𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯 @withouttend
helena, the viscountess dowager of melville
richmond lodge, richmond, london
The letter looked ordinary enough to him, when closed, dolled up as it was with his mother's seal, and tied with silk ribbon. True, the ribbons were a touch extravagant, and the seal even more so, but that was only his mother's taste for drama, a flourish attending all of her correspondence. He'd thought nothing of it. In truth, he'd delayed opening it, sure to find, rather than tidings, a thorough chastisement of a son whose behavior had, in the course of mere minutes, escalated from bad -- to worse.
Yet, he'd found soon enough, if it spoke aught about his behavior, he saw it not. It was the other news he choked on, first, hands fisting over the table where he stood, his heart clenching painfully inside him. "My God," he whispered. He turned to face Helena quickly. "Emma."
His tone was urgent, and he stepped forward quickly. "My father--" He caught her hand. "He is unwell. He--My behavior--Emma, what can I do?"
with a glass of madeira wine warming fast in her hand, she can sense how the moment will soon be curtailed, twisted into something else, sacrificed upon the royal altar in honour of another. the letter alone tells it to her before his mouth. “ charles, ” helena whispers, as if she's just awoken from a slumber, voice melting like hot wax over most indiscreet letters. she lowers her glass, one hand already extended for him to take. the other would soon follow in tandem.
king edward is unwell.
to him a father. to her, only a nuisance. the man who had called her unworthy. never directly. never with words. but with his actions alone. “ you're not a physician nor a man of medicine. but you are his son. ” history will call helena wicked. accuse her of being an immoral, depraved woman simply for daring to desire; the prince, wealth and love. for keeping him close to her heart and chest — and his bed warm. history won't remember the rest , especially not the best pieces of her.
she could tell him to stay. it's what she'd want the most after all. send him down the wrong path. incite fear and fright to prove once and for all that she's vile. but she won't. “ you should go to him. i'm certain it'll bring him comfort. ” she plants a kiss then, quick and fleeting, between his collarbone and throat, where according to myths, a man's soul sits. “ just your warmth alone will sustain him. ”
the morning had seemed like a reasonable idea at the time. the park was quieter before the promenade hour and his leg wanted movement more than rest, which the surgeons had said and which he had chosen to believe because the alternative was another afternoon at a window. he walked at a pace that was not quite his own, cane taking more weight than usual, and if his left eye was somewhat less open than his right he had decided not to raise the subject with anyone who had not raised it first.
he had not, however, accounted for the bench being occupied. he stopped a few feet short of it, assessed the situation, and concluded that standing was becoming a less attractive option by the minute. "i don't suppose," he said, to whoever was sitting there, "you would object to sharing."
she comes here for the pelicans. the orange-legged ducks too. that's what she'd tell to anyone bold enough to question her intentions that are never entirely pure. it's her paradise, under embroidered parasols, right by the water clear enough to reflect her visage when the sun hits its zenith. then of course, there's food. prepped and readied, arranged inside of a basket at her behest. jellies, tarts, cucumber sandwiches, sugar plums, candied dates, topped of course with fresh fruit, upon which helena always insists. apples, though certainly not in season, have turned into her latest obsession, and so, she had to have them, at any cost, as every woman should.
company, however, much like sweets and dry champagne, she could never refuse. “ not at all. ” leaving no room for doubt, she beckons him to sit right beside her, the intention itself highlighted by the way she swiftly pulls the basket filled with decadent cakes and fruits closer to herself. “ join me in sin, ” says eve to adam, her mouth half full, dangling an apple before him. “ for these apples are too sweet. would you like one? ”
not wanting to be stared down by a drooling hideous creature is hardly cruel. she grabs the beef between the very tips of her fingers. lodging the treat across the room. her body loosens up as the dog chases after it. " your dog is fat. " the crease in her forehead deepens as the dog comes back. " are you one of those people who kiss their dogs on the mouth? "
“ i think you need to take a long, hard look in the mirror before deciding to cast any stones at simon, ” great affection, no matter how closely held to her chest for the girl, is promptly pushed aside in favor of the famished pug, forcing helena to bristle at the remark. she bites and laughs in the same stifled breath, having nothing appropriate to say. on instinct she lowers her eyes , her tender lips pursed and voice brought to well-nigh a whisper . “ please, malisorn, must i remind you that my lips have kissed far worse things? dearest , a dog ought to be the least of your concern. ”
“ he's my dearest friend. don't be cruel ! ” she gasps, her gaze shifting to the beloved dog at her feet, knowing that she ought not to spoil him even when he so endlessly pleads for something to eat. who could blame her, after all, for being so susceptible to beauty, sin and simon's large eyes? “ he just wants a treat and he especially likes beef and venison. if you dangle a piece before him, he may even sit. you should give it a try. ”
letters from her son always left yu jie with shame bubbling in her stomach, feeling terrible for the distance she demanded between them. griffin, who she once adored, was a stranger to her at his large age of five and ten. though, the lady church found that the taste of guilt was masked easily with her favourite blend of tea and a spot of gossip.
"i must admit," yu jie starts, lowering her marigold cup to its matching saucer, "i am rather surprised our dear lady whistledown has yet to publish her thoughts on the excitement of the garden party."
“ i fear that no one shall be spared, ” because history likes repeating itself, and helena, among other things, likes making it. she swallows down the urge to comment any further with the rest of her tea, finding the taste to be far too mellow despite the copious amounts of added honey that should've dissolved by now. instead of lady whistledown, she finds herself thinking of shrewsbury and ratafia cake, even if it's for just a fleeting moment of reprieve. the real shame is that cake is missing from their table. “ which is why i assume she's been so quiet. i hope, however, that the thought of lady whistledown didn't prevent you from enjoying yourself at the garden party, lady church. ”
━ ⊰ [ maddison jaizani , 29 , cis woman , she/her ] the ton is buzzing ! have you heard ? lady helena birkenhead of melville has arrived in mayfair ! i have been told that she is + inviting & + ingenious but also - decadent & - impulsive but we shall know more about them as the season progresses. there have been whispers around the ton stating that she overspends on jewels, clothes and shoes, and has others funding her purchases . among the ton , they are known to be a cluster of precious stones glimmering around her throat + roses in a garden bursting open just to keep her company + her hair tangled, laced with a scent one can never forget, that of something warm and heady ! how they truly are behind closed doors ? we cannot be too sure .
FULL NAME EMMA HELENA BIRKENHEAD, BETTER KNOWN AS HELENA BIRKENHEAD, FORMERLY PAULET NICKNAMES ELLA, BECAUSE IT'S THE CLOSET THING SHE HAS TO EMMA, THOUGH PERHAPS THOSE WHO'RE NOT THAT FOND OF HER WON'T HESISTATE TO RHYME IT WITH HELL TITLES VISCOUNTESS OF MELVILLE DATE OF BIRTH NOVEMBER 2ND AGE TWENTY-NINE. PLACE OF BIRTH LONDON, ENGLAND GENDER AND PRONOUNS CIS WOMAN & SHE / HER RELIGION ROMAN CATHOLIC. LANGUAGES ENGLISH, FRENCH, DUTCH AND GERMAN
ii.
HAIR DARK BROWN, STYLED DEPENDING ON THE SEASON, BEDECKED WITH JEWELS, AND ALWAYS PERFUMED EYES BROWN, KIND, THAT OF A WOODLAND CREATURE HEIGHT 170 CM BUILD LEAN, SHE'S DONE HER BEST TO STAY IN SHAPE AND CARES GREATLY ABOUT HER BODY SCENT IT'S CHANGED OVER THE YEARS, BUT IT'S ALWAYS BEEN SWEET. ISN'T THAT SO DELECTABLE? SHE TASTES AND SMELLS LIKE RASPBERRIES ALLERGIES NONE THAT SHE KNOWS OF SCARS SHE BATHES IN MILK, SO OBVIOUSLY NOT CLOTHING STYLE A LOT OF EMPHASIS IS PUT ON THE QUALITY OF THE MATERIALS THAT SHE PUTS ON HERSELF. SHE'S A BIT OF A TRENDSETTER FOR THE TIME ERA, AND ISN'T AFRAID TO WEAR SOMETHING NEW.
iii.
MBTI ESFP — THE ENTERTAINER CHARACTER ALIGNMENT BETWEEN CHAOTIC GOOD AND CHAOTIC NEUTRAL POSITIVE TRAITS INVITING, INGENIOUS NEGATIVE DECADENT, IMPULSIVE TRAITS PRIMARY VICE LUST PRIMARY VIRTUE CHARITY CHARACTER PARALLELS EMMA BOVARY ( MADAME BOVARY ), MADAME DE POMPADOUR, MARIA FITZHERBERT, JOSEPHINE BONAPARTE
iv.
MOTHER PARISA PAHLEVANI FATHER SAMUEL PAULET ( TAX COLLECTOR, LOCAL COMMISSIONER, BANKER ) SIBLING(S) NONE. SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S) VISCOUNT BIRKENHEAD ( HUSBAND ), PRINCE OF WALES ( I MEAN ... ) CHILDREN NONE OTHER A PET DOG / PUG NAMED SIMON
only child and a product of a marriage out of love. the paulets always chose with their hearts instead of heads, though that is disputed. she was born as emma, and up until a certain age, only introduced herself as such. it's only later on that they dubbed her as helena, alienating her from her actual name, all in name of elegance.
from an early age, she was sent to a convent on the continent, flanders to be exact, to receive the finest quality education that money could buy. no expenses were spared on her father's end. the paulets wanted their daughter to be primed for more than just marriage, and insisted on her receiving an extensive education in music, humanities, fine arts, and other things. unlike most girls of her age or even of her status, she traveled greatly when she was younger alongside her father, most notably to france, italy and prussia.
samuel paulet, despite his wealth, was certainly not the most revered nor liked man in london, given his role as a tax collector. it cast a dubious shadow over the family, including his daughter, though rest assured that he had always tried his best to elevate himself and those closest to him, and eventually rose to the position of a government official ( in the house of commons ). her father's money, however, did secure her a position in the high society.
emma paulet, or rather helena paulet, was always a woman ahead of her time. perhaps that can be partially attributed to her education, but her abundance of intelligence could not have been bought nor instilled. she'd tell you that herself. a voracious reader, fantastic mathematician, and somewhat even famous for her beauty, helena was on a steady ascend to something great, but the thread of fate, or perhaps free will, pulled her in another direction, to the prince of wales.
at the time, she had already amassed a certain level of attention, not just from the prince, but other suitors as well. the story goes that she made them all buy her beautiful things, something to remember them by, because a promise lasts only a second, but a diamond is forever. ( whether or not she actually said this is up for debate but there were many attempts to besmirch her reputation over the years. don't worry guys, she does that herself. )
though she initially refused to let herself become a mistress, love at first sight, or whatever you wish to call it, had struck her. things only spiraled from here, culminating in a secret marriage that was annulled. for a moment in time, she was at least loved. ( more details to come on all of this )
to salvage what was left of his daughter's reputation, she was sent to france for a year to stay with her cousins in paris, and upon her return, was betrothed to lord birkenhead, whom she subsequently married. ( papa samuel was the og kris jenner of regency era )
the truth is that she was rather unapologetic about her actions, and even acted waspish about it. there was no shame, or guilt, or remorse painted upon her face, only an ever greater set of confidence and audacity. ( it's truly the face of a woman who would do it again, and she certainly cheated on her husband more than once. but truth be told, why do you only blame the women?? hello. ) however, does she suffer in her own way? of course. like all women do.
when all the rumors and notions and expectations, no matter how great or small, are pushed aside, we're left with the real helena. so who is she? an exceedingly nurturing woman with a great love of animals. an avid equestrian, as it's an escape from the rigid, suffocating constraints of london's high society. an awful spender. it's true, because she loves fine silks and glistening jewels, and setting new trends amongst the ton. no matter how much some women may dislike her, they can't deny, or rather hide the fact that they imitate her style. after all, she's always trying out something new. they'll laugh today, but they'll be wearing it tomorrow. at least she can afford to act like that, for now.
she cares greatly about young girls, and children in general, their status and education. she's pioneering for a change in education, especially for those who can't afford it, and is attempting to fund certain projects. she's probably more influential than anyone cares to admit, especially for a woman who was not born, but rather married into the aristocracy. on top of this, she's also a patron of many philosophers, architects and writers, and is frequently seen in their company. if you want to be a woman who makes history, you have to be a bit odd.
all of that aside, she can be decadent. she loves sweets, any type of sweets, and champagne, of course. don't bring her anything else. anyways, rip helena, you would've loved birkin bags and instagram. i'm sure they named a bag after her at some point in the future.
there's also a rumor ( maybe it's a secret as well, but that's for me to know and you to find out ), that helena has quite a scandalously portrait of herself hidden somewhere. now is it hidden, lost, fictitious or does it belong to someone? well...
