#thread: ceara

[lorddominic]

who: dominic & ceara @lavieenton where: Dominic's Mayfair Office

All day, Dominic had tried talking terms with Leonora’s uncle. He sent it all in writing, from the dowry and her potential widow's jointure to the child provision. How Dominic’s assets and funds would be distributed for their future children was tiresome but necessary. The child provision was exactly why Dominic wanted a partner that wasn't in line for any inheritance. Things like that always got complicated, and he needed one less complication in his life. The duke wasn’t thrilled that the child provision didn’t include his entire fortune, even if part of it would go to his brothers. Having children didn’t change Dominic’s responsibilities fully. In his office, Dominic was surrounded by that and more. The papers of the marriage terms were sprawled out on his desk, joined by bills and things to be discussed in the house of lords. Then there was the estate management in another pile. Mayfair was beginning to sleep, but Dominic’s mind refused him that same mercy. Marriage was another milestone he’d complete. Another thing that he was trained for, and still he felt nervous. Just like when he began his journey to London for his investiture, the idea of marriage both scared and excited him. 

A knock broke through Dominic’s quiet. He barely glanced up from the desk when his valet came in. Dominic was visibly annoyed at his valet, and then a name came to his lips. Ceara Dempsy. She’d wanted an audience, but the valet wasn’t sure what to do. When Dominic came to London, visitors this late were frequent and needed discretion. It was obvious that’s what his valet assumed. Dominic nodded his head and waited for her to come in. He could feel the letter in his breast pocket. “It’s late,” Dominic said, rising from his desk. “Why did you need to see me so late?” He asks, his eyes locked on her.

[lorddominic]

who: dominic & @lavieenton (Ceara) where: The Barnett House (event)

The night seemed to be endless. Dominic had danced enough and conversed with eligible ladies and their parents. The mothers were too eager to have a marquess’s interest, but it never went beyond a polite conversation. He’d grabbed a drink with a friend, watching as others danced when he saw her. Ceara was happy, smiling, and dancing with someone else. For one moment, the music dulled. His eyes went from her smile to the man’s hand on her waist. Both of them were graceful and composed, looking effortlessly happy. Dominic’s jaw tightened at the thought. It wasn’t until his friend’s laughter brought him back. Finally, the dance ended. For some time, Dominic didn’t think the dance would ever end.

Dominic watched Ceara slip through the doors, heading towards the gardens. He waited exactly one minute before following. One long, excruciating minute. She was standing near the roses, the moonlight making her dress look black, almost like a starless sky. “You looked happy up there,” he says, with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes, "and you looked well-matched on the floor.” The words were bitter in his mouth, but Dominic still smiled. He knew he was the last person Ceara wanted to see, but he couldn’t help himself.

[lorddominic]

who: dominic & ceara @lavieenton where: ireland, 1797

There hadn’t been much time since his grandfather's passing, but Dominic was reminded he had a duty to his family now. Within a week, he was whisked away to London, and his investiture was held. He’d sworn his loyalty to the king and his heirs, and then he was granted his title through the Letters Patent. All he could remember was how the letter felt heavy and the ermine tail robes tickled his neck. His mothers had commissioned a painting of him dressed in his full regalia, coronet as well, to be hung in Hillsborough Castle. Everything about the ceremony only amplified the pressures he’d now have. Dominic longed to be home. The ceremony was long; the social season was tiresome. He couldn’t walk through Hyde Park without someone throwing their daughters at him. It all made him miss the unpredictable Irish crossing.

Dominic arrived at Belfast harbour by the afternoon, and already it was packed. The voices rose up louder than the seagull’s cries, all shouting the same thing. He’d scarcely set foot on solid ground before the noise reached him. Dominic adjusted his glove, his gaze drifting towards the crowd. He couldn’t stop thinking of home, of his bed on the ship; now his curiosity was pulling him somewhere else. Thankfully, his mother both remained in London, so he had the time to explore without their meddling.

When he made it to the crowd, he listened closely. They were all shouting about safer school rooms and better education for their children. They couldn’t be blamed for wanting it. As Dominic walked further into the crowd, a shoulder met his. It wasn’t enough to stagger him, but it was enough to remind him that he still had his sea legs. He’d stumbled a little into someone else, and quickly he turned. “Forgive me,” he said with a hint of a smile. “I’m still finding my land legs; I didn’t mean to barge into you.” He still looked tired from his travels, but that didn’t stop him from apologising. “Is it always so lively here, or have I returned at the worst moment to stand upright?” He asks, laughing as he still tries to find his bearings. Dominic hated travelling across the Irish Sea. It was unpredictable, and terrible weather was normally the only sure thing.