a ribbon of loneliness

[tenderstarved]

[ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 . . . 

Goodness, CATHERINE “KATE” LOCKHART has arrived in London. SHE is 23, of the KENSINGTON LOCKHARTS. Though they are NEW to the Season, we can only describe them as KIND and CREATIVE, dear reader. Accompanied by HER MOTHER, they have settled in and are accepting social calls. But be warned: they are known for their ENVY. 

Catherine - Kate to her friends, Kitty to her family - can be described, above all, as kind. A sweet girl with a smile for everyone, she has always been accommodating, gentle, diligent, and eager to learn. She feels most at home in a field of wildflowers, reading a book or sketching a landscape, and while she enjoys dancing, she loathes the noise and clamor of parties. Her house was always full of laughter and catty bursts of yelling –– after all, with four sisters so close in age, there’s bound to be fights –– but the noise was contained in a way that feels familiar to her, a way that feels more like home than anything else. Parties contain far too many people for her personal preference. Beneath her many accomplishments, however, Catherine often has a penchant for silence, for staring into the distance and losing track of her thoughts for long moments. There is a thick undercurrent of longing to her demeanor, though in all her years of life, she’s never been able to answer just what exactly it is she yearns for. Perhaps it’s not a thing, or a person, but just that she is so enamored with the idea of longing for something that she can’t quite let go of that desire, and so it often translates into a bone deep envy for the things that others have, and she has not. 

When Catherine Lockhart, youngest of the four Lockhart sisters, was six years of age, her eldest sister, Elizabeth, showed her a priceless work of art. The piece in question was a large shard of what used to be the ceiling of an ancient temple, and had been made with glass and stone and tesserae. The colorful bits of glass reflected the light and shone in such a way that they could almost be gemstones, if not for the clarity of the light passing through them. The two sisters had stared at it, one in awe, one in confusion, until finally, after long moments of silence, Catherine had tugged on Elizabeth’s sleeve. Elizabeth had knelt down to her younger sister’s level, her blue eyes wide and expectant. Catherine had pointed at the broken mosaic, her blonde eyebrows pulled together so tightly, her little mouth curved into a frown. 

“Why are we looking at this?” She had asked, and Elizabeth had pressed her own mouth together against a laugh. “It’s just pieces of junk!” 

Elizabeth had laughed at that, and pulled Catherine into her arms with the kind of delighted joy that only an older sister could manage. “It’s not junk, Kitty,” she had explained. Her free hand moved in sweeping motions, filling in the blanks of missing pieces, painting the full picture for Catherine as she described what the mosaic would have looked like when it was newly assembled. 

“There’s beauty in making something whole out of so many broken pieces,” Elizabeth had told her. “All of these pieces were nothing, and then an artist picked them up and made something whole and beautiful, and now all of those little bits make up something beautiful. Something complete.” 

Catherine hadn’t understood what her sister was trying to say back then. After all, she was still just a child, too young to grasp the intricacies of art, of culture, of creating. Now, though, she understands perfectly. 

She understands, of course, because she is that mosaic too. 

You see, everything Catherine owns has belonged to someone else; her favorite green damask dress was once Cassandra’s, the faded linen apron she ties on every time she steps into the kitchen had been Amelia’s first (and their mother’s before that), the boots that fit her just a little too tight in the toes belonged to Elizabeth for seven whole winters before going to Amelia, and then to Catherine. All of her books were novels her sisters had purchased and pored over voraciously, trading back and forth between the three of them like miniature cakes and secrets, and even the charcoals that she uses to sketch out figures and landscapes had belonged to Cassandra for two full weeks before she discarded them. There is nothing within Catherine’s possessions that has belonged to her and her alone, and this rings true even so far as her mannerisms and her personality. 

From Elizabeth, Catherine developed her love for art, for capturing the essence of a thing onto paper and immortalizing the way you see it through your eyes. Her eldest sister taught her to sketch, to paint, even to read, long before their father even considered a governess for his youngest daughter. She taught her how to plant herbs in the garden, how to lace her own stays if no one else was around to help, and how to pick the ripest fruit from a bowl without even touching it. Elizabeth also gave her the way she tilts her head when she listens intently, the way the tip of her tongue sticks out through her teeth when she concentrates, and how she leans on her left leg when she studies a painting before her. 

From Amelia, Catherine inherited the particular way she kneads bread, the way she punches the dough down with unusual ferocity and rolls it out without mercy. She inherited Amelia’s unrestrained laughter, and her peculiar habit of leaping on her tiptoes in the early mornings before the rest of their household would wake, lest her heel clunk on a floorboard and - in Amelia’s words - startle the dust awake. To this day, Catherine stirs her tea clockwise thrice and counterclockwise once, though she’d never be able to fully articulate why, other than explaining, “that’s how my sister always did it.” 

And from Cassandra…from Cassandra, she learned how to play the pianoforte, how to speak a handful of French, and something far more damning and more important than any other accomplishment a young lady could need. From Cassandra, she learned that sometimes, the truth doesn’t matter; at least, not in the way it does in their favorite novels. 

Catherine spent her whole life emulating her sisters, both the good parts and the bad, the gentle kindness, the casual callousness, and everything in between. And that desire to be just like her big sisters ultimately led to the undoing of the four Lockhart girls.

After the disastrous events surrounding Amelia’s wedding, the Lockhart sisters have been fractured at best, and Catherine has been left holding all of the broken glass that once made up their family mosaic. Cassandra barely speaks to any of them, Amelia is busy with the day to day duties of a farmer’s wife, and Elizabeth is difficult to reach at even the best of times. For the first time, the Lockhart estate is often quiet, and no matter how loud Catherine stomps in the morning, the dust is never startled awake. 

She knows it’s her duty now to marry well and try to make her own way in the world in the same way that her sisters have, but Catherine has never been able to find her own voice before now, and she worries that she will always be a splintered echo of all the Lockhart women who came before her. 

[tenderstarved]

baronwillliam​:

She believed him and that felt like something that gave him strength even as it left him unsteady, as if he could topple and would be able to move quickly enough to catch himself. An important ability with the way he was holding onto Catherine even as she urged him to sit down, a request that William knew that he should honor when they still needed to talk, to sit down and speak more rationally than blurting things out wildly like the time to speak may never come again and his words were numbered. Those shreds of calm he attempted to gather and twist into a makeshift bandage dissolved at the sight of her and that simply wasn’t acceptable, he needed to behave logically and rationally.

“I’m sorry.” Not for the line, not for making her into an accomplice in a falsehood that she hadn’t asked for and he hadn’t asked about, but for the simple fact that her father was angry at her and that never should have happened. Perhaps it was that regret more than anything that led William to loosen his hold on Catherine and sit back down, feeling his knee twinge at the motion. Squeezing at her hand in return before settling into the chair, William fingers began to tap on his thigh as he watched her go. Checking if the coast was clear of her parents, perhaps? A wise thing if they were dong things they would rather not be caught talking about, like various secrets shared.

Watching her with care, William found himself tracing her shape with his eyes, looking for any sighs of distress - wrinkles where she may have fished her dress, redness or dark circles around her eyes. She’d looked so close to tears when he first came in and he hadn’t been able to go to her, but that had been what felt like ages ago. Had she cried and covered it up, or had she calmed down, mastered herself in a way that William hadn’t?

“That’s good to hear,” William admitted, hoping that he was some comfort to her in the time between Whistledown coming out and this, William showing up and doing his best to correct things. “I was hoping the two of you would get along.” And hopeful that Catherine would see it for the inclusion it was, that even now what he had was hers, that he wanted her to enjoy having a hand in shaping Orion’s personality with him because it wasn’t just William’s dog, but it would be thee dog. Not exactly what William had in mind when he first inquired with Lady Cobham about a puppy, but true all the same. Edging closer to her, their knees bumping together as a point of comfort, there was the urge to take her hand and run his thumb along her knuckles, an idea that he pushed aside for the time. If any of her family came in, he wanted them to be the picture of propriety so close to a scandal, something that William hadn’t really managed to think about while holding Catherine in his arms. It was a precaution that felt well founded when there was a knock by the door and he moved to stand until he realized it was a servant.

Tea. He’d kept thinking about tea the entire time he was talking with Mr. Lockhart and how his blessed girl had delivered. “You’re a godsend.” He declared quietly, ignoring that he didn’t think he believed in such a thing anymore and, if he did, he would have several pointed questions for their maker. It was perfect as he knew it would be, the scent of it soothing and William didn’t care if he burned his tongue. It was almost nice to have that to focus on, no matter how quickly the warmth of the drink faded, and at least he’d stopped trembling at some point, no rattle of delicate dishes to give him away.

“He sat me down and gave over the Whistledown sheet, asking if I’d read it. I hadn’t, and he was concerned about things. I admitted that I touched your hand and kissed you the night I proposed, I believe your father was picturing that we did far more than that.” William admitted, because that was how the article had opening and was the first thing that he addressed with Mr. Lockhart. Some part of him was annoyed at Whistledown for making it seem like they tried to sneak into a shadowy stack to sneak kisses while he lifted Catherine’s skirt, they were there to see the stars by invitation, but there was no point in making that distinction. They were without chaperone either way and both knew they shouldn’t have been. “And I told him the letters were to me, so he doesn’t think that you were unfaithful or anything like that. I also told him that it’s possibly someone told me about… the accusations, while I was unwell, but if they did, I don’t remember.”

Forget about lying to Mr. Lockhart, suddenly this was the part of the conversation he didn’t want to have with Catherine because somehow it all felt horrible. “It might be true, but I don’t think it is.” And he was not about to tell her why, even if there had been though of detailing things during more… heated moments, like when they were searching for the ring. “But I suggested a compromise to him that… he approves of.” Why was it so difficult to get the words out? His speech was never so faltering. Except usually, he wasn’t saying things he thought would upset Catherine, was he? Wasn’t confessing to something that felt like a crime against her, because she hadn’t been included. “He likes the idea that we wed and, if a year passes without a child, we cease to have a marriage so you would be free to find someone who would give you a family.” And oh, he didn’t want to see her react to that idea, didn’t want to hear what she had to say, and William quickly looked down at his tea cup, adding quickly as a distraction. “And I think my mother might have suggested that rumor.”

.

“Please don’t apologize,” Kate murmured insistently, shaking her head at him. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Will, please –– there’s nothing to apologize for,” she insisted, her eyes drawn to the agitated tapping of his fingers against his thigh, the tense way he held himself even as he accepted the teacup gratefully. You’re a godsend. She flushed, glancing back over at him from where she stood, and slid the tea tray so that it was positioned between their two chairs, just off to the side. The urge to try and get him to eat something was strong, but she held her tongue. One thing at a time. She sat back down, holding her own cup in her lap, and listened to the words pouring out of him rapidly, her brows pulling together in concern as she did. Shifting her grip on her cup of tea, Kate leaned forward slightly and laid her fingers on his wrist, gently, lightly. “You didn’t have to lie for me,” she whispered, her chest aching at the realization that she’d made a liar of him. She felt far more guilty about that than she did about exchanging correspondence with an old friend, regardless of how society might see it. She knew what was in the letters, she knew it was innocent, and William had been satisfied by her explanation of them, so why should it matter if she was sending letters to an old friend? Still –– the fact that he’d lied for her, without hesitation, without thinking, made her chest ache in ways both guilty and warm. For the briefest of moments, she thought of the last time she’d been well and truly accused of something, and the way she’d been treated, and...when she compared it to this, something small and tender and raw inside of her felt like it was going to bring her to tears. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t...I’m sorry I put you in that position, it wasn’t my intention,” Kate murmured, releasing her gentle grip on his wrist and pulling back, taking a sip of her tea to give her hands something else to do. She didn’t know how to respond to the comments about Margate, at the truth he’d told her father. She didn’t blame him, of course; she’d have done the same in his position. But...what was there to say? They’d made a mistake, and they’d known there was a risk that they’d be caught. And Will was already moving on, his words coming out with a staccato kind of rhythm as he spoke about the rumor that Whistledown had published about him. She’d told him at the beginning that she believed him that he didn’t know, and that was true, and hadn’t changed since they’d sat down to speak. Still, she’d spent the last day having to confront the reality that all of her dreams and plans for her future might be upended, and that was...difficult to let go at the drop of a hat. Even though she believed him, the ghost of worry and paranoia was haunting her at the edges of her thoughts. 

She nodded slowly as he admitted that it was possible someone had told him, but that he did not remember, that he wouldn’t have misled her, that he had reason to believe it wasn’t true. Kate was about to ask him what he meant by that, confused by the hesitant confidence in his voice, when he mentioned a compromise. She went still as he continued to speak, feeling suddenly very lightheaded, and slowly, carefully, she set her teacup back down onto her father’s desk, the china of her cup and saucer clinking together with a tiny little rattle. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She barely heard his comment about his mother, barely paid attention to the fact that this was something she should comment on, should speak to him about, should console him on. All she could focus on was the compromise. 

A year. That was what they had agreed on, without her there to have a say, to make a decision. You can still say no, her father had told her, but he hadn’t thought to warn her that if she still wanted to say yes, she was only going to agree to three hundred and sixty five days with William. Her stomach felt like it had dropped to somewhere near her ankles, like there was a hollowness that had taken over her body. It felt like someone had carved everything out from within her until nothing was left behind, except for her heart, raw and exposed and held in a grip like a vise. She felt like something had been taken from her, something she could not put a name to, something she could not even fully identify. She knew it only by its absence. 

Kate swallowed thickly, pressing her hand to the hollow at the base of her throat, working the skin with her fingers as if that would get rid of the awful thick feeling that she was trying to swallow around. “Is that–– that’s what you want?” She asked, her voice sounding smaller and thinner than usual, her throat still tight and her chest still hollow. She couldn’t imagine it was, it didn’t sound like it was, but...Kate couldn’t help the small horrible anxious and morbid voice in the back of her thoughts that dug a knuckle into a soft, bruised spot of her heart and wondered if he was going to fight for her. 

[tenderstarved]

margaretmulgrave​:

༻✦༺༻✧༺༻✦༺

Margaret could easily finish Miss. Lockhart’s thought for herself. Embarrassing. Overwhelming, perhaps? It did not matter how close a lady was with their chaperone, there were some interactions better left between intending couples. Not that society would ever agree when it came to an unmarried lady’s virtue.

She blinked, looking at Kate with a newfound appreciation at the admittance she was attempting to put together her own wedding gown. “You are ambitious, Miss Lockhart. It is quite a project.” Margaret meant it as a compliment, but she did wonder what pushed Kate to take on the task in the first place. Most women used hand-me-downs, or a dress they already had on hand. It was only ladies in Margaret’s position who looked for entire new ensembles. Another expectation. She chewed her lip thinking of her appointment so quickly secured with the modiste and here was Kate Lockhart making her gown out of her own labour of love.

“I am sure it will be marvelous. Not many choices have been made between Lord Harcourt and I either, of course it will take place here-“ She motioned around themselves, picture perfect St. George’s. “So, I suppose I ought to start planning things like it’s really taking place.” Margaret laughed lightly at herself, catching Kate’s whispered suggestion and grinning back, “Certainly a better destination to do so than a house of worship.” She agreed, with a short nod glad to hear the pastor finally close out the service properly, the stiffness in her body dropping noticeably.

.

Ambitious. The word made Kate chuckle softly in the back of her throat, and she shook her head. “I don’t think that’s the case,” she murmured, glancing away for a moment. She knew that a new dress would be expected of a duke’s daughter, or a princess to be, and not for someone like her, and Amelia had offered to send her the one that she’d worn, since it was gathering dust in her closet, but...everything Kate owned was a hand-me-down. She wanted something new, something that belonged solely to her, to start her life with William in. And maybe one day their daughter might be able to take it and make it into something new of her own. “It’s a very simple design,” she deflected, as if that negated all the work she was putting into it. “And I don’t mind the work –– I’ve always enjoyed needlepoint, if I’m being honest.”

She nodded at Margaret’s words, glancing around the chapel with the other woman. It hadn’t really occurred to her, until that very moment, that this was where she and Will would be exchanging vows as well. The thought made her dizzy. Margaret’s laughing comment made her smile as well, and she leaned in slightly as the service was closed and the congregation murmured their amens before gathering up their bibles and shawls. “I know exactly what you mean,” she laughed, her voice still low, but her own posture beginning to relax along with Margaret’s as she looped her arm through the other woman’s companionably. “We can debate lace patterns and flowers over tea and cakes,” she offered, turning back to make sure her mother and Margaret’s own chaperone were following them as they began to make their way out. “I think lilies would be a beautiful choice for you –– white and yellow, maybe, or pink roses, to go with your ring.”

[ tbc. ]

[tenderstarved]

baronwillliam​:

“Of course.” Considering that until only a few moments ago William expected to be kicked out of the man’s house without the right to ever exchange a single glance with Catherine, much less a word, he was perfectly happy to wait while Mr. Lockhart talked with his daughter. In fact, he preferred it, the idea of a chance to gather his composure so he’d stop shaking like a boy after his first fight. It was embarrassing and William grit his teeth in an effort to regain control, swallowing as he nodded and remembered absently a fellow soldier once telling him that he was grinding his teeth in his sleep. It was a strange memory, not at all related to the moment except in the way that perhaps he would never have Catherine gently waking him, fussing at him for bad habits. He had nightmares sometimes, how had he never considered those and they way they would impact her? And what did it say that here he was thinking about being in bed with Catherine and he wasn’t picturing touching her, nothing impure or improper, but simply the gentle concern and the intimacy of being known?

Holding it together until Mr. Lockhart left the study, William counted to ten before slumping in the seat, elbows braced on his knees. He could feel an ache in one of them, something that traveled up his thigh, but that was something that he was familiar at handling while managing a scandal to keep a bride was not. Hopefully it would never be an issue he needed to face again. In through the nose came a breath then out through his mouth, his shoulders feeling strung out and resistant to holding the weight of propping himself up. The sense of tiredness, of soreness, that hit him seemed to have come from nowhere and William dragged his fingers through his hair, uncaring of the way it would mess it up. The way his hair looked was far from William’s greatest concern and while he didn’t doubt that Catherine would be agreeable to talking to him, the only question was hold long it would take until she was released to be in his presence. Maybe he should have been considered for what her father was saying to her, but he wasn’t - Catherine knew what they’d done as well as he had and -

Damn Whistledown to hell. William hoped that she didn’t give away his lie about the letters, but beyond that, did it matter if it was him or Mr. Lockhart that explained away what Whistledown said about him? For as much trust as William put in Catherine, he had to believe she returned that trust and knew he would never keep such an important thing from her on purpose, never would have agreed with her on many children if he did. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, break her heart that way and he hoped that fate wouldn’t lead him to such a crime. Hand falling from his hand to his mouth, Will pressed still trembling fingertips against his lips. No longer breathing through his mouth, he focused on the pounding of his heart, deep breath in, deep breath out. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one… repeat.

There was the thud of footsteps loudly enough to be heard from outside the room, prompting William to look up in time to see Catherine in the doorway. The sight of her was enough to lifting him from the chair without thought, a wince crossing his features at the flash of pain that he didn’t think to account for. Strange, sitting in the carriage for the trip back from Cliveden was more than long enough to let him grow stiff and sore, why did it seem so much worse now after having sit in the Lockhart home? He knew the answer, or would if he could focus on more than one thing at a time, and nothing was more important than the way Catherine crashed into him. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, Will pressed his face to the top of her head, sneaking a kiss to her hair and clinging. He’d thought for a moment that he would never see her again, and that seemed like it should make the familiarity allowed. The doorway to the study remained empty, so perhaps it did.

“I’m fine,” William insisted, pulling Catherine right back against him and running a hand down her spine before moving it back to the more appropriate location of her shoulder blade. “Your father - I didn’t know about Whistledown and what she wrote, or I swear I would have told you. As far as I know, it’s a lie and - the letters.” Uncertain what to bring up to Catherine first, William’s mind jumped from one topic to the next at the mention of the word lie as this time he was the one to pull away, but only to ensure that he could see her face. “Catherine, did he ask you about the letters?” William asked in a hurried whisper, eyes glancing between Catherine and the doorway in an effort to make sure that no one was approaching or in danger of overhearing. Catherine had accused her mother of eavesdropping before and if that were to happen now they would be right back into the trouble it seemed they only narrowly escaped from.  

“He asked if I still wanted to marry you and he brought up the letters. I told him that they were to me.” He’d panicked and lied to her father and William wasn’t certain in that moment what was more important, spending his time to make sure that she knew that he hadn’t willingly lied to her, or that he had misled her father and given them a sham of a relationship history…. On second thought, it was lying to her father. “I might have panicked. A bit. But what are you, are you well?”

.

“I believe you.”

The words came out without hesitation, without spare thought. I didn’t know, he said, and...that was that. Will had promised there would be no secrets between them, after all, and he’d never given her any reason to make her doubt before. His arms were still around her, one hand trailing up her back absently before adjusting its position, and she placed her palms against his chest, pushing ever so slightly, ever so gently. His face was ashen, his hair sticking up at odd ends, and he looked rather unsteady on his feet. “You need to sit down,” she urged, softly, even as he pulled back farther, eyes wide and insistent. 

Kate blinked, once, twice, and then shook her head. “No, he was too angry––” she started, her voice low, only to stop when he admitted to his lie, to his panic. She blinked again, her eyes wide, trying to parse the information he was giving her. “Oh,” she whispered, startled into silence. Her brain rifled back through every interaction she’d had with her father since Whistledown had been released, which, thankfully, was minimal. She tried to recall every question he’d asked, and was grateful to realize there hadn’t really been any questions. Only anger. “I––” She swallowed, shaking her head. “It’s fine,” she whispered, “it’s alright. He never asked me about them. I never said who they were from. It’s fine,” Kate repeated, her voice still soft, but firmer now, more steady. “Now Will, please, sit down,” she urged, carefully disentangling herself from his grip, squeezing his hand once before heading back towards the door. Leaning against the door slightly, Kate stuck her head out into the hallway and looked around until she caught the eye of a maid heading down the stairs, and she flagged the woman down, asking her softly and quickly if she could bring a tea tray into the study, quickly, before turning back towards Will. 

“I’m fine,” she said dismissively, belatedly, realizing that he’d asked her a question that she’d completely neglected to answer; realizing just as quickly that he was in no state to carry on a conversation about how terrified she’d been since Whistledown had arrived, or the fact that this was the first fight she could remember having with her parents since she’d reached adulthood. “Orion was lovely,” Kate added suddenly, tugging one of the spare chairs closer to him and sitting down in it, their knees bumping into one another as she did. “He was on his best behavior and is still napping in the sitting room,” she assured him, her brows furrowing as she looked him over again. I told him they were to me. Even though she’d already responded, already taken in the information, received it, and answered it in kind, it was only just now starting to sink in. 

He’d lied to her father. For her. To absolve her of this thing she’d done that was, by all societal accounts, wrong. He could have blamed her for it, despite what he’d said in his gardens, because –– she was to blame. But instead he’d lied, and he’d fallen on the sword, and he’d taken the responsibility and the burden and the blame. Her chest began to tighten. “You didn’t have to––” Kate started, her voice soft, shaky, only to be cut off by a quiet knock on the half open door. She popped out of her chair, rushing to the door before Will could get up, knowing he’d expect to see her father. “Thank you, Jane,” she said, taking the tea tray and setting it down on her father’s desk, and then beginning to make Will a cup. 

“Here,” Kate said a moment later, handing him the teacup and glancing around idly in the faintest of hopes that she might spy a bottle of whiskey or brandy or something stronger, only to come up empty. Tea would have to do. “Drink,” she ordered, “and then talk to me,” she finished, soft and urging, as she began to drop two lumps of sugar into her own tea. 

[tenderstarved]

baronwillliam​:

By the time the sun set, William wouldn’t be able to recall everything he said with his usual clarity, the words a blur overlaid with emotion that drowned out everything else. His chest still felt tight and there was a pressure inside his skull, something that reminded him of the time oversees when he stepped into a temple only to smell incense that drove him back out. He couldn’t smell anything, but chances were that the entirety of the Boys George from the hunting trip could be smoking behind him and William would have been blind to it, focused with tunnel vision on Samuel and the dangling chance of happiness with Catherine, the thread attached to it growing thinner with strain.

There was a terrible gut wrenching, heart carving pain attached with the concept of losing something you loved and even if there wasn’t anything touch William, the emotional pain echoed out so strongly that when it returned, it came back as a physical pain. Insides twisting, heart being sliced free, it all ached and yet why? Why should it be a surprise that once again, his best wasn’t good enough? William was ready to have failed and for the last of the strands connecting him to Catherine to snap, the cool, dispassionate, and almost removed tone of Mr. Lockhart’s words signaling the end in William’s mind.

He didn’t need to read the letter because it wasn’t important. He didn’t wish to read the letter because why would he want any proof of some man taking advantage of his daughter? Certainly, Mr. Lockhart didn’t know the truth, that Catherine was exchanging letters with some other man and that William, while he was in fact writing Catherine a letter, had never sent her any and didn’t plan on sending it to her but had simply wanted a way to get his thoughts out while they were apart. It was a lie told and even if it hadn’t made things worse, it didn’t appear to have made things any better, either.

Except…

At first, William didn’t think he’d heard correctly, mouth opening and shutting before he could ask Mr. Lockhart to repeat himself. Instead William chewed on the inside of his cheek where the skin felt tender, hardly daring to believe that it was true. He wasn’t going to stand in the way, which meant… he could keep Catherine?

“Oh.” William said finally, the word escaping him like the air from a punctured balloon and he wanted to collapse, a marionette with its strings cut, but he resisted, focusing on the way that Mr. Lockhart was still talking. William still felt jittery, still felt cold, but it was the shaking of relief instead of that cased by anxiety this time as William found himself nodding without quite being sure which part he was nodding to. “Do you want to sit in on the talks?” He offered immediately, feeling solicitous in light of Samuel not breaking the engagement and kicking him out of the house, never to see the sun shining down on Cather’s face again, the wedding dress that he wasn’t to see, but knew that she was working on going unworn.

Clearing his throat, William realized perhaps he was getting ahead of himself, but he’d never been in such a situation and just like with asking for the engagement, felt floored that Samuel acquiesced to what he wanted, leaving William confused with just what to do with himself. “May I speak with her today?” That was the more appropriate remark, wasn’t it? To see if he could speak with her, or perhaps Samuel wanted to counsel her first and he should come back the next day. He wanted to see her then, ten minutes ago, and an hour ago, wanted to make sure that she was fine, let her know that she was and always would be worth fighting for, but the terror of losing her was a beat whose teeth still scraped the skin of his belly and William was cautious of testing Samuel so soon. “Would that be agreeable?”

It didn’t matter how tired and exhausted he suddenly felt, the escape of tension from his frame leaving him feeling wrung out like a wash rag, it was worth it as long as he could make sure that Catherine was okay, the image of her face when he first walked in filtering through his mind. She’d looked close to crying and he’d nodded at her, what on earth must she have thought?

.

Samuel hesitated at the question, the eagerness on William’s face. It was, perhaps, the most proper choice, if he were to sit in on the talk between his daughter and the Lord Hastings, but after that display of abject panic and overwhelming devotion...Samuel wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to. Still, he nodded at the second set of questions, frowning slightly as he tried to think of the best way to go about this. He didn’t mind William speaking to Kitty now –– clearly the man had quite a lot to say to her, and Samuel was certain that she had enough on her own mind –– but his concern was that he didn’t want his daughter to feel obligated to say yes to him, knowing what she would know about his feelings. Surely she was aware of the depths of William’s devotion, even if she hadn’t yet been treated to this sort of...outburst was the wrong word, but Samuel could not find another one that adequately explained what he’d just witnessed. After another moment of thinking, he nodded, and stood. “Give me a moment,” he decided. “I’d like to speak with Kitty privately, but after that, I’ve no objections to you speaking with her today; if, of course, she is agreeable,” he added, and after ensuring William would not rise and join him as he left, Samuel proceeded to leave his study. He did not bother to shut the door behind him, knowing he’d have to return in a few moments, and made his way instead straight to the parlor, shutting the door behind him with a soft little click and leveling his gaze at Kate immediately. 

She looked up, not bothering to hide the torrent of emotions on her face, and Samuel moved to sit across from her, leaning forward as he did, his elbows resting against his thighs. Before he could say anything, however, Kate beat him to the punch. 

“Well?” She asked, and there was no impatience in her tone, only her own sort of fear. Quieter, perhaps, than William’s, but there all the same. Her hands were clasped in her lap, an embroidery hoop forgotten next to her, and Orion was still lazing at her feet, apparently completely unbothered by the fact that his master was only two rooms away. 

“He’d like to speak to you,” Samuel began carefully, and Kate immediately began to stand up. “Kitty, sit,” he said insistently, his brows lowering until Kate relented and sat back down with a soft huff, as if she were an insolent toddler. “You may speak with him when I’m done,” Samuel said, and that seemed to placate her, because she was looking at him now, her eyes big and blue and plaintive. “I– I’m satisfied,” he sighed, his tone anything but, “with his explanations. If you still wish to marry him, Kitty, I have no objections that will stand in the way of this union. But,” Samuel added, as, once again, his youngest daughter made to stand up, ready to flee from the room and run straight to her intended. “I have to say this, before you make your decision,” he said seriously, his eyes never leaving his daughter’s. “His feelings for you are...quite strong, Kitty, and I know...I know you have your own...” Samuel shook his head. “Catherine, it’s –– I need you to understand that you can still say no,” he said, still leaning forward, his hands pressing together now, “regardless of his feelings. If you are unsatisfied, if...if even a small part of you is hesitant, you can still say no. You do not owe Lord Hastings the rest of your life as his wife just because he has strong feelings for you, Kitty, do you understand? If you –– if you are satisfied, of course, that is another thing entirely, and I will not protest this arrangement, but if you have changed your mind in...in light of this rumor...it is alright to change your mind, Kitty,” he finished, earnest and serious as he looked at his younger daughter, not entirely sure what sort of reaction he was expecting from her as he did. 

Kate, for her part, was taken aback, having not expected this to be so simple; she’d expected the two men to remain in her father’s study for hours, at least, not barely forty five minutes. Nor had she expected her father to be so concerned with her own sense of obligation. She’d expected this to be a fight, long and drawn out with multiple sessions of negotiations. She kept waiting for the catch as he spoke, waiting for the other shoe to drop, until finally he finished speaking, and –– God, he looked so tired, and she’d never fully appreciated how old her father was getting until that very moment. Her throat welled up with emotion as she looked back at him. He just wants the best for me, she realized, and there had never been a doubt, not really, but...

She stood, crossed to him, and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him fiercely. “I love you, papa,” Kate murmured, squeezing once before letting go, blinking against a sharpness in her eyes and a lump in her throat. “Thank you,” she breathed, pressing her lips together, and then left the parlor, rushing straight for her father’s study. She left both doors open as she did, unsure if her father intended to follow, or if the low hum of distant voices would be enough for her parents as she entered the study. “Will,” Kate gasped, throwing her arms around him much the same way she’d just embraced her father, though her grip on him was far tighter than it had been around Samuel, and it took her far longer to let go, to pull back enough to look up at him. One of her hands came up as she did, her eyes widening at the ashen look on his face. “Are you alright?” She asked, starting to pull away, trying to guide him back into his chair as she did. “Talk to me.”

[tenderstarved]

sarah-st-john​:

carolinehale​:

Jumping a little once she felt an arm loop around hers, Caroline laughed when she realized who it was and rolled her eyes as she held out her invitation for Kate to read. “Really Kate, you’re going through this place like a stallion through a meadow.” she said, teasing her good friend as she widened her search around the room and then to the entranceway to look for a blue vase in addition to the bracelet she’d been strolling through and looking for previously. Sighing as her stare went over her cousins estate, she couldn’t remember a time when she’d been faced with such an eclectic collection of items that didn’t seem to be organized in any particular fashion. “How are we meant to find anything at all in this place? I couldn’t even distinguish a vase from fine china with everything strewn about like this,” she huffed, her competitive nature finding her unsuccessful attempts at finding either of their scavenger hunt pieces incredibly frustrating. “The coat closet Kate, really?” she asked, her arm still looped around her friends so that it was clear that if either of them stepped out of line the blame would be shared between them both. “If I was a vase I suppose I would probably be disguising myself near some like-colored drapes… you haven’t seen To– Sir Anthony around here, have you?” 

-

“The coats won’t fit into the closet, miss, there are so many!” 

Sarah stared, flabbergasted for a moment, at the sheer mountain of outerwear; if it had not been wobbling slightly, why, she would not have even known there was a parlor maid underneath, oh!

“Here, follow me, we can set them in a separate room and… oh! Pray excuse me!” 

For there were two ladies there, searching for something; maybe their coats? She paused, then added, “If you should need your coats, simply let one of the staff know and they shall fetch it for you; there are simply too many to be left out here, oh!”

The poor maid had in fact already dropped a few; Sarah swept them up as she led the way for the mountain of coats and cloaks, calling out a cheery, “Oh! And please enjoy the party!”

She and the maid disappear down a far less ornate and decorated hallway, but not before the removal of the dropped cloaks reveal a cream vase, nestled innocently by a coat rack. 

[OOC: Success! You’ve located Kate’s item and it’s conveniently within reach. Will you head to the Front Parlor to try for Caroline’s? Or will you follow Sarah and the maid down the revealed secret hallway? Roll for round two and reply here, before posting link in the Discord.]

.

Guest / Invite No. 6 ( ITEM FOUND ) / Hallway / Roll: 5 !!

Kate grinned at Caroline’s responses to her, shaking her head and tugging her friend along with her. It wasn’t lost on her that Caroline might be teasing her, but the dark haired woman still followed willingly. “Drapes,” Kate echoed thoughtfully, tilting her head and looking back at the front windows. “Perhaps...” she mused, but then shook her head. “No, that doesn’t make sense, see –– they don’t reach the floor, there, I really think...” Her sentence trailed off as another dark haired woman bustled through, moving past them into the coat closet and gathering up large armfuls of cloaks. “See!” Kate crowed, delighted, as she caught sight of her item, only to begin to deflate as she realized how large it was. “Oh no...how on earth am I supposed to cart that around?” She asked, glancing around for a brief moment, debating if she wanted to try and lift it up or leave it and risk someone else taking it. Then she caught sight of the new door opening, and the secret hallway it revealed. “C’mon,” she urged, tugging Caroline towards it. “Let’s see where this goes.” As she headed towards the secret hallway, she glanced back at Caroline and frowned, slightly. “Mister Fraser? No, I can’t say that I have –– I haven’t seen him since Margate, come to think of it, though I don’t remember conversing with him...” Her eyes narrowed. “Is he giving you grief, Caroline?” 

[tenderstarved]

Guest / Invite No. 6 / Entryway / Roll: 9 !! Guest [ @carolinehale​ ] / Invite No. 22 / Front Parlor / Roll: 3 !!

Kate studied her invitation with a small frown, murmuring the item to herself as she did so. Cream vase. Light blue decoration. Her frown deepened slightly as she glanced around, wondering how big, exactly, this vase might be, and how easily hidden it would be as a result. Vases in general tended to be of quite sturdy height, so it stood to reason that it could not so easily be hidden within the pocket of a coat, or within the confines of a houseplant. As she looked around, her eyes caught on a familiar dark haired figure in the next room over, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she rushed towards the front parlor, looping her arm through the taller woman’s and nearly dragging her into the entranceway. “There you are!” Kate breathed, relaxing slightly against Caroline’s arm as she looked over at the other woman’s invitation. “Ooh, a bracelet! That sounds lovely,” she confided, “though...perhaps more tricky than mine. If you were a vase, Caroline, where would you hide?” Kate asked, brows raised, and, using the same hand that still held her invitation, opened the coat closet to peek inside. 

[tenderstarved]

baronwillliam​:

There were some people that called him lord, some people that called him mister, and some that simply said Hastings. William never corrected any of them on what title to use because in general, his title was something that he didn’t care about, resenting it more than cherishing it out of some lingering spite of his father’s burning adoration for it. Despite that, there was something that felt wrong about hearing Mr. Lockhart refer to him so formally and it only increased the sensation that things were not well at all, his mind perhaps made up before William ever returned from Cliveden. When had the paper come out and how long had the man known of its contents, stewing in his own rage and solidifying in his opinions until they couldn’t be changed? The idea that he’d lost Catherine without even knowing it and that it happened while he was away on a hunting trip instead of present so he could defend himself, it was terrifying as well as frustrating, a sense of helplessness beating at the bones of his rib cage.

Despite the careful way Mr. Lockhart spoke, not yelling or screaming, but appearing to measure out his words as if to find the politest way of breaking William heart, William found himself tensing even further because it didn’t matter how much force you used to attack something, broken was still broken in the end and William felt coiled so tightly that the slightest pressure would cause him to snap. From calling him Lord Hastings to using the words ‘son in law’, it was maddening how William didn’t know which one to base Mr. Lockhart’s objective on and he could feel his heart inside his chest, hear a buzzing like a swarm of bees inside his mind as a headache threatening to make itself known. It was hard to focus on a single thought, his calm a thin veneer waiting to crack, and there was something threatening about knowing he cared too much about Catherine to hold onto his self control. Breathing felt difficult as he as William nodded, shallow things that didn’t give him enough air as he tried not to twitch and tap his fingers, fearing that he would be seen as impatient or uncaring. It felt so important not to give off the wrong impression, but William didn’t know what impression Samuel was looking for, or what he wanted. But he could understand the man being concerned for Catherine’s safety, of course he did. How could he not when the one question that burned at his lips was to ask if Catherine was okay?

Maybe it was that tension that caused him to finally open his mouth not to ask a question, but to answer something that William hadn’t even been asked properly. It was fine if he wanted to question how Will felt because he would do whatever was necessary to prove it, but to question Catherine as if she’d done something foolish, as if she’d acted out in the moment without consideration, that was more than Will could take. It wasn’t the heat of the moment, Samuel himself was the first to say that Catherine was quite taken with Will, he’d said it. He couldn’t just take it back. “Mr. Lockhart, if I had to guess.” William interrupted quickly, words coming out of a throat that was clogged with feeling. He cleared his throat, trying again as his fingers curled tightly around the arms of the chair. “I touched her hand and expressed my feelings and she expressed hers. I kissed her and I left the library that night thinking about a life with her. Considering she accepted my proposal, I would like to think she was thinking of the same.” He didn’t, couldn’t, think that Catherine’s mind was filled was thoughts of her reputation and the dangers it would face. She was the one who cried at the thought he was proposing simply for the sake of her reputation and not out of true feeling, that meant something, and he’d promised not to harm her reputation, hadn’t she believed him?

Except God, he’d failed that, hadn’t he? He promised no harm would happen to her reputation and Whistledown made him a liar, causing him to break a vow to her when he wasn’t there to fix it. It was understandable if she was hurt by him, understandable if Mr. Lockhart was disappointed or enraged, but if he was certain of one thing, it was that Catherine did not deserve to face her father’s anger, not when she hadn’t done anything wrong, not when William was the one to fail her so thoroughly and completely in the short time span of two weeks after proposing. There was a blind determination that Catherine could be spared whatever he could protect her from and once the dam was broken, it was impossible to repair as the water flowed at full force, words tripping out of William at a speed he was entirely unaccustomed to. Was that why he felt so lightheaded? He didn’t know, but it wasn’t worth thinking about because he couldn’t think and even if he could hold onto a thought longer than a moment, a heartbeat, he wouldn’t waste his thoughts on wondering why his head felt funny when there were more important things to be concerned about. He would be fine, but he needed Catherine to be fine, needed to keep to his promise in any way that he could and keep her as safe and unscathed as could be managed. If it could still be managed.

“I know. Of course I know she wants children, she wants a large family, and I’ve told her we could name one after you. I don’t care about naming any child after my father and what Whistledown had to say about me is as much a surprise for me as it is for anyone else. I don’t remember ever hearing anything about it. I was wounded on the battlefield, that’s true, and I was feverish and disagreeable for a long time, ill and disagreeable and perhaps I was told, perhaps I don’t remember or wasn’t listening, but I don’t know. I don’t see why I could have made a full recovery in all other ways except that. I can’t guarantee you it’s a lie, but I have no reason to believe that it’s true. I don’t want it to be true.” And where in god’s green earth had Whistledown come up with such a thing? Had she merely heard that Catherine wanted to have children though some distant grapevine and decided to come up with a lie? There were few people who knew Will at war in London with him, fewer aware of his injury or its extent, the most knowledgeable he could think of was his mother, his mother who didn’t approve of Catherine and oh, his stomach lurched. Everything was wrong and it it wasn’t before, then it was going that way. His headache felt worse.

There was something odd, surreal, about Mr. Lockhart moving seamlessly from talking about how perhaps their engagement was unsavory, how perhaps Will couldn’t provide for Catherine and keep her secure, to then acting as if Catherine was the problem. The letters hadn’t concerned William when Catherine first told him about it, but it appeared that maybe Mr. Lockhart was concerned, even if William didn’t believe it was for his own behalf. And really, shouldn’t he be concerned about Catherine, about what might have been in those letters, about someone making it sound like Catherine had been carrying on a secret courtship this entire time, just like William’s mother -

Oh. Oh, hell.

“The letters were to me.” William blurted out, and was he shaking? He almost felt like he was, like all the warmth had been leeched from the room despite the heatwave that gripped London so recently. What he wouldn’t give for a cup of scalding tea in that moment, something that would warm him up from the inside with the sense of being known because Catherine knew how he took his tea and knew how to make it perfectly. Maybe he would be escorted from the house and never taste a cup of tea prepared by her hands again, banned from seeing her while she was whisked away, a memory that he clung to while William let himself be swallowed back up by war. Forget London and the season and damn them both, he fulfilled his promise to his mother and did his time, he found a bride, found someone that he loved and how many times was he supposed to lose someone like that? It wasn’t fair to ask him to shoulder it more than twice, he would far rather return to the field and be shot out, be knocked unconscious until it wasn’t a question of if he was broken or not. “We’ve been writing to each other, I have a partial one at home that I haven’t finished writing yet if you’d like to see it. Thought it was romantic, still doing it even with the engagement.”

What was he saying? What was he doing? He didn’t know, couldn’t slow down to think about it beyond spouting out whatever words came to mind and hoping that they made sense. It was bad enough that Mr. Lockhart thought that his daughter was being taken advantage of, he wouldn’t have the man thinking that his daughter was some sort of two timer or a mistress or a harlot or anything like that. Catherine was wonderful and the man had to know it, Catherine was his favorite and William hated the thought of the man looking at Catherine with a shine in his eyes that was a little dimmer. How could Catherine ever forgive him if he destroyed her relationship with her father, if she could forgive him for any of the mess at all?

“Of course I want to marry her. But I don’t want to make her miserable. I would never -” The words caught in his throat because he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say and William reached up to rub at his eyes, unsure why they were burning. He’d been blinking, he was certain of it. “Her happiness is of greater concern to me of my own. I want to marry her, but I want her happy. I want the chance to at least try to make her happy, is that too much to ask for?” It likely was because this was the man’s daughter and William was juggling with her happiness after stumbling with her reputation, everything likely to end up in shatters all around them, broken just like William’s tenuous self control. Usually when William was left with a shredded hold of his emotions, it meant he lashed out in anger, but William didn’t have the first idea of what he was feeling. Dread, panic, despair, terror, desperation, all different words with a similar meaning and maybe it was seeping from his pores the same way you would sweat out a fever because Will felt it all at once, so acutely, yet separated from his body at the same time. What an odd feeling, but still, no time to think about it.

Catherine. Catherine was counting on him and here he was, making it all worse for them. What was he going to do? “If I could compromise with you, I would. If you would ever accept that, I would offer it in a heartbeat, a third of all that I am in order to keep her, but I know you wouldn’t take that, it wouldn’t be fair to exchange her happiness forever for that. But I wish I could try a year, just a year to be hers and her be mine, to see if it’s a lie or not. But if I couldn’t give her a child, a family of her own, I would let her go so she could be happy, and I would destroy myself if that’s what it took to give her back her freedom. I love her and just want her to be happy. I want her to be happy and safe and I’ve yet to encounter a price that’s too much to pay in exchange for that.”

.

The vehemence to which William defended Catherine was –– startling. Samuel had understood the strength of the feelings between them, or at least, he’d thought he had, but his first impression of William Hastings had not been one that signaled...this. How quickly the younger man across from him gave way to fear, not while speaking of the war, or being wounded, despite the fact that it sounded as if he’d been near death’s door. No; fear while speaking of the possibility of Kitty’s misery, and the possibility of losing out on the marriage. It...was not quite what Samuel had expected. 

William was speaking so quickly, his words tumbling out like a waterfall, tripping over themselves, nearly twisting in his mouth in his haste to get them out, and Samuel could do nothing but listen. He couldn’t have got a word in edgewise even if he’d wanted to, even if he’d tried. It felt like William had suddenly gone deaf and blind to the world around him, like his focus had narrowed, entirely, on the situation at hand, and defending the engagement with the same desperation as a young boy with a naught but a rock in his hand. He was struck by that, by that desperation, that determination, among a million other things –– the way William said I touched her hand with so much more reverence and guilt than I kissed her, as if letting their bare fingers touch had been a sin of a far higher order. The way he spoke about promising Kitty that they could name a son after her father, despite the fact that he didn’t care enough about his own father to extend the same courtesy. The way he reiterated that he had no reason to believe he was sterile, that he didn’t want to believe it, as if he could make it false through nothing more than the sheer force of his desire. How quickly he took responsibility for Kitty’s sin. How agitated he was at the thought of making her miserable. Her happiness is of greater concern to me of my own. A third of all that I am in order to keep her. I love her. I want her to be happy and safe. 

And wasn’t that all Samuel wanted for his daughter? He thought back to the moment the pamphlet had arrived, how Kitty had been so quiet, how the only things she had said had been I’m sorry and I love him. What tender ferocity he’d seen in his daughter. What desperate devotion he saw in William now. It was –– overwhelming. The kind of display of emotion so wholehearted and overwhelming that it was enough to make him feel embarrassed, as if he’d stumbled upon something private that he should not be looking at full on, and he realized, very suddenly, that this man in front of him very likely say anything to appease him. He could ask him to complete impossible tasks from a fairy tale, and William would do them, if it meant he would not lose Kitty. The thought should have given him some kind of pause, should have made him linger in concern, because if Kitty was capable of lying, and if William would say whatever he needed, what sort of fool would he be if he allowed this to continue?

But what sort of monster would he be if he separated them? 

The silence between them was heavy, the air of the room thick and cold with tension and panic, and finally, after a long moment, Samuel began to nod. “Keep the letter,” he said, his tone even and calm, and yet, somehow, it felt like it was as loud and as brittle as breaking glass after the silence that had followed William. “I do not need to read it, nor do I wish to. I will not stand in the way of this,” he said slowly, raising his brows meaningfully as he did, intent on making sure William listened, and did not merely collapse with relief at his permission. “But it is up to her if she will have you in light of this. Whether it is true or not,” Samuel went on, “and I– I sincerely hope it is not, for both of you, but regardless, it is...it is up to her,” he sighed. “My concerns are...moot, it seems.” He paused. “I would feel more comfortable with a yearlong compromise,” he admitted, “with an annulment if...but it is her decision,” he finished, “and I will let her make it on her own.” 

[tenderstarved]

baronwillliam​:

Turning at the sound of Mr. Lockhart’s voice, William couldn’t explain why the quiet tone seemed to slice through him as effectively as a scalpel, neat and precise and yet potent enough to make his entire body want to jerk in response. A tension stole through his body to make it lock up and William instantly went on his guard, certain that something terrible had happened. He didn’t know what, but it was clear that something dreadful had befallen the Lockhart family, maybe an issue with one of Catherine’s sisters, and it didn’t matter what it was, William knew without question that he would support Catherine and assist her parents any way he could. “Of course, sir,” He replied after only a slight pause of confusion, following along with a backwards look at Catherine as he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring nod. It didn’t matter what was wrong, he would help fix it.

Entering into Mr. Lockhart’s study, William take made sure the door was shut before taking his seat, frowning as a sheet of paper was offered. “I haven’t read anything, I -” Only just arrived back in London, he wanted to say, explaining that he hadn’t stopped at anywhere to read anything important, but it wasn’t something important. Or at least, it wasn’t important to William, but he understood that many in Society placed a great deal of value in it. Instead of being some great missive or political paper, it was a copy of Whistledown’s sheet and the frown slipped off William’s face. In it’s place came a blank look, something carefully guarded even as William’s throat tightened up in panic, shoulders locking up in preparation for a fight. He’d been featured in Whistledown once before and her words were nothing but the truth on that occasion and something that William wasn’t too bothered by anyone knowing, but what Whistledown had done this time was horrific.

This wasn’t the meeting that William expected it to be, the sharing of bad news in the Lockhart family that they were inviting William to share in because of his attachment to Catherine, this was different. It was a second round of interrogation if he was lucky, and it was the dissolution of his engagement if he wasn’t. Tense and almost in disbelief, William went again to read it from the top, but stopped only a sentence in. He didn’t want to see the words again, he knew what they said. Not only had Whistledown somehow discovered they were alone together in Margate and thrown scandal onto their relationship, she had attacked each of them separately, going after the letters that Catherine swore were innocent and making them into something horrible. It wasn’t a surprise, William knew exactly what society would think of them and Catherine had to as well - there was a reason she had said she would stop writing them, wasn’t there? Except… he didn’t care about the letters, he didn’t because he knew about them, but he hadn’t known about the rest, about the flower, and somehow that bothered him more than the letters themselves.

But what Whistledown said about him didn’t sound familiar at all. If it had, he wouldn’t have talked with Catherine about children, wouldn’t have said that they could name one after her father, the man across from him that William was hesitant to look up at. William wasn’t a stranger to parental disappointment since his father had never been proud of William in his life, but seeing anger or disappointment on Mr. Lockhart’s face just might gut him. Still, he couldn’t avoid it. Whistledown’s paper was returned to Mr. Lockhart’s desk, flipped upside down so that her hateful words couldn’t be seen.

“I hadn’t read that,” Will said quietly, answering the original question as he forced himself to look up at Mr. Lockhart’s face, posture ramrod straight even as he sat nearer the edge of his seat than the back. “And I’m certain you have questions, which I’ll answer for you. But before you do, I want to say that my feelings for her existed long before Margate, and that I’m honored that she not only accepts them, but reciprocates them. I would also never do anything to your daughter that she didn’t want and I would want her if the most scandalous thing to ever happen to us was the brushing of fingers while exchanging a tea cup. I didn’t propose because of anything that has happened between or anything that could be said, I want to marry her because of the way I feel for her.” He thought of Catherine talking about her parents being in love and the way they were friends and William swallowed hard. “She was my friend before she was anything else, Mr. Lockhart, and I would never hurt her. Please, ask your questions.”

.

He hadn’t read it –– or so he said. Samuel slowly lowered himself into his chair, watching William read, studying his face as his eyes scanned line after line of text. The younger man’s expression was mostly blank, but...stunned, Samuel thought, rather than shuttered closed. At some point, however, William’s jaw tightened for a second, a quick, involuntary sort of tic, before he smoothed his features again and his shoulders tensed up. No, Samuel thought, rubbing his hand along the lower half of his face, he hasn’t read it yet. For a split second he started to feel bad for William, for springing this on him, but then he remembered what was contained within that scandal sheet, and frowned. It made the situation slightly better, knowing that William had not read this yet, did not know about what Whistledown had said, both about the two of them together as well as individually, because it meant that the baron sitting across from him had not had time to plan a story. But only slightly. 

The pamphlet was placed face down on his desk, as if William didn’t want to be confronted with the presence of the damn thing, and despite himself, Samuel found himself, once again, feeling a sort of kinship with this quiet young man before him. He wasn’t looking up just yet, and, for the briefest moment, Samuel had the thought that he, at least, looked far more contrite than Kitty had. Something about that rankled him, just a touch, even as it made him slightly proud of his daughter. Four daughters in, and fatherhood never ceased to confuse him. He listened to William speak, his frown deepening at the implication in his words, the idea that William would never do anything to Kitty that she didn’t want, and he tugged off his spectacles, dragging a hand down his face. He felt, suddenly, like he owed an apology to Amelia as well as Kitty, for all the grief he gave his third daughter for her wildness, and resolved to send the Blackwood estate a set of books as well. I would not wish daughters on my worst enemy, he thought, sighing heavily out of his nose, and replaced his spectacles, staring at William as he did so. 

“Lord Hastings,” Samuel began, “I can assure you that I want to be having this conversation just as little as you do. This is...not how I was expecting to spend the last few evenings. But you understand, this is...troubling,” he said carefully, “to read. As a father. I–– the last time we spoke, I believe I impressed on you my love for my daughter, and how important it is to myself and to my wife that Kitty is taken care of, and while you’ve been...” He hesitated. “Well, actually, you’ve been the easiest of all of my sons in law to deal with, where marital contracts are concerned,” Samuel admitted. “But...you understand, of course, the–– the concern I have, after reading this, yes?” He wished, suddenly, for a glass of whiskey, or two, or three, but Mary Ann had helpfully removed all alcohol from his study the day before, claiming she didn’t want him to make any rash decisions while under the influence of spirits. He loved that woman. She drove him insane sometimes. 

“You say you didn’t propose to Kitty because of something that happened,” Samuel said slowly, “but something–– something did happen, yes?” He stopped, and then waved his hands dismissively. “I–– I don’t know that I want to know, actually,” he admitted, “but I–– if nothing happened, why were the two of you–– what were you–– what was she thinking?” He asked, and then shook his head, clearing his throat and reaching for the pamphlet, unsure whether he wanted to read from it directly or crumple it in his fist. He settled for sliding it closer, well within his grasp, just in case he needed it. “And you know–– you know she wants children, yes? More than just out of duty; Kitty has always wanted children. This is...this is concerning, Hastings,” Samuel said earnestly, sincerely, “because this is about the long term security and– and the happiness of my daughter. I understand that the two of you have strong feelings for one another, but...” He shook his head again, and then leaned back in his seat, surveying the drawers in front of him and wondering if perhaps Mary Ann had missed any while removing all alcohol. He really needed a drink. “Of course, I won’t pretend Kitty is wholly innocent in this; I’m sure these letters are enough to give you–– if not pause, then at least...cause for concern, surely? I––” He stopped, sighed again, and wondered just how long Kitty had been lying to them, and about what. How many other secrets was his daughter keeping? It felt like only yesterday when she was still small enough to ride around the house on his shoulders. 

“Do you still wish to marry her?” He asked suddenly, folding his hands across his stomach. “Knowing that...if there’s even the smallest possibility the two of you never have children, she may never be happy?” Perhaps that was harsh, but it was the truth –– or at least, Samuel thought it was the truth, but he was beginning to realize that, perhaps, he no longer knew what the truth was, where Kitty was concerned. 

[tenderstarved]

Getting her parents to agree to letting her out of the house after the delivery of the latest Whistledown sheet had been difficult to say the least, with Kate saying the bare minimum to her father and enduring her mother’s reproachful look the entire time, until finally, finally, they agreed to allow her to visit an old friend under the watchful gaze of her mother. 

They had not, of course, expected Henrietta to be shut up inside of her room and taking shelter under no less than five blankets (she’d always had a flair for the dramatic), proclaiming loudly that she was not feeling well, thank you very much, and please go away. Kate, undeterred, kept knocking on the bedroom door without pause or hesitation until Henrietta finally shouted that it was unlocked, and she burst inside, leaving her mother on the stairs without so much as a by your leave. 

Locking the door behind her, Kate toed off her shoes and tugged off her gloves, dropping them without care on the dresser as she passed it and lifted one edge of the blankets, peering into the darkness beneath in search of her friend. “Hen? Are you even in there?” Kate hissed, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of the room and the dimmer light within the blanket pile until, finally, she located Henrietta’s large greenish blue eyes, blinking at her balefully. 

“Oh, Hen,” Kate sighed, and began to crawl into the bed herself, the blankets weighing down her progress until she was laying down beside Henrietta and all light had been extinguished by the thick layer of linen and wool above them. “How are you breathing in here?” Kate asked after a heartbeat’s worth of silence, tugging down the blankets above them until both their heads were exposed to the semi-fresh air of her friend’s bedroom, taking big gulps of air as she did. Her head flopped down onto one of the pillows and she stared at Henrietta, sighing heavily as she did. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I can’t believe she said that.” She didn’t need to explain who she was. / @springslate​

[tenderstarved]

baronwillliam​:

Deciding to go on the hunt at Cliveden was something of a spur of the moment decision for William, but it wasn’t one he regretted. The weather was good, the company was better than expected (The impossible had perhaps happened and he may have gained a friend.) and he was filled with stories to share with not only Catherine, but also with Mr. Lockhart. While the man had been surprisingly warm and welcoming when William first asked for Catherine’s hand, he didn’t want to take that goodwill for granted and looked forward to asking his opinion about some of the things he’d seen in Cliveden. He knew the man was where Catherine gained her love of books and if it was possible to forge a bond with the man over stories, William wanted to do so.

In what was becoming a habit after returning from a trip away, William skipped going home to get settled back in and instead had his carriage take him directly to the Lockhart home to see Catherine. It could be excused as wanting to collect Orion, but William meant what he’d told Catherine before and she was the first person he wanted to share his new stories with, which was understandable, wasn’t it? No one would judge him if he wanted to see his fiancée and all things considered, William was more collected than he was upon returning from Margate when he was suffering from a lack of sleep and an abundance of drink, almost frantic to try winning approval to marry Catherine. This was different, it was gathering up Orion and asking Mr. Lockhart how Catherine handled it and what he thought of William’s idea of getting Catherine a kitten as a wedding present as well as giving him the chance to see Catherine, asking if her flowers were delivered on schedule, his promise still kept.

Left in a good mood after the hunt and feeling even more pleased with the prospect of seeing Catherine, William failed to notice the look on the face of the staff member who opened the door for him, but he did notice a tension by the time he was shown to the sitting room. It could have been anything, it could have been his imagination, but it immediately became clear that it wasn’t, his eyes going from Mrs. Lockhart’s face to Catherine, a sense of dread settling in his stomach like a vault of ill tidings. “What’s wrong?” He asked, the smile that started to form on instinct at seeing Catherine vanishing from his face. “What’s happened?"  // @tenderstarved​

.

As time had passed, Samuel had begun to regret the way he had handled the Whistledown sheet with Kitty, but, like his youngest daughter, apologies did not come easily to the Lockhart patriarch, and unfortunately, not enough time had passed for him to fully put it behind him. The scandal was still very much looming above all of them, and he still had to make a decision. Part of him wondered if it was wiser to merely sit Kitty down and ask her what she wanted, but...that would involve admitting that he didn’t think he knew what was best for his daughter anymore, and that he simply could not do. It was his job as her father to ensure she was provided for and taken care of, and if he was going to hand her off to another man to take up that duty, then Samuel needed to know that he was making the right decision. And as much as he’d rather liked William Hastings when he’d met him the last time...there was still the scandal sheet to contend with, and what it signaled for William and Kitty’s relationship. 

He was loathe to admit it, but in truth, Samuel had not thought Kitty was capable of lying, and certainly not to him. The two of them had always been close, and while it was rather gauche to admit that one might have a favorite child –– she was his favorite. And he’d thought, foolishly, naively, apparently, that that had meant something, and that she would be truthful with him in all manners. But it seemed Kitty had grown up into a woman sometime when he wasn’t looking, and she’d begun to make her own decisions, and her own mistakes. He just wished she’d told him when he and Mary Ann had asked about Margate –– if he’d only known, he’d have been more likely to head off any sort of scandal by ensuring Hastings secured a special license, though...that still left the manner of these letters Kitty had been writing, as well as the possibility that William might not be able to give her children. 

And wasn’t that a tricky situation for Samuel to be in. Part of him had wondered, laying awake long into the night, whether this Lord Hastings had manipulated Kitty in some way, taken advantage of her tender heart, so often overflowing with love, and lured her out into some secret meeting at Margate. He didn’t think that was the case, but...he didn’t know Hastings well enough to know for sure. And he didn’t trust that his daughter would give him the truth anymore. Christ, and he’d thought ensuring Amelia was married off had been the end of his troubles. 

He was sitting in his study, staring without seeing at the damned Whistledown pamphlet, when there was a knock at the door, and one of the maids poked her head in. “Begging your pardon, Mister Lockhart, but Lord Hastings has arrived,” she said softly, and he sighed heavily, nodding once as he stood with a soft groan. “Thank you,” he murmured, waving her off, and made his way into the hallway, where the door to the sitting room was wide open, and the beginnings of tension were starting to creep into the atmosphere. Kitty was sitting next to Mary Ann, looking like she might burst into tears, and it sent a sharp, guilty pang through his heart. Once this business was sorted out, for better or for worse, he’d get her a new set of books, and maybe a new watercolor set besides, and hope that sufficed for an apology. 

“Hasings,” he said quietly, flatly, his eyes moving over to the younger man, sizing him up once again, wondering if, perhaps now, he might see something he’d missed the first time around. The man’s eyes seemed guileless as he looked at Kitty, genuine concern in them, but... “A word?” It wasn’t a question. Samuel turned and headed back to his study, leaving the door open behind him, and waited for William to enter, and for the door to shut, before he picked up the Whistledown pamphlet and raised his brows. “I take it you’ve not read this yet, then?” He asked, holding it out to William. 

[tenderstarved]

baronwillliam​:

“I’ve made you many promises, Catherine,” He admitted, pleased smile playing at his lips. “But I don’t remember ever promising to be fair.” When it came to defending Catherine’s heart, he would be tireless, a sentinel without sleep to ensure that she remained feeling warm and safe, cared for and protected, but there were certain things William knew about himself that he couldn’t tell her yet, that it wasn’t proper to tell an unwed women. When it came to her self control and her desires, well, did it really matter if he was fair if they both enjoyed it in the end? Besides, there was something thrilling about being able to see the effect on her and knowing he was responsible for her flush.

It was better to think about things like that than what he needed to explain to her, and some part of him worried that admitting to prior marriage intentions with anyone would make her doubt his affections, or question just why he proposed on the library once more. He didn’t want her to think that his mother was right, that William was doing it for any other reason than because he wanted to, wanted to be with Catherine. Despite the multiple times he’d tried to express his feelings, there was still that lingering feeling that maybe he wasn’t trying hard enough and she would have cause to doubt him, that unpleasant awareness that it didn’t matter what he did, how much space he was allotted inside her heart was completely out of his control.

As he spoke about his father, William wondered if she felt as disconnected from that kind of parental relationship as he did when he met Samuel, his experiences in dealing with paternal figures not matching the reality. He’d expected scorn and derision, to be cut down to size and be made to prove over and over again if he was made of the correct material to wed Catherine. The kindness William allowed himself to believe in was that Samuel could be convinced to say yes, he’d never expected the man would agree without a fight. Maybe that was why William was so willing to agree to whatever Samuel wanted in the marriage contract, he wanted it settled before the man came to his senses and changed his mind, became more like the man William expected. If given the choice, William preferred not to speak of his father as he’d given the man more than enough attention before his death and the moment he left the world, William considered himself free of any obligation admit to his existence. Part of William knew that he needed to talk without pause, to hurry and get the story out before he could rethink saying it, but another part of him wished that Catherine would interrupt so that he knew what she thought about it. No one else would get that reaction from him, because there was no one else that he would soothe over his own choices.

Still, if asked to guess what response Catherine would have to what his father considered one of his greatest sins, what William thought of as his greatest failure, he wouldn’t have guessed this, that she would call it honorable. His father called it foolish and he called it theft, because he didn’t approve of his son’s actions and what was a daughter but a commodity? The fact that Winifred managed to find a man who was decent and cared for her was a miracle that William hadn’t expected she would be afforded and he didn’t know how she managed it, but she wrote of their father’s fury over the way she challenged suitors with tasks and William was forever proud of her. Proud of her match, proud of her cleverness, proud to be her brother when he wasn’t proud to be his father’s son. Was he proud of himself? That point wasn’t as clear, but there was some relief in being able to hear Catherine react and not hear disappointment in her tone. There was an oddness as well, to hear her so plainly state that he had loved once before, a word that no one else afforded to the situation, and there rose up the urge again to bury things down because it seemed wrong that Catherine should have to deal with things from so long ago. The motion of Catherine lacing her fingers together drew his eye and William’s own fingers twitched, wanting to reach out to her and hold her hand again, but he didn’t know which of them it would be to give comfort to, or if it would be appreciated, him touching her while discussing another woman.

Head tilting to the side, it was a question that William hadn’t expected, but would give his full attention to because it should have been an easy answer, but it wasn’t. “Not… intentionally. It’s almost accidental, if I do. I think of her when someone like my mother throws her back in my face, and sometimes I hear a song and I remember it was her favorite. But she’s not the person I think of when I have something I want to share, not anymore.” The implication being that Catherine was that person for him now, and it was true. She did far more than call to him like a beacon whenever there were words lingering on his tongue in search of a home, but he’d tried to describe time and again what she meant to him and how, and now wasn’t the time to try once more. Instead, it seemed more the time to make sure Catherine knew that she wasn’t a stand in, an imitation after giving up on some other woman she didn’t know

“How is it unfair?” This time, William didn’t stop himself from reaching forward, covering Catherine’s hands with his own when she began to wring them together. “I’ll answer anything you want me to, there is no part of me that you’re unwelcome to know. I can’t guarantee you’ll like what you’ll find, but I won’t keep secrets from you.” It was a large promise to make, but one that he meant as he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, bumping against the stone of her ring. When he looked back up, she was smiling, and there it was again, that release of tension he didn’t know that he held. “If there’s something you want to know, then ask. But I can tell you now, I haven’t seen her in many years and I doubt I would recognize her if I did. I hope that whatever life has given her since our paths parted, that she grew to be happy. But I know that here and with you, I’m happy, and that being with you is an experience that I would have missed if my plan worked. I don’t wonder what a life with her would be like, only about what our lives will be like together, and the part of me she held is now firmly and undeniable yours, as well as all the rest of me.”

.

His answer came slow and thoughtful, and Kate found herself nodding, even though she had nothing to compare this feeling of accidental thought to. Something about the way he explained it made it make perfect sense, like she could see into his soul, and she glanced away again, thinking. When I have something I want to share. That made her smile again, soft and slow, the implication in his words clear, his tone pointed, like he’d drawn an arrow with his voice and aimed it directly at her. She opened her mouth to admit the same thing, but hesitated, thinking, suddenly, of the letters hidden in a box under her bed, shuffled in with letters to her sisters and her niece, and the old friend she’d been writing to for so many years. Will was the first person she wanted to share things with, certainly, but there was another, a close second, and she started to frown, trying to decide if it was something that needed to be shared in that moment. After all, it was not the same as a previous attempt at marriage –– not even close –– but it was still...private. Secret. Even if unintentionally so. 

And then his hand closed over hers, large and warm and solid, and she looked over at him again, her cheeks flushed with a touch of embarrassment. “It’s unfair because –– ” Kate’s words stalled out, her tongue twisting slightly around them, and she pressed her lips together in a tight smile. Embarrassment still colored her cheeks and her eyes, and she found, suddenly, she could not meet his gaze as she began what she suspected would be the first of many admissions to him. “It’s unfair because it doesn’t...it doesn’t solve anything, it doesn’t...doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t change the way I feel about you, or –– ” She shook her head, feeling even more heat rise to her face as he continued to speak, as he said I’m happy and told her how much of him she now owned, and she felt even more foolish than before. But he had told her that he would not keep secrets, and so, neither would she. “And that is why it’s unfair,” she said, still gazing resolutely at the flower bushes, unable to look at him as she admitted this. “Because here we are, planning our lives together, making vows and promises, and you would not even recognize her if you saw her again, and still, here I am, jealous of a woman you had feelings for nearly a decade ago,” Kate admitted, shaking her head and laughing softly at herself. “It’s not fair. It’s not rational. But...” she trailed off, lifting one shoulder in a light, gentle shrug. 

“I don’t –– I’ve never loved someone like that,” she shared quietly, glancing down now, examining where their hands were joined, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, tracing the circle of her ring. “My mother likes to say that there’s too much love inside of my heart and it spills out at any given opportunity, that I fall in love with people at first sight, that I give too much of myself too often, too freely, but I...I’ve never loved like that,” she explained, her own thumb reaching up now to brush along the inside of his wrist, unable to resist touching him in kind. “To that point of sacrifice. I think it’s...I think it’s very brave,” Kate murmured, her heart tight in her chest. “And I...I understand the armor you hammered around your heart a little better now,” she finished, still watching their hands, still studying the movement of his thumb. 

She hesitated for only a moment before plunging into her next sentence with all the grace of a cannonball into a lake. “Though, if there’s to be no secrets between us, I should tell you –– I’ve been exchanging a correspondence with an old childhood friend,” she admitted, “which, if I’m being entirely honest, we lost touch for a number of years, and my memories of our childhood are...” Kate hesitated, thinking of all the holes in her memory, and when they started, and why, and felt her chest begin to tighten again. “Spotted,” she explained, looking up at the flower bushes again. “Hazy. And I can’t remember his name for the life of me, because he’s never signed the letters, never felt like he needed to, and I, of course, cannot ask, because what sort of friend would I be if I did?” She laughed again, the sound a little hollow, ringing in her ears. “But it’s...it’s not like Emily,” Kate went on, “at least, what I mean is, I’m not in love with him, nor have I ever been. In my head, he’s still that half remembered little boy who used to jump over the creek in the back of my father’s country property and make daisy chains with me.” 

Kate bit down on her lower lip, glancing down again, this time focusing on the small space of bench between them, still unable to look at him. She wasn’t sure what she expected –– anger? scorn? derision? some combination of the three? –– but she knew she wasn’t sure if she could look at it full on, couldn’t bear the thought of the way he looked at her shifting for any reason. “It’s not the same as the way I feel about you,” Kate went on. “Not even close, really. But I know it’s not proper to be exchanging correspondence, and if you want me to stop writing to him, I will, and I’m happy to share the letters with you, and––” She stopped, realizing how quickly the words were coming out, almost bargaining in their urgency. After a long, hesitant pause, she spoke again.  

“You are the first thing I think of when I wake up,” Kate said earnestly, honestly, openly, even as she still did not look at him, “and the last thing I think of before I fall asleep. I –– I think of you all the time. I keep all the flowers you’ve given me by my bedside until they start to wilt and then I press them into my sketchbook so that they’ll keep until they crumble. I’ve been sketching your hands for days, because I can’t get the image of your hand over mine on the telescope out of my head. Every time we’re apart all I can think about is when I’ll get to see you again and if you’ll smile and call me Catherine or darling or dear, or if you’ll have a myth to share with me, or...anything, really, and...” She hesitated, finally chancing a glance up at him, eyes wide, brows pulled together. “I think of you all the time,” she repeated softly, “and if you are firmly and undeniably mine, then I am completely, totally, utterly lost to you.” 

[tenderstarved]

baronwillliam​:

For as much as Catherine could set him alight, it was also true that she could soothe him in a way no one else had mastered, that no one else had ever dreamed to attempt. The touch of her hand was calming like a balm to his nerves, a feat that he’d noticed her accomplishing before even if William wasn’t sure just when he gained that ability. It was a beautiful, but brief respite, as tension dripped back into William bloodstream at the question he knew was a tease, but still stirred something unpleasant inside him, something that wanted to shy away from her warmth. It was something that feared being laughed at, which was a surprise as much as it wasn’t - a surprise because William seldom cared what people thought of him and firmly believed that the bridges he burned would light his path, but expected at the same time because he’d never cared about someone in the same way he did about Catherine. He’d cared similarly once, but they would get to that soon enough.

Looking at her hand over his, William didn’t meet her gaze as he confessed, “I thought you might prefer them more if… you didn’t know they were from me. I thought you would suspect, but as long as there was some degree of deniability, you could pretend they were from anyone you wanted. They could mean whatever you wanted.” She would know what the flowers meant in their own language, William was always aware of that and he took care to make sure he never sent her anything too forward or negative thanks to the distant help of Winifred, who teased him and accurately deduced why William asked her of all people. The fact he wrote to her instead of asking the seller at the flower shop meant it was personal, something he cared about, and the fact he didn’t ask their mother meant it was private. From there, not much room was left for speculation - flowers for adoration, chosen for personal and private reasons because he cared, but William didn’t think Catherine would read into it the same way. From him, they could be friendly appreciation, something innocent, and from someone secret, they could mean exactly what William felt and couldn’t say.

“Yes, you’re right. It will be a life well lived and I vow you won’t have anything less,” William agreed as the ring pushed onto her finger. It went with an ease that made him worry it would fall, but resizing it was something that could be done if necessary. Once it was firmly in place, it seemed secure enough, but they could decide properly after she wore it a few days. “I’m glad you like it. Flowers suit you.” She always made him think of flowers, or perhaps flowers made him think of her. The scent of lavender meant Catherine should be nearby, and the sight of her made him imagine a field of wildflowers and her laugh ringing to the sky. One day he wanted to see her stretched out beneath the sun with flowers blooming all around her, petals lost in her hair - a private picnic just for the two of them, away from the eyes of others.

“I told someone to bring us tea, we’d certainly be caught.” Caught, because they were supposed to kiss and touch the way they did quite yet, no matter how his hands felt empty when they weren’t curved around her body. He needed to remember that privacy was not a luxury allowed to them, but something to be stolen. “But once we’re married, I plan to kiss every part of you until you forget how to speak.” That was another vow he made to her, said as certainly as anything else, and William squeezed at her hand instead of chasing after her, knowing that the step away Catherine took was a wise idea - if she hadn’t done it, he would have.

Sitting was good, it was proper and there wasn’t anything about sitting with their hands in places that could be seen that was a bad idea - or at least not in a way that was occurring to William in the present. “Ah.” He would rather be sitting for the conversation ahead anyway and followed the pull of Catherine’s hand, wishing to kiss her knuckles once and yet knowing it was unwise. “You know that I hate my father, yes?” William said as they made their way to the bench, settling into place with Will’s entire body turned to face Catherine. It would be easy to pull her into his arms and let her lean into his side, but no, the window. “I hate him for many reasons, but in part, he’s why I joined the army. Because in my mind, he did something I couldn’t forgive and I wanted to get away at any cost.” It was also a good way to teach himself control and discipline, a way to contribute that was purely him instead of his father, but he didn’t mention that part.

“When I was younger, freshly returned from university, I met a young woman named Emily.” Emily, just Emily, no need to give her last name to find her. “And… we held feelings for one another, but her father didn’t approve and planned on having her many some higher ranking Lord that she said her family owed money to. She didn’t want to marry him and I, well, I would have done anything for her.” There was something strange about this, talking about Emily when he hadn’t talked about her in years, telling the story of a distant love to his new love. It was almost embarrassing, like he’d done something wrong for feeling something for anyone before Catherine came along. “We were going away together, we had a plan to run away and get married, and we did manage to get her out of her home, but we were also caught. We were forbidden from seeing each other and Emily was immediately shipped off to make sure we didn’t try anything else and I was… indignant towards everyone, afterwards, but mostly my father. The one time I didn’t need him paying attention to me, and of course he does. He was furious, too, when he found us. Didn’t want trouble from Emily’s family, didn’t want me embarrassing our good name, wanted to know how I could humiliate him by daring to run away to get married and why I couldn’t for once do things the proper, honorable way.”

William’s laugh was humorless when it came. It was still so easy to picture his father, vein bulging in his balding head as he raged about whatever slight William had committed against the damnable family title most recently. “And I was angry at him, of course, for not caring about what I wanted, or about Emily and her wants. Later on, my mother tried to console me by saying it wasn’t my job to save Emily…” Giving a sigh, William looked up to meet Catherine’s eye, not entirely sure at what point during his speech that he’d dropped his gaze. “And when she found out I proposed to you, she asked what I was saving you from. Which may be part of why she doesn’t like you, because I’ve done this before and made what she thinks are rash promises, but my mother had no idea how different things are with you.”

.

“For the life of me, I’ll never understand why you think so little of yourself,” Kate murmured, tilting her head slightly, even as she knew it would not allow her to fully capture his gaze as he looked away. Her thumb moved over his knuckles again, soft, careful, and then she squeezed his hand, just a touch. She didn’t know how to tell him that she knew, she’d always known, and had wondered, but hadn’t been brave enough to ask. Maybe one day she’d admit it; maybe they’d both admit to it, to burning long and quiet like two solitary candles in the darkness. But for now she did not want to add anything else to the mention of the flowers, did not want to press a knuckle into a sore spot. She did not want to remind them of a time where he thought his advances were unwelcome or unwanted, and so instead, Kate hummed in agreement at his comment about the ring and smiled at his vow, wishing, not for the first time, that they were in a chapel instead of a garden, and there was no one waiting for them inside the house. 

She started to nod in response, started to tell him that was smart, that was wise, when his comment about kissing stole all the air from her lungs, making speech stall out in her throat, and Kate shot him another pleading look. “Will, you’re not being fair,” she hissed, grateful when he followed her, when they sat down, and he changed the subject rather than terrorize her further with talk of what he’d do to her, once he was allowed to. Because if he’d kept to that subject, if he’d leaned down and whispered in her ear, all the threats of maids arriving with tea and all the windows in the world wouldn’t have been able to keep her from falling into his arms.

The change in subject, however, was startling and stark enough to, shockingly, chase away all lingering desire, like a bucket of cold water thrown upon her as he delved into his hatred of his father. Kate couldn’t help but notice the way he spoke in present tense, despite his father’s death; like the hatred William housed within himself was a still living thing, something that could not be so easily buried as the man who had raised him. It made her want to reach for him, want to lay her hand against his chest, to seek out the burning flame of loathing and to help him bank that fire. Instead she sat beside him and listened, her gloves forgotten in her lap for the moment, her hands still and empty. She let him unburden himself without judgment, without scorn, without even a twitch to her facial muscles, not wanting to give him any possible indication that she did not want to listen, that she was thinking less of him for the story he told him. It was a long, slow, and delicate process, this unburdening, and, not for the first time in his presence, Kate felt like she was some sort of squire of old, helping him remove his heavy armor and exposing the vulnerable spots of his soul. And this particular armor was ancient, and it was heavy, and this vulnerable spot he was exposing was soft and raw and new, and she wondered how long he had been carrying this –– not just the loathing, but the loss of this Emily, and the ache and the grief and the guilt that came with it. 

It was not easy for her to listen to; something ugly and acidic was rising within the back of her throat, despite her attempts to quell it. She didn’t know why she was feeling like this, why she was jealous of a woman who came so long before her, especially not when this story was long over and there was a ring on her finger. Still, she felt jealous, and still, she did not let it show, not wanting him to feel like he could not speak to her of this. Kate merely listened, jealousy and sorrow and a soft, heart-aching tenderness all swirling in her chest as he spoke. The longer the story went on, the more she understood that still living hatred in his chest, because she did not understand this sort of relationship, between father and son. She could not imagine her father denying her anything, nor could she imagine a mutual loathing between herself and her mother, and she had, of course, always understood that Will’s relationships with his parents were far more complex than her own, but this was far beyond what she had imagined, what she might have been able to parse out in her brain. And that was not even to begin to examine the relationship he’d had with Emily, or how it was still coloring his relationship with his mother, and with her, despite the fact that she’d never met the other woman. 

“It was honorable,” she finally said when he’d finished, her brow furrowing slightly, her throat feeling oddly tight. Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep. The depths to him never seemed to cease, and she’d known that William’s sort of devotion was the bone deep kind, but it was one thing to know it, and another thing to hear him talk about it. “You loved her.” It wasn’t a question. “And you tried to save her from a fate she didn’t want. That is honorable,” She repeated, lacing her fingers together to stop herself from reaching for him, still trying to wrestle with the new, jealous beast inside of her as she did. 

Kate understood, suddenly, what he’d said on the library roof, about understanding wanting to give a crown of stars to someone. She’d thought she’d known, of course, before, because she’d felt the same way about him. As long as she had known him, Kate had always wanted to provide him with a soft place to lay down and rest, a warm spot in the sunlight to rest the aching bones of his soul. She’d thought she’d understood, but she was realizing, quickly, that she hadn’t –– not until now, not until she realized how deep the wound within him ran, and she realized exactly why he thought he had so little to offer. “Do you...do you think of her still?” Kate asked, and though it wasn’t quite the question she wanted to ask, it was the one she was brave enough to ask. 

It helped, a little, to know that what his mother harbored towards her wasn’t entirely personal, but where it soothed a little, it flared something protective within her as well. She wanted to march back inside and demand to know why it was exactly Mariam thought so little of her son, but instead, she took a deep breath against the tightness in her chest. How different things are with you. “Are they?” She murmured, brows furrowing slightly, chest tight. “Different?” Suddenly, Kate shook her head, twisting her laced fingers slightly, wringing her hands. “I’m sorry; you don’t have to answer that. Any of it, really. That was...it was unfair of me.” She turned her gaze back towards the gardens, eyes roaming over the flowerbeds against the house. “You don’t...” Kate trailed off, took another deep breath, and then looked back at him. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Will. It doesn’t make me think less of you. In fact it might make me think more of you, if that’s at all possible.” Her smile was soft and small, but visible despite that. 

[tenderstarved]

baronwillliam​:

Perhaps a different man would have been worried when the answer wasn’t an immediate and resounding ‘no’, but William thought it was good that Catherine was thinking it over, appearing to take the time to consider how she felt instead of saying what she thought he would want to hear. Desire was a strange creature, something that ruined your good senses and could make things appealing that you didn’t spare a second thought about before, and it could feel like other things as well. Anxiety, nervousness, it could drive you to an emotional peak that could look like fear in the fast rush, and maybe it was sometimes, he didn’t judge that she needed to think about it. He preferred that she did.

“No, it shouldn’t. Not if I’m doing things right.” There were some that liked their partners scared, William wasn’t naïve to that, but that wasn’t what he wanted with Catherine. She could be uncertain if she wanted to be, nervous understandably in the face of something new, but at the core of it all, William wanted trust, for her to have faith that no matter what happened or how wrecked she was left feeling, that he would put her back together at the end. Maybe it would be scary that first time she fell apart, or she’d be afraid to let go entirely, but that was her right. He’d take only what Catherine was willing to give and there were certain things that she couldn’t give yet, that it would be wrong of him to take even if they were on offer. All it took was the sight of her tongue sliding across her lower lip to think of pressing his fingers into her mouth, but he couldn’t do that, no matter how curious he was to learn just what she’d let him do with her. (Because the list of things he wanted to do? Oh, it felt so endless looking at her now.)

The desires he voiced were a meager offering of what he could imagine in his head, hints that likely meant little without proper context, but he hoped that she could still hear and react to the desire in his voice, that his words felt like the caress he couldn’t give her. There were things he could have started more bluntly, like the thought of sliding his hand through her hair and gripping it tightly, tugging her head to the side to work at the slender column of her throat with his teeth. There wasn’t anything to misinterpret about that anymore than there was about wanting to slide his hand between her thighs and find out for himself if she was as affected as he was. That would be a good moment to see if Catherine would let him slip his fingers inside her mouth, so she could taste for herself the proof of how good she was for him.

Because she was good for him, that had always been true and remained to be so. The words might have come to him without any consideration, but Catherine’s reaction to them didn’t go unnoticed, the stillness of the room causing the little noise in her throat to reverberate around him and her face was so pink, he couldn’t help but think of drawing that noise from her again and again even as she tried to silent it, biting at whatever was near to keep her mouth full and the sounds contained. That would need to be dealt with, it couldn’t be allowed, and oh, his mind had wandered again, what a dangerous thing. It was for the best that he kept himself tucked almost behind the door as Catherine left, that barrier he’d considered before that kept them a safe distance away instead of close enough to touch and burn for one another. It was a miracle his skin wasn’t stained red with want, marks left behind to show where they’d touched each other before it was proper. Catherine was wearing gloves, but it wouldn’t be so bad to have her fingerprints seared against his cheek, would it? He wanted to mark her, why shouldn’t he be marked in return?

The door clicked shut behind him quietly when William followed her out and he hoped that every dark and lustful thought he had would remain locked up inside, restrained with the ties of a dead man. Instead he looked at Catherine holding the bag with the ring that would mark her as his wife and heard her say something that destroyed any hope of that. I don’t think I can make it three weeks. God in heaven, he couldn’t think past wondering if Catherine had just propositioned him, expression stunned and mind left blank to the point where he didn’t fully absorb her next words. It should have been rewarding to know that she was as weak for him as William was for her, but instead it felt like a curse, to know how easily a gift might be given, wrapping paper ripped off well before the party. When she turned around and made her way down the stairs before he could respond, William wasn’t bothered, aware with a curl of satisfaction deep in his gut that she wasn’t running from him because she was frightened, but because desire might choke her if he strayed too close, that if he chose to chase her… she might enjoy being caught.

At least outside there would be open air and bright sunlight to leave them exposed, the reminder of the rest of the world may be enough to calm their frenzy. That was becoming a mantra. Maybe if they tried this, William wouldn’t feel so hungry for her. Maybe if they went there, William would feel more in control. They needed other people around in order to be safe and before stepping outside, William managed to catch one of the staff. A request for tea, which meant that someone would check on them and may that threat keep will accountable because he was starting to suspect that Catherine might not. It was with that thought in mind that he finally approached her, feeling hot outdoors in a way that was vastly different from the heat he felt inside. “Thank you.” He murmured, accepting the little bag and counting down days in his head until they were at the church, wed and without a thing to stop him from kissing her in front of witnesses.

Out of the bag fell a ring box and despite the way he’d proposed twice, some part of him wanted to do it a third time, take advantage of the suspicions of the number and the fact he had the ring. The idea was enough to prompt a faint smile when he opened the box and found himself faced with the ring, an emerald stone in a setting decorated with yet more emeralds, flowers etched into the band, a ring that had been in the family for generations and finally found itself to Kate. “It’s okay if you don’t like the ring.” William said, easing it from the box before snapping it shut, letting it drop into a pocket so that all he had was the ring left in his hands. “Because I would find you one you liked if not. Even if you like this one and one day see a different ring you like, I think I would get it for you anyway. I’ve never been much for giving gifts, but the urge to give you all that you’ve wanted has been dwelling inside me for longer than I’ve had words to put to the sensation. And now, aware of what I feel, I knowingly want to say to you that your happiness is essential to me, and I’ll do what I can to provide that happiness for you, in any way that I am fortunate enough that you’ll allow it.”

.

Her breathing was still coming in gasps more than actual breaths, but the fresh air was helping, hot and muggy though it might be. It took her a long moment to move her gaze from his eyes down to the ring in his hand as he fiddled with the bag and then the box, and then the circle made of a soft rosy gold and bright flashing emeralds. It’s okay if you don’t like the ring, he was saying, but she could barely comprehend the idea that she might not. She opened her mouth to tell him just that, but he kept speaking, and so, instead, Kate began to tug off her gloves and turned her gaze back up to his eyes. The hunger that had chased them both out of the house was still there, lurking in the depths of his stare, but it had mostly given way to the earnestness of his words, replaced with something softer, something tender and gentle and...sweet. Her gloves clutched in her right hand, she started to reach for him, only to be beaten to the punch by his hand capturing hers, the ring hovering just before her finger. 

Between the words and the brief hesitation, it was like he was proposing to her all over again, like he was giving her yet another out, another opportunity to change her mind. Part of her wondered if he expected that, if he was still waiting for her to admit that this was all some sort of elaborate joke and the punchline would culminate with him alone at the altar. Even just the thought made her vaguely nauseous, but then again, Will did have such a bone deep habit of expecting the worst, and punishing himself for wanting things. Her gloves still in her grip, Kate closed her right hand over his. Her body was still flushed, still heated, and she was still craving something more than just an innocent touch of the hand, but she was able to smother it, for now, and smile at him. 

“It’s perfect,” she reassured him, without even looking down to get a better look at it, to examine every little detail of the construction of the ring. All she’d really seen were the green stones, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the look in his eyes, the words he’d spoken into the air between them, and the promises between them. It said something about how used to this that she was getting, the fact that she wasn’t surprised by his admission, even if made her feel weak and wobbly in her stomach and her knees. “Is that why you never put your name on the flowers?” She asked, teasing and earnest in equal measure, squeezing his hand gently and raising her brows slightly as she did. “You already make me happy,” she promised, her voice quiet, as if she didn’t want them to be overheard by the grass beneath them. “And I meant what I said, about wanting to be the one to make you happy. If all we ever do with the rest of our lives is try to make each other happy, it will be a life well lived,” she murmured, her thumb brushing out over his knuckles.

The ring glided on easily –– easier than she expected, and she was delighted to realize that it fit nearly perfectly. It was almost too big, sliding past her knuckle easily, but it didn’t twist around on her finger once he let go, and she breathed out a sigh of relief at the realization. Then she glanced at him again, a little sheepish this time. “I didn’t want to have to give it up to be correctly sized,” she admitted, her cheeks turning pink again, dimples appearing in her flushed skin. “I don’t want to ever take it off.” Kate glanced down at it, spreading her fingers out, palm flat, and finally examined the ring for longer than half a second, confirming that she did in fact love it, and that it was, in fact, perfect. Little flowers were carved into the sides of the band, bordered with delicate little dotted edges, and her smile broadened. “It really is perfect, Will,” she whispered, looking up at him again. “I want to kiss you again,” she admitted, her grip on his hand tightening for the briefest of moments before she let go, “but I’m worried that if I do, we might never stop.” 

As if to punctuate her words, Kate took a step back, and then another, her left hand still caught in his, and she tilted her head back, towards the gardens proper, rather than the little path they remained on. “We should sit. The sunshine will do us good,” she offered. And the windows, she thought, but did not say so. Having an audience who could not hear their conversation but would keep their movements honest was for the best –– evidently, they needed an extra set of eyes to ensure they did not tear her reputation to shreds. “And I believe you had matters you wanted to discuss, about why you joined the army?” Lacing her fingers through his, the ring on her finger feeling deliciously foreign, she tugged him forward until she was leading him to a bench, her hand stretched back behind her rather than let go of his. 

[tenderstarved]

baronwillliam​:

It took three weeks to read the banns, three weeks before a marriage could take place and while William would have been willing to wait longer if that was what Catherine wanted, the anticipation was like a thrumming ache at the back of his skull, ever present and unavoidable. He wasn’t marrying her only because he desired her, but for a hundred little things scattered between them, the way she held thoughts so different from the ones that William was taught and the way he thought he could drink tea with her every day and never tire of her presence. Those facts were true, but desire, a seldom encountered companion for William, seemed to dog his steps whenever Catherine was near and the urge to reach out and touch her in the simplest of ways rose up until he could choke on it. Sometimes it felt like reaching out to let their pinkies overlap in an innocent, subtle touch, was the only way to set his breathing right again, but William knew with certainty that the first time he saw her with her hair down and possessed the ability to reach out a rub a golden tress between his fingertips, that breath would be knocked right from his chest, rib cage left to collapse.

“Does it scare you? How much I want you?” There wasn’t any tease in his words, just an honest question left to rest like dust between them. Women were supposed to be clueless about what happened between a man and a woman until they were wed, but women also talked. He couldn’t presume how much she knew or how she would react to the hunger that raced through him. Kissing was one thing, story books told tales of kisses making things better, of hands clasped on wedding days, but those were gestures that William wanted to twist back on themselves and transform into something different, something filthy and decadent. He would kiss her, but not only on her mouth, but the tops of her breasts and down her soft stomach, to the tender skin of her thighs and the dampness between. Rings of purple would mottle her skin by the time he finally stopped, lines of bruises matching his fingers left to decorate her hips like chains of amethyst and rose quartz. Her hands would be held as well, pinned above her head or restrained behind her back, leaving her to twist and writhe, fingers locked together to remind her that he was holding her tightly even as she wanted to shake apart.

Or at least, that was how it went in his mind, but it would never happen that way if she was scared, if it was too much for her, and it would be at the start. William could be patient, could make sure she was comfortable and slowly introduce her to more and more, never giving more than she wanted, maybe not even given her all she wanted if she didn’t earn it, but he wouldn’t scare her, wouldn’t harm her in any way that wasn’t for pleasure.

“That’s… a very good comparison for what I want to do to you.” William admitted, and oh, he shouldn’t say that, shouldn’t think about the way she might sound as she finally snapped, and most certainly shouldn’t consider hinting at what it would feel like. “You said please that night. On the rooftop. And I think I could make you say please again if I wanted to, if I held you in my arms and touched you until ever fiber of your being was pulled taunt, ready to snap. I could keep you there in that moment and I think I will one day, but for now…” Letting out an unsteady breath, William’s hands formed a fist and it was only the thought of someone hearing that kept him from thumping it against the door. “For now, I need you to turn away from me so that I stop seeing your blushing face and wondering how far down it goes. Be a good girl for me and find the ring.”

He needed to leave, he needed to get out of the room immediately, opening the door and step out of it, use that slab of wood as a barrier between them because there were certain things that you didn’t say to a lady that you weren’t yet wed to and everything he’d said in the last, oh, heartbeat or millennia, whichever it was, certainly qualified. On the verge of telling her to find the ring and then step outside to find him, William didn’t get the chance before the drawer snapped shut, drawing him back to the present and out of that slightly fuzzy mindset that came from letting your thoughts soak in arousal. “Yes,” He said, nodding before he even looked properly at what she was holding, and then his brow furrowed. “Most likely.” How many bags could there possibly be in a tie drawer, after all? It wasn’t worth investigating, the garden and a return to rationality was calling, screaming for them before they didn’t something that couldn’t be undone. Without waiting for Catherine to check inside the bag, William pulled open the door. “Come on, we’ll check it outside.”

.

His question was raw and honest and hung heavy in the air between them as Kate’s gaze shifted back to his again, despite her better judgment. Was she scared? No –– at least, she didn’t think she was. She hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly as she thought, as she searched herself, taking a mental inventory and catalogue of her feelings, of the fluttering of her heartbeat and the twisting sensation in her stomach. Was it fear that made her heart feel as if he had reached between her ribs and grabbed it, holding it tightly and wringing it out like a rag? Was it fear that sent heat down her spine and pooling somewhere below her navel when he kissed her or when he looked at her with that naked hunger in his eyes? She swallowed, her tongue coming out to trace along her lower lip and she could taste the lingering echo of toffee, and she knew the answer. 

Fear was the dusty taste of candied violets at the back of her throat, combining with the acrid taste of shame and leaving her sick to her stomach until she couldn’t keep anything down. Fear was the buzzing of wasps and hornets in the pit of her stomach, not the butterflies and hummingbirds that seemed to occupy her chest cavity every time she caught sight of Will. Fear was a blank white staticky sensation; it was a locked chest inside of her mind that was full to bursting with secrets she couldn’t share, secrets that kept trying to burst out when she wasn’t ready for them to flood her brain. Kate knew fear. She knew its face, knew its name. This wasn’t fear. 

“No. Should it?” She asked in a whisper, her fingers curling slightly along the top of the dresser, her eyes wide, the air between them heated, electric. She was aware that unmarried women weren’t supposed to be aware of the things that went on between a husband and a wife behind closed doors, and –– she wasn’t. At least –– not entirely. There were parts she was still ignorant to, but she had older sisters, all of whom talked, and –– she was aware of more of it than she should be, and she knew, too, what fear felt like, and when she tried to combine the two of those things with Will...no. She was not scared of how much he wanted her. 

If she thought the air between them was heated before, as he continued to speak, the temperature began to rise even further, until it nearly hurt to breathe, heat flooding her cheeks and snaking and racing down her spine and blooming in her chest and pooling south of her navel until her whole body ached. It was such an overwhelming sensation, the ache, and it brought with it an utterly foreign feeling of emptiness in her core that made her breathing her stutter, her hand tightening on the curve of the dresser in an attempt to anchor herself to something. Kate couldn’t look away from him, like she was caught in some sort of spell woven by the rasp of his voice and the heat in her body as she waited, bated and breathless, for each word that fell from his lips. 

This was worse than the kissing, she realized quickly, far worse, because the wanting that it was inspiring was far more forbidden than the possibility of a stolen kiss her or there. This was a dark yearning, a secret meant to be shared only between husband and wife, and even then, only under the cover of darkness and shadows. He was talking about wanting to hold her in a tightly strung moment until she begged and pleaded to snap and break apart and she thought, genuinely, for a moment, that she might do just that without even needing to be touched; she was so desperate in that moment for his hands on her and his voice in her ear that she thought she might do anything he asked of her, and then ––– be a good girl for me and find that ring. 

Kate couldn’t stop the soft little whimper in the back of her throat, or the way heat flared in her cheeks once again, racing down from her cheekbones to her chest, flooding her core, and she did as he’d said, turning away, because if she didn’t, they would cross every uncrossable line left to them, and damn the consequences. Her hands were trembling even with the little bag in her grip, and when William opened the door and decided they’d check it in the garden, she nearly bolted from the room, turning only once she was nearly at the staircase, far enough away from him and in open enough space to trust that she could look at him without flinging herself at him. “I don’t think I can make it three weeks,” Kate admitted quietly, pressing her hand to her chest again, still flushed, still heated, still drawn to him like a small piece of metal to a magnet. “I already feel like I’m going to tear apart at the seams.” 

And with that, she turned around and began her descent down the stairs, trusting him to follow, not willing to risk what might happen if she waited for him to rest his hand against her lower back to guide her. The way to the garden was easy enough to follow without guidance, and she was endlessly grateful for the suggestion once the door opened and she caught her first lungful of fresh air. It was still too hot for her taste, still muggy, but this sort of heat was far more manageable than the kind that Will was creating inside of her. She took a few great, heaving breaths, rubbing the base of her palm against her breastbone, up and down her sternum, wishing that her stays weren’t laced quite so tightly, wishing for a ice cold bath, wishing that it was already August and they’d already made it to the altar. The fresh air, the brightness of the day, it all helped, but there was still a flush lingering as she turned back towards him, offering the little bag she still held clutched within her hand. 

[tenderstarved]

baronwillliam​:

Huffing at how much she reminded him of a petulant little kitten, eager for affection even if she needed to slap at your hand to get it, William resisted the urge to reach and cover one of her hands on his chest with his own. No matter what he thought of his self control, William didn’t want to tempt himself with proximity or the idea of her touch. Holding her hands could too easily lead to kissing her palm, lips pressing against her wrist through the material of her glove. He wouldn’t be able to feel her pulse through the fabric, but if he kissed higher, lips pressing at the soft fold of her elbow and sharp curve of her shoulder, eventually William could find her neck and with it, another pulse point, the beating of her heart giving away how affected she might be. It was a forbidden knowledge that held far too much temptation because if he made it to her neck, he could make it back to her mouth and then they’d be lost again. Best not to chance it, but instead to think of the time, of the day, when he would give her all the attention she craved and left her sobbing from it.

“Because it’s real,” He murmured without hesitation, voice low and heated. William hadn’t said it yet to her in anything beyond allusion, but she had to know, didn’t she? “The rules say wait even if we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together.” Still low and without pause, it wasn’t an explanation as much as it was a vow to do exactly that. His fingers flexed against the door, wanting to turn into fists to fight back the urge to touch Catherine as she reached up and kissed him, ducking beneath his arms to escape. The moment the space in front of him was filled with only open air, William drew in a ragged breath and slumped forward, as if to chase after her aroma left in the place where she once stood. He didn’t catch that familiar floral scent, lavender and something else, and maybe that was a mercy. Hearing a bump from across the room, William turned to let the door hold his weight, taking his own turn pressed against it as he found Catherine’s gaze a short distance across the room. Only a few steps away, maybe four at most, and it would be so easy to close that distance.

“That’s probably for the best.” William admitted, chewing on the inside of his cheek as his gaze swept down her form, trying to think if there was anything about her appearance that would come across wrong to the outside gaze of another, but he kept thinking about the way she licked her lips when she was trapped and the way she’d arched up to meet him. Maybe it was base and primal and utterly undignified, but some part of William liked the idea of people seeing Catherine and knowing that she was spoken for, knowing in a way beyond the ring waiting in the drawer for her hand. “If I moved right now, I would chase you across the room to kiss you again.” And she would likely let him do it, William though, but there would also likely come a point where she said no and even if he would listen, William didn’t want her to say no, to ever feel like she had to for any reason. She needed him to stay where he was, and William needed that, too.

Head tipping back against the door, William tried to quiet the pounding in his ears and listen for movement outside the room, the creak of steps as someone came to search for them or the raised voices of arguing mamas. The house felt silent, still, and it let the burning need racing through William cool into something more acceptable to the point that he laughed at Catherine’s remark, smiling when he looked at her. “No, I can’t say they have.” They called him difficult, frustrating, but not so much distracting. “That may be only you, dear.” Which was perfect, she was the only one that he cared to distract.

Letting out a heavy breath and ready to focus on their task once more, Will nodded his head towards the dresser Catherine was leaning against. “If you’re recovered, open up the top drawer behind you, it should hold a collection of ties.” And if it didn’t, well, there couldn’t be that many drawers that you’d need to search in to find a dead man’s ties. “My mother said she put the ring in a bag in it.” And why on earth had she done that? Why not hand it off to a servant to be cleaned, or keep it on her person to give to William after questioning Catherine? Why on earth put it in a bag in a drawer? And in her room? “See if you can find it, please.”

.

Because it’s real. She couldn’t help the way she began to nod, the motion almost entirely involuntary. It made perfect sense, and –– it was. It was real, this thing between them, this thing that he kept alluding to and she didn’t dare name out of lingering fear that he’d withdraw, that something would irreparably change between them. It was stupid, she knew that. Things had already irreparably changed, and it had been for the best, even if it didn’t feel that way now, with the air between them thick and hot and charged with a tension that left her breathless and wanting and knowing that she couldn’t act on those feelings for another handful of weeks. She wanted to damn the rules, wanted to throw them to the side and deal with the fallout later, but she knew she couldn’t, knew she could never, and knew that they’d been lucky so far not to be caught. They couldn’t keep pushing their luck. They had to follow the rules, even if Kate was convinced in that moment that the rules might be the death of her. 

It was a comfort, though, to see him just as affected as she was, leaning against the door and eyeing her the way she imagined a wolf might eye a rabbit it wanted to devour, quietly admitting that if he moved, he would chase her down and kiss her again. She wanted him to. “Don’t say that,” Kate groaned, shutting her eyes and gripping the dresser until her knuckles went white beneath her gloves. She could see it so clearly in her mind’s eye, the scene playing out against the blackness of the inside of her eyelids, William crossing the room and scooping her up to sit her on the dresser and––

She opened her eyes again, training them stubbornly and furiously on the ceiling, refusing to look at him again. “This is hard enough as it is, don’t –– don’t make it worse.” She needed to get out of this room. Suddenly the gardens sounded like a fantastic idea, all open space and fresh air and big wide windows behind them to remind them exactly why they couldn’t indulge in this sort of behavior. Still, Kate smiled at the shift in his tone as he smiled back at her, at the way he called her dear, her cheeks flushing even as she continued to refuse to look at him, certain that she’d be lost if she did. Her self control wasn’t nearly as good as his was, and both of their grips were slipping too quickly for her to take that kind of risk. 

“I’m not going to recover,” she asserted, though she was still smiling as she said it, the effect lessening the dramatics of it. “I feel like –– like a harp that’s been strung too tightly,” she said, laying one palm flat against her sternum, pressing the base of her palm against her chest as if it would ease that ache. “Like a music box that’s been wound with a key all the way to the end and you’re just...holding the key steady, rather than let the music play,” Kate whispered, shaking her head. Another handful of breaths, still ragged, still a conscious effort, until she finally started to ease her grip on the dresser’s edge and her pressing hand against her breastbone. 

Slowly, carefully, and still feeling rather like a rabbit in a wolf’s line of sight, she turned around, until she was in front of her drawer and able to open it, her gaze roaming distractedly over the aforementioned neckties. It took her a few long moments before she finally caught a glimpse of what she was looking for –– a small velvet bag, dark green amongst a sea of white muslin and lace. She reached for it, realizing as her fingers closed over it that she was trembling slightly, and then pulled it out, shutting the drawer with a soft little snap a moment later. “This?” Kate asked belatedly, glancing back over at him as she held up the small bag and lifted her brows slightly. 

[tenderstarved]

baronwillliam​:

If one of the servants had overheard their task or seen them disappear into a room only for the door to close after them, it wasn’t unthinkable that William would miss the sound of steps approaching the doorway, that someone could pick up the soft, dulcet sounds that Catherine was making against him. It seemed that he was never fully in control of himself when they were alone, emotions too quick to rise to the surface around Catherine and things like rationality and reasonableness washing away like beachside footprints in the tide. But how could he resist when she so sweetly encouraged him, when she didn’t seem to falter before granting the permission that he sought, her fingers sliding into his hair as if to keep him there? It was a heady feeling, to wanted and to be wanted in return, and he wanted Catherine in a way he’d seldom experienced before. The hunter she incited was unique, something special to her just like her habit of stirring her tea and the way she feared waking flowers.

Time could pass so easily on her arms, the few moments their absence could be excused something that could morph into long stretches of time as his focus narrowed down to kissing Catherine, thoroughly and properly. There was so much of her to taste and to touch, but she was a lady and instincts were curbed, certain desires left to simmer despite the way he wanted to give her everything, make sure she longed for nothing. Wait, just wait. A few weeks and they’d be wed, and even then it depended on if she felt ready, how willing she remained to accept his touch as always. Just wait.

The moment it was Catherine saying wait, the word slipping out between kisses, William hummed and shut his eyes, forehead pressed against her own as he soaked up her closeness. There were flowers that turned towards the sun and, in like of the sun, turned towards each other. It could be the brightest, sunniest of day and William knew that he would be forever attuned to her light, eyes opening back up as his hand loosened its grip, slipping around to her spine to rub in slow, soothing circles. “You’re right.” He agreed, incapable of doing anything else. It was incredible that he’d kissed her once before their wedding, a second time was certainly pushing their luck and they would be missed eventually for one reason or another. Maybe Mrs. Lockhart would be worried about her daughter or tired of the attitude of William’s own mother, or maybe the Dowager would want to know what Catherine thought of the ring or her opinion on living away from London or one of a dozen different, absolutely pointless little things that William couldn’t be bothered to care about when Cather was so near, still caught between his body and the doorway and radiating heat.

“The ring.” He would have nodded if they weren’t so close, but any movement at all felt like too much, like it wear at his self control and he would need to kiss her again. It wasn’t unusual for William to be brief in his speech with others, short sentences and one word answers, grunts and hums if he could get away with it, but it was different with Catherine. Talking came easier with her, except in this, his remarks reduced to a handful of words at a time as he tried to clear his mind and focus on the realities of the situation. Their mothers were downstairs. They were engaged, but not yet wed. There was a ring in the drawer and they would be missed eventually. They would have all the time in the world later on. It all sounded so neat and tidy in his head, but it felt impossible to comprehend when she kissed him against, the urge to lift her up and pin her to the door swelling inside him, muscles tightening in anticipation, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t.

“Catherine,” He started, only to kiss her again, tasting the inside of her mouth and thinking about feeding her fruit, licking the juice of strawberries from her skin. “Darling,” William tried against after another kiss, breathing heavily and forcing himself to let go of her, hands spreading out against the solid surface of the door on either side of her. Still caging Catherine in, but at least she could escape this time if she wanted to. Sucking in a deep breath, he leaned in to press a final kiss against her forehead. “We need to get the ring. And then leave this room, or else we may not leave.” Not without losing track of time to the point that someone walked in, and that couldn’t happen, Catherine deserved better than that. “We’ll go to the gardens afterwards. I don’t… let’s not face our mothers right now.”

.

The ring. That was it, that was right. The ring. They’d come up here for the ring. But even reminding herself of the urgency of the task didn’t seem to fully fix the problem; she was aware of the urgency, aware of what they were supposed to be doing, but still, she melted against him, still, she kissed him, focusing on nothing more than the feeling of his mouth on hers and the warmth radiating off of him. “Right,” she murmured, barely managing the word against his lips, smoothing her hands down the sides of his neck and over the front of his shoulders, as if trying to blindly fix any wrinkles she might have created in his jacket. This, of course, did not work, and instead left him with more folds in his clothing, the problem exacerbated when her hands suddenly fisted in the fabric of his jacket as his tongue slid along hers and her knees threatened to give out. 

They nearly did, too, as his hands left her body and braced against the door, his lips pressing to her forehead as if in compensation for leaving her mouth. It was a poor consolation prize, but she hummed in assent anyway, only half listening as he spoke. Right. The ring. Task at hand. Focus, Kitty. She opened her eyes, blinking up at him, trying to find a way to argue around his words, something that would convince him that they could, in fact, stay in this room if they wanted, but unfortunately, his logic was, as usual, sound. “Alright,” she managed, still breathless, her tone somehow both breathy and grumbling all at once. His arms were still boxing her in, but with enough room for her to maneuver out of them if she so chose. The problem was that she didn’t want to, despite knowing she needed to, and so she lingered, her forehead still resting on his, her hands still braced upon his chest. 

“Alright,” Kate repeated, her tone slightly stronger now, clearly trying to convince herself that he was right. “The gardens,” she echoed a moment later, closing her eyes again and taking another deep breath, and then another. “Why is this so difficult?” Kate finally asked, half laughing, half groaning, and then pressed her lips to his one more time, kissing him quickly and firmly before dropping back down to her heels and letting go of his jacket. 

In a swift motion, she ducked under one of his arms and backed up three steps in quick succession, then another two for good measure, until she bumped into a dresser and reached behind her to stabilize herself against it with one hand. Her free hand came up to press against her lips, where she could still feel the echo of his kiss, and she grinned behind her fingers, trying to force down a dazed sort of laughter. “Hang on,” Kate said, taking another deep breath, and then another, “stay over–– I need you to stay over there.” She was being ridiculous, and dramatic, and she knew it, but she also knew if he came any closer to her she’d throw herself back in his arms and they’d have more problems than they knew what to do with. “Just...stay over there for a second,” she repeated, dropping her hand from her mouth to the top of her chest, pressing down on the space beneath her collarbone, as if she could slow her breathing and her heartbeat by that one action alone. 

The motion pushed her locket into her skin, though she was far more focused on looking up at the ceiling, taking deep breaths, counting backwards from twenty, doing anything other than looking at him, that she didn’t notice the subtle pain until she finally lifted her hand up. Hissing slightly as she did, she shook out her hand and then rubbed her gloved fingers against her covered palm, oddly grateful as she did so, even as she was certain the necklace had left a slight indent on her skin. It’d had a slight grounding effect on her, and now when she looked over at William, she was satisfied that she was no longer in danger of not just risking her reputation, but effectively setting it on fire. “Right,” she said, “okay, right, the ring, the gardens, conversations,” Kate repeated, and then grinned at him again, a little helplessly. “Has anyone ever told you how terribly distracting you are?”