How is it that your mother and sister drink it regularly, but you have not?”
He was facing you again with plenty of curiosity in his eyes. Needing something to do, you nearly raised the glass back to your lips—nearly.
“My mother doesn’t let any of us have this. She says it is for mature married ladies. So I did not qualify.”
Simon nodded and raised his glass of Brandy to his lips.
“I see. So, now that you are in the company of those married but not quite mature ladies, you decided to partake.”
Curiosity nipped at you now. Tilting your head to the side, you took him in.
“Married but not quite mature ladies? Pray tell what you mean by that, your grace?”
Simon didn’t attempt to speak. He just took another mouthful of Brandy and studied you with the utmost scrutiny. A hint of mischief flickered across his face before he scoffed and turned away from you, taking up his same stance from before. You could have tossed the remaining Ratafia in your glass at his back. He’d always had this uncanny ability to wind you up since the day you’d met. It still hadn’t changed. Your mother said that it was a blessing, and it would mean your marriage would not be a bore.
“It figures you would regress into a state of cowardice at the mere spark of a conversation,” you speared, knowing it would rile him up.
As expected, Simon spun around to face you but also took the three steps needed to be only inches from your face.
“Did you call me a coward?”
You fought a smile. “I wouldn’t dare, your grace.”
You knew he heard the sarcasm in your voice.
“All right, your grace, I shall educate you, but only a little. You are married, as sure as that bauble decorates your dainty finger, but just because you are married, it does not make you mature,” Simon reiterated.
You waited for him to continue, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing you anxiously wanted to hear the end of his thought. Your eyes dipped lower than his to his mouth and watched him smile. That smile was something that was growing on you every time you saw it. You realized the dryness of your throat then, and you snaked your tongue out to wet your lips. His eyes dropped to your lips and stayed there for several long moments.
Simon leaned an inch closer. He could almost touch your nose with his. “You are not mature until you have woken the next morning in nothing by the bed sheets, with aches in muscles and places you never knew you could ache, and a road map of marks along your body all made with nothing but lips all from your first night with a man,” he said in the most alluring voice.
A strange feeling washed over you, and you feared you might actually swoon. Clouds seemed to fill your head as your entire body became so heated as if the fire you were standing near had caught on your body. You tried to control your expression, all the while Simon watched you. After a few seconds, Simon’s jaw clenched, making the muscles in his neck jump.
“Maturity, your grace, requires a toll be paid, and it must be paid over and over and over,” he finished. A scowl replaced his clenched jaw, and the thought that he felt disappointment made your stomach sink.
“And how many tolls have you collected, your grace?
Simon looked caught off guard by the question. It wasn’t a dignified question. One does not ask a man, even if he is her husband, such things.
“Plenty, but remember one needn’t make it an all-night occasion. Five minutes or so in a parlor could suffice.”
Jealousy hit you, and you couldn’t hide it. Simon smirked, then scoffed, but the smile slipped and was replaced with a frown.
“Well, my husband, the rake. I am surprised you wed at all.”
Simon looked pained, but you did not focus on it.
“As am I, but I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” He muttered it, but you heard it through. Instead of letting another emotion slip, you raised the glass to your lips and drank it all down in one agonizing and sicking move. Once finished, you walked off, leaving him there.
Mere hours into your marriage and things were already falling apart; you thought as you walked out of the ballroom and outside into the chilly night air. You took a deep breath, held it, and did it again and again. The man made you angry and flustered in under five minutes. You couldn’t help but reminisce about your time casually talking at balls and events around London while you were on the marriage mart. He’d been terse to begin with, but slowly he’d warmed to you.
You’d developed the beginning buds of a friendship that took you by surprise but was welcoming. While every man in London was trying to put their best foot forward to entice you into marriage, Simon was not. He showed plenty of his bad habits, his cynicism and preference to see the worst in people, his inability to see the true heart of those in his company, his stubbornness, his temper, and on some occasions, his rakish ways. It didn’t matter, you never judged him for it, and you could tell he appreciated it.
“My, how things have changed,” you said to yourself once you were under a wide-spanned tree sitting on the stone bench.
You closed your eyes and listened to the night, finding comfort in the chirping crickets, the sound of the wind rustling the leaves, the faint rolling of the wheels from passing carriages, all backed by the orchestral music from the ballroom. Slowly your anger subsided. You didn’t even know why you were angry. You’d known he had no plans to marry. It was one of the very first things he’d told you, and he repeated it on so many occasions it was seared to your brain. The Duke of Hastings was not in want of a wife. Yet, here you were married to him, all because of one night similar to this one.
It was your fault. You felt as if you’d left him with no other choice. You thought back to the night that had changed everything. You didn’t know what you were doing when you allowed him to cross the lines of proper distance between two unwed people. The only thing you could think about when he slowly came closer and closer was how badly you wanted to know what he smelled like underneath his cravat. For weeks the casual way he had it done with the different materials that were so much more vibrant than others always drew your attention.
In your few moments of stupor, Simon had managed to come so close you could see the small flecks of auburn within his eyes. His unexpected closeness made you swoon slightly, and his arms were there to catch you and hold you against him. It was your first time being close to a man that was not either of your brothers. Even then, there was some distance.
Simon’s hand then grazed your cheek and trailed down to your jaw before curving back to where your earlobe hung. You’d lost whatever strength your knees had and slumped against him just as his finger dipped down your neck and coming across your collar, and it was there he stopped. It took several moments for his finger to plunge lower until it dangled right above the rise of your breast. When he dipped his head down while maintaining eye contact, you began to shake in his arms. He took a deep inhale at the swell of your breast.
“You’re trembling like a leaf, are you cold?”
You shook your head slightly.
“Then what are you, Ms. Remmington?”
You could smell the brandy on his breath, but there was something else too, something you couldn’t make out.
“Quite fevered,” you whispered.
Simon took another deep inhale of your skin then moaned.
“Goodness, you smell of roses, night jasmine and--,” he inhaled again. “Orange blossom. You smell like my best dreams, Ms. Remmington.”
Your breath hitched. Simon came closer and closer until his lips hovered over yours. You should have moved and chastised him about impropriety, but you stood there while the hand that was at the middle of your back slid lower and lower until you felt his fingertips pressing into the flesh just above the swell of your bottom. The action brought your lower half firmly against his. You didn’t know what you felt, but it was something. His lips only slightly grazed yours before you’d heard voices approaching you. He’d been the one to pull away from you first and apologize profusely before he’d walked off, leaving you pressed against the wall of roses that was right behind you.
“Already hiding from your husband?”
You opened your eyes and saw your best friend, Tessa, standing there with a teasing smirk.
“Tessa.”
You began to stand, but she stopped you, sitting beside you instead.
“Your grace,” she said.
Scoffing, you bumped her with your shoulder. “Oh, stop it. Do not tease me. I am still Jemilla. I will hear no nonsense of your grace from you.”
“I know you are Jemi, but you are also a Duchess now. It would be faulty to not acknowledge it, especially in public, at least once.”
You sighed and fiddled with the new ring on your finger underneath your white gloves.
“We are not in public now. It is just you, and I so do away with it.”
“Very well.” Tessa remained quiet for a few seconds before she turned to you with an excited smile. “All right, show it to me.”
You pulled off the glove and showed her the wedding ring Simon had placed on your finger earlier in the day. Tessa gasped, grabbed your hand, and brought it closer to her face.
“Oh my. I dare say the Duke has excellent taste. It is quite beautiful. While most husbands give their wives one jewel, yours had bestowed you a bevy.”
You snorted and looked out into the night while she continued to gawk at the bauble.
“So why are you out here and your new husband nowhere in sight?”
You bit your bottom lip then looked at her. You’d told her everything that had happened between you and Simon. You’d told her the reason your engagement was so quick and that there was no love between you and him.
“Oh come, come, Jemi. I know you wanted to marry for love and desire and passion, but just because your marriage did not start that way does not mean it cannot end up there,” Tessa suggested.
“Tessa, be realistic. I have told you the things he has said about marriage. He came to town with no intent on marriage.”
“And look, he is married now, in mere weeks no less. Jemi, a man will say all sorts of things to prevent something, but from this day on, he is yours.”
It was then you thought back to his words by the fireplace.
“And how many tolls have you collected, your grace?
“Plenty, but remember one needn’t make it an all-night occasion. Five minutes or so in a parlor could suffice.”
You could have laughed out loud, but you didn’t. He hadn’t been yours before, and you doubted he was now.
“Tonight is your wedding night. Perhaps you shall feel differently in the morning,” Tessa said, a broad smile spread across her face.
You knew what she was insinuating. You had heard the chatter of a woman’s wedding night but had heard nothing of consequence. All you and Tessa were left with were speculation and plenty of possible theories and fantasies. Tessa stood and held out her arm for yours. After slipping your glove back on, you looped your arm with hers and allowed her to lead you back into the ballroom.
Once you were seen, your mother approached you and swiftly brought you towards your new husband, then enticed him to dance with you for all the ton to see. Simon, of course, complied, and the two of you drew every pair of eyes. Rather than looking directly at him, you kept your eyes somewhere neutral, somewhere that it would appear to others you were staring into his eyes.
“Remember what I said to you the first time we danced like this?”
“We’ve never danced like this, your grace.”
“You are right; our titles, or rather your title, has changed but are we not the same people?”
You fell into the trap and met his eyes.
“Are we, your grace?”
Simon peered deeply into your eyes as if he were looking for that very answer.
“I am told we have our entire lives to figure it out.”
Feeling your face beginning to shift to give away your inner feelings, you looked away, back to his ear.
“Stare into my eyes.”
They were words he’d said before, in the exact manner. You ignored his instruction, though the urge to obey pulled at your willfulness.
“Jemilla,” Simon said in a low, deep voice.
“Stare into my eyes.”
You caved and darted your eyes to his. Simon held it for a few moments.
“If this is to work, we must appear madly in love,” he said.
The words garnered almost the same reaction as it had the first time he’d uttered them. The only difference was you were well aware that appearances were not nearly all that they seemed. It had worked a little too well, and now you were married and so far from madly in love.
By the end of the evening, your feet hurt from all the walking around and dancing, and your head throbbed slightly, probably from the music and being unable to eat even one bite due to the anxiousness that had plagued you all day. After you’d said your goodbyes to your siblings, mother, and friends, you climbed into the carriage with Simon, unsure just where you were heading. You didn’t pay too much attention to the darkness outside the window because your head was too caught up in thoughts of what was to come.
You fiddled with your gloved hands, your bouquet that you’d nearly stroked all buds from all in an effort to take your mind off of things. After thirty minutes in the bumpy carriage, you saw a large tree pass by. You looked around you, trying to figure out where you were.
“Where—where are we?”
“One of my estates, Briarvale, Simon answered.
“Briarvale. I thought we were going to Clyvedon?”
“No, Clyvedon is quite far, much too far to travel tonight. Briarvale is the in-between point. We will stop, rest for the night, then continue on and should reach Clyvedon by late afternoon next.”
You nodded and lowered your eyes. “I should have made you aware of the plans before. I am afraid I am so used to consulting no one I did not stop to realize I now might have to. I apologize.”
He didn’t sound angry about it, just remorseful. Maybe he was being sincere. When the carriage stopped, the jarvey opened the door and helped you out. Some torches lit the entire walk path to the front door, where two servants were standing at either side of the door. Simon stepped out beside you and cleared his throat.
“After you, your grace.”
You walked ahead while taking in the large home before you. It was two times bigger than the one you’d spent half of your life in, and you imagined Cleyvdon would be four times larger than this one. You never imagined marrying this wealthy. Wealth was never one of your concerns at all.
“Welcome, your graces.”
You and Simon walked inside into the foyer.
“I will let you get settled,” Simon said before walking off, leaving you standing there and wondering where he was going.
One of the maids led you through the house to the stairs. As you climbed them, you took in the paintings on the wall and the wood’s shine. It was a well-kept residence. A few minutes later, the maid stopped in front of a door.
“Your room, your grace.”
“Thank you. what is your name?”
She looked surprised by your question, but she still answered. “Ingrid, your grace.”
“Thank you, Ingrid.”
She smiled and bowed her head, and waited for you to walk inside. When you did, the fire was crackling, making the large room very inviting.
“Is everything to your liking, your grace?”
You nodded. “Thank you, yes.”
Ingrid nodded, then walked out of the room, leaving you with your thoughts. You knew he would come, so you waited. You took the time to look around the room at the different paintings and objects and even examining the material of the sheets on the bed. Still, Simon hadn’t appeared. That was when your pacing began and did not stop. After pacing for quite a while, you finally stopped, then took off your shoes and waited some more. When another ten minutes passed with no Simon, you peeled off your stockings but hesitated to remove any more articles of clothing.
When you were sure you’d waited an hour more, you got annoyed and walked to the door. As soon as you opened it you saw one of the maids passing.
“Hello there.”
The young woman turned, startled, then dipped down to a bow.
“Your grace, is something the matter?”
You were embarrassed even to ask her this. “No, nothing is wrong. Have you—do you know where—has his grace retired for the evening?”
The maid gave you a curious look. No doubt she was thinking that you should know better than her. He was your husband, after all.
“Uh—no, ma’am. His grace is still in the study. Would you like me to deliver a message?”
“No! No. Thank you.”
You went back into the room, closed the door, and sighed out. She undoubtedly found it strange, and you worried you’d be the gossip of the house in the morning. You began undressing as you’d done plenty of times before then climbed into bed, leaving your petticoat on. Instead of going to sleep right away, you sat up and waited.
You didn’t know what was going on or what to expect, and that was the part that gave you the most anxiety and distress. After another hour, it was clear to see that Simon was not coming. You didn’t know what to think or feel. The very little you’d been told to expect still made no sense, especially since it hadn’t happened. Or had it? Your mother told you that your husband would take the lead. Had Simon taken the lead by staying away?
After going over it tens of times in your head, you snuffed out the candle that was on its last inch of life and lay down to stare at the upper canopy of the bed.
You were married, but his actions had proven the line was drawn, and you were on opposite sides with chasms between you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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