Realistic or Modern &nbsp; 𝓘𝓷 𝓕𝓾𝓵𝓵 𝓑𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓶 ~ 𝓐 𝓑𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓻𝓽𝓸𝓷-𝓘𝓷𝓼𝓹𝓲𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓡𝓸𝓵𝓮𝓹𝓵𝓪𝔂 (𝓘𝓒)

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Pyroclast · Jul 7, 2024

18th of April, 1815
~ The Windsor Athletic Club ~

Lord Edmund Hennessy

Suppose the social season lasted from the 10th of April until the 10th of September, marking the end of summer. Edmund, never having partaken before, couldn't be sure if there was a set date to mark its end, but had calculated that that would total to 153 days. Eight days had passed since the Queen's opening ball at Kew Palace, which meant there were 145 days left. That was how long he had to make an offer to one of the ladies of the ton, before his mother revealed his so-called "crime against God" to his father and wider family, thus writing him out of all their wills.

So far, he had not managed to catch the attention of any woman, much less one of status, and in the days since he had seen much reprimanding from Lord Hennessy for his lack of efforts or general adherence to social decorum. While far from his home merchant city of Cork, staying in London wasn't too dissimilar. The two cities themselves were different, of course, and the people spoke with different accents, but the etiquette and expectations of society were the same - and equally stiff.

The only consolation to being stuck in a foreign city away from his patients was that he had met someone whom he wished to make his friend. Morgan Davenport, the second son of an Earl, had proven to him that there existed other men out there who also felt out of place in high society. The man had eluded him ever since their first meeting, but that hadn’t stopped Edmund from thinking about him throughout the passing days. His gorgeous smile, the touch of his hand, the pure kindness of following him into the maze to make sure he was okay. Edmund couldn’t think of a single other person who would have done that for him, let alone a stranger.

He had been keeping an eye out for him everywhere he went in the hope of bumping into him again, venturing into town at every opportunity. This pleased his father, who was inclined to think that Edmund was putting himself within eyesight of as many women as there were in the Ton. It made Edmund feel rather pathetic, to be going out in search of one man simply because he was the only person to whom he felt he could relate. At least, that was the only reason he was willing to admit to himself…

So it was that he had found his way to the Windsor Athletic Club to watch the horse race. Had it not been for the possibility of seeing Morgan again, he might not have come - Edmund was fond of horses and didn’t much like to see them be exploited for entertainment. They were useful for riding and for pulling carriages, but they were more than just a tool or a vehicle or a source of income. They were beings in their own right: they had life in them, a soul, a personality. That so many people came to support a sport that risked the health and life of each horse entered into the race was rather disheartening. In a way, Edmund hoped not to see Morgan in attendance at all.

His father was busy sitting in Parliament that day, so Edmund had the fortune of spending the day without him. He soon found his seat - high enough up the steps to have a decent chance of spotting Morgan, and close enough to the edge that he could easily get out and greet him if he did appear. The crowd stirred as the first of the horses trotted into view, their coats glossy and manes neatly tied and styled. Even the horses got dressed up for the event.

With zero emotional or financial investment in the race, Edmund wondered how long he would bear to stay before the boredom or the crowd got to be too much. Suddenly, two young men bounded over and took their seats next to him, blocking him slightly from the exit he had been relying on. At first that made him uneasy, but when one of them spoke to the other, Edmund noticed that he didn't appear to fit in with the rest of the crowd: his manner of speaking was different and his suit was made of cheap fabrics and had clearly been mended in a number of places. He had an air of rebellion about him that suggested he couldn't care less that he was probably offending the gentry seated around him. His friend, on the other hand, looked like a gentleman himself, yet they had a rapport that resembled brotherhood. Their relation to one another was most curious. He wondered what the more disheveled one meant by getting their clothes dirty. They weren't planning to ride the horses themselves, were they?

Edmund kept his eyes on the emerging horses down below as he eavesdropped, particularly on one beautiful dapple grey horse with blue ribbons woven into its plaited mane. It was being crowded by people and other horses, fussed over and tugged by its reins, and was clearly beginning to get bothered by the way it swished its head back and forth. “They need to give it space,” Edmund uttered to himself. The more the horse resisted and pulled against the person steering it, the more control that person tried to exert. The horse staggered backwards into a small group of people, which only caused it greater upset, and more hands grabbed the reins. “No one is trying to calm it down!” he said to the young men next to him, pointing down at the distressed horse. “They need to give it space or - or someone's going to get hurt, and then the horse will get -” Edmund felt himself grow frustrated by the scene, though the rest of the crowd hadn't even seemed to notice - or if they did, they didn't care. If that horse hurt somebody, he was sure it would be tranquilised and then get put down. “They need to stop crowding it!”

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AnimeGenork Teddy

Bellz Benny

sprouhtt · Jul 8, 2024

Evelyn Forbes.

Evelyn found herself in a quandary, pondering the appropriate sum to wager upon the horse. Her lovely aunt had given her no limits to what she may or may not bet. She entrusted Evelyn to make the best decision and to act accordingly or else they would be eating nothing but potato soup and bread. Yet, possessing no knowledge of such affairs, she harbored a deep sense of pity for the unfortunate creatures that she watched from affair as they prepped them for today’s event. It seemed to her that they were akin to commodities at an auction, their worth determined not by their intrinsic nature but by their performance—a performance that would, in turn, determine the fortunes of those who staked their claims upon them. Evelyn shook her head at the mere thought of that, and with that her big curls followed in a bouncing manner. This notion led Evelyn to draw a parallel to the plight of young ladies within the ton, whose worth was similarly appraised by their dowries. To the Mama’s and Papa’s of the ton, it was not the gentlemen's virtues but the extent of their influence, power, and the depths of their coffers that held significance, all to ensure a life of comfort and ease.

"Lady Forbes!" Evelyn gasped at the sudden mention of her name, though the recognition of the voice behind her contributed to her astonishment. "Mr. Amesbury, a pleasure to see that you are no longer mumbling to yourself," she teased, recalling the evening of their first encounter. Her aunt had often spoken of Ian Amesbury, recounting the tales and rumors that surrounded him. This was the perfect time to apologize to Ian for such a rapid disappearance, "I must endeavor to make amends for my hasty departure on the night of the ball. It was never my intention to leave so abruptly, particularly as we had not even shared a single dance. I shall hold your request dear and reserve it for our next meeting at another ball." Evelyn knew he was not deemed a suitable match for her by her family; he held neither title nor fortune. Yet, such considerations were of little consequence to Evelyn. She embraced the uncertainty of the future and, in this moment, resolved to allow it to unfold as it might.

"To answer your question, I am quite better than when last we met," she continued, studying his features and noting the slight smile that played upon his lips. She found the notion of his smile in response to their conversation quite delightful, sensing a genuine pleasure in his finally engaging with her after some time had passed.

Evelyn furrowed her brows slightly as she observed him glancing around, as if searching for something or someone, or perhaps ensuring they were not being watched too closely. Her aunt had not accompanied her this time, although she probably should have, for her aunt had been her constant shadow since their arrival. Yet Evelyn had shown no signs of the reckless behavior her mother feared.

"I have come alone," she admitted, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Do not tell the others, lest they think I am being raised by wolves," she laughed lightly. "I would be delighted to join you in such affairs, though I must confess my ignorance, as this is my first race." She tilted her head slightly to the right, then leaned in closer to him, whispering, "Do you mind walking me through the basics?"

location: near the betting booths • tags:

Bellz • mood: content • interactions: Ian

Pyroclast · Jul 9, 2024

18th of April, 1815
~ Primrose Hill, Camden ~

Lord Augustus Bloomington

In the summer of 1813, two years after the end of their engagement, Augustus had been waiting, in part dread and part excitement, for Helena to return for the social season. When she didn’t - and in the weeks, months and years since - he had wondered what her exact reason was for staying away. He never could get a satisfactory answer from her in their correspondence, but chose not to pry in case it offended her. After all, the reason could, of course, have been him.

August hadn’t expected to get an answer now. So, when he sensed a weight to her words and a slight tremble in her voice, he looked at her with a curious eye. What exactly could she mean by ‘bright’? Helena began to explain to him how she had spent what sounded like quality bonding time with her parents, going on travels with them between her studies. He smiled at the sound of it, but the smile was short-lived. Helena stopped in her tracks, reaching out to lightly touch his arm. He turned to face her before looking down at her hand, his brows furrowing in concern. Her touch was so familiar to him even after that time, that for a moment it was like nothing had changed. Except, everything had, and judging by the tears in her eyes, he could tell it was deeper than just their changing relationship. She gave his arm a light squeeze and his reaction was to reach up to take her hand, but she withdrew it at the last moment. “My lady, are you -”

So puzzled by her turn of emotion, Augustus swallowed the rest of his question, instead allowing her to speak on, knowing he would find the answer in the rest of her story. “Nevermind about the letters,” he said, taking her by the hands and willing her to look into his eyes. “You can be honest with me now. I will not be angry - you have my word.” His heart was beginning to pound in his chest as he pondered what was to be so different about this particular visit of hers to England. Was it to be her last? Had something happened? Was she unwell? Was it terminal?

Once again, Helena withdrew her hands from him and began to wring them. He could tell she was struggling to form the words, and did his best to prepare himself for awful news. But, of course, he couldn’t be. When she finally told him that her parents had died in a wreckage somewhere in the Eastern Alps, he was dumbfounded. An echo of his own grief passed through him suddenly, the indescribable heartbreak of discovering his father was dead. Of course, the circumstances of his death could not be more different to that of her parents, but he felt it all the same. It was a pain he would never wish on anyone.

So moved by her grief, August’s instincts overrode societal etiquette and he placed his stable hands on her arms, his thumbs tenderly stroking her skin. He looked back at his mother with eyes full of sorrow and desperation, almost reminiscent of the look he wore the day his father died, and then quickly shook his head at her, hoping she would not stop him from touching Helena with such necessary affection.

When he turned his attention back to his friend, his head was still shaking in disbelief. “My dear Helena, I…I find myself short of words,” he admitted, not even registering that he had used her Christian name. “My condolences could not be enough, and yet…I am so terribly sorry for your losses.” He touched the back of his hand to her cheek, damp with tears, and felt it was warm. “Come, I must have you sit down.”

He gently led her by the arm towards a nearby park bench and sat down beside her before withdrawing a clean handkerchief from his trouser pocket. Without another word, he leaned in close and began to gently dab the cloth to her face. On this rare occasion, he didn’t care who saw, who might gossip or what his mother might have to say about it. Helena was in dreadful pain, and in that moment, tending to her was all that mattered.

“To lose a parent is a terrible burden on the heart,” he told her, his voice deep and quiet in an effort to soothe her. “But to not expect it, to not have them return to you, I -” A slight tremor could be heard on his words, and he dipped his head for a moment to allow his own surfacing emotions to subside. “I can only imagine the depth of your grief.”

His heart ached deeply at the thought of her going through such tragedy, all while keeping it to herself. He remembered how destructive his own father’s death had been on himself and his family. Becoming Viscount at the age of just 13, with new and heavy responsibilities weighing on his small shoulders, all while taking care of his younger siblings so that his mother could grieve. He remembered his mood swings, how on some days he would shout at anyone who tried to draw him out of his bedroom, once even hitting his governess when she was trying to help him balance the accounts. The howling wind that never again would carry his father’s laughter, the empty seat at the dining table, dust gathering on his wall-mounted shotgun, the half-finished book left on his armchair in the library. Augustus hadn’t known what to do with it all. It was a time of constant helplessness and the torment of his inescapable absence. Even 14 years later, something could happen that would trigger a memory of his father. Except that now, such memories had grown hazy, and he could hardly remember his voice. Someday, that would happen to Helena, too. Each day that passed would set her memories further adrift, losing precious details of her beloved parents.

“You must allow me to help you through this, my lady,” he implored, taking her hand in his. “Whatever I can do to lift the burden. I never wanted you to know such pain…and, while I cannot undo it, I shall endeavour to help you manage it in whatever ways I can. You will let me know, yes?”

Interactions

Bellz ~~My darling Helena~~ Lady Bexley

WanderLust. · Jul 11, 2024

LYDIA SINCLAIRE

Pleasantly Entertained

Windsor Athletic Field

Francis

CapellaStargaze (Victoria and Augustus briefly mentioned)

There was a slight chill in the air as Lydia and her family began making their social rounds at the Windsor Athletic Club, making her wish she would’ve thrown on an additional layer as a soft breeze cut through the thin fabric of her brightly colored dress. Odette was ever the primed socialite, the names and titles of passersby rolling off her tongue with an effortless smile, it made Lydia wonder how much time her mother had spent committing their miniatures to memory. Though, perhaps most notable on her mother’s radar, was Francis Bloomington. Lydia knew enough about the families of the ton to comprehend that Francis came from an exceptionally well liked household, thus both he, and his brother Augustus, were at the top of her mother’s list of eligible suitors for her only daughter.

If one were to believe Odette’s recount of the events of the Queen’s ball eight days prior, then they would be under the impression that Francis had taken ‘quite an interest’ in Lydia towards the end of the night. Though the reality was much less dramatic. After Lydia’s dress had fallen victim to the misstep of a servant, she had frozen like a doe confronted by a hunting party. Though her elegant handling of the situation had not been questioned, she firmly believed that the entire ordeal would’ve been of much more consequence had Francis not come to her rescue with such haste. Instead of drawing attention to the torn garment, he swiftly led her out to the royal gardens, a well placed cloak around her shoulders had hidden any remnants of the incident, all under the guise of a late night, chaperoned stroll through the gardens with a potential suitor.

During their promenade, Lydia had made two paramount decisions. The first was that she truly enjoyed Francis’ company. He had shown exemplary chivalry, unrivaled kindness, and had even been able to elicit a few charmed laughs from Lydia in her flustered state. The second was that the Bloomingtons seemed to be a family she could truly trust. Even Francis’ mother, Victoria, had proven to be nothing short of a saint as she chaperoned their walk without even making mention of Lydia’s torn gown. They could’ve chosen to publicize her misfortune, or left her to fend for herself, but instead, they had both gone out of their ways to ensure Lydia’s reputation remained perfectly spotless, if not now heightened by her association with their family.

So, of course, it was no surprise that Odette was now on the hunt for the Bloomingtons, no doubt hoping to further progress her childrens’ attachment to their family. When the matriarch spotted Francis among the throngs of attendees she made a beeline for him, ensuring her daughter and son were kept well in tow as she closed the gap between them.

“Mr. Bloomington!” Odette smiled sweetly, “What a delight to see you here! Tell me, have you yet placed a wager on your mount of choice? Perhaps you could help Lydia do the same? I’m afraid the sweet girl doesn’t yet understand the finer intricacies of the races.”

Though Lydia would’ve liked to roll her eyes at her mother’s not-so-discreet matchmaking attempts, her demeanor remained untouched, a pleasant smile gracing her lips as she inclined her head slightly towards Francis. “It is good to see you again, Mr. Bloomington.” A slight twinkle of mischief playing in her stormy gray eyes, insinuating that she was very much aware of her mother’s overbearing presence… but hoped that Francis didn’t mind too much.

“Please… won’t you sit with us to watch the race? I haven’t the faintest idea which steed I should be cheering for.” She laughed gently, slowing following the rest of the group as they made their way up the steps towards a row of empty seats where they could get a better view of the track.

coded by natasha.

CapellaStargaze · Jul 12, 2024

Francis Bloomington

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mood

Content (for now)
outfit
location

The Races
interactions

WanderLust. SandraDeelightful Bellz

Francis would’ve never guessed that his chivalry at a ball would cause so much commotion. Lady Whistledown had named him her Diamond of the Season and while that earned a laugh and some mild teasing from his siblings, he never expected it to land him in the presence of the Queen with his mother standing by. The meeting definitely felt like an interrogation and left him wanting nothing to do with Whistledown. He felt like all eyes were on him now and that he couldn’t make a single mistake.

This anxiety he felt after the Whistledown column and his meeting with the Queen kept him inside for the next few days before he was asked to escort his sisters to the races. He had Sophy holding onto his arm as Matilda walked slightly ahead of them, claiming she was already bored.

“If you are already so bored then why did you not choose to go promenading with Mama?” He asked her, knowing very well she found following August around even more boring.

Francis turned when he heard his name, letting go of Sophy to sit with Matilda.

“Lady Sinclaire, nice to see you again.” He gave a smile before turning to Lydia, his smile growing more genuine.

He took in her mischievous gaze and he almost let out a laugh. The two of them definitely had meddling Mama’s in common. He smiled at her request and nodded.

“I would be delighted Miss Sinclaire.” He moved down the aisles to find a good seat and sitting next to Lydia, noting his sisters were a couple of seats down. He watched as a woman sat in the unoccupied seat next to him, seeming transfixed on the events on the track.

Francis turned to Lydia and pulled out his betting card. “I bet on the black horse down there, Argo. I’ve seen him race before and it seemed like a decent pick seeing as there are new horses on this track. I don’t usually go for the ones with no experience. Seems like a rookie mistake.”

girls like you

VSQ

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Bellz · Jul 13, 2024

Celestine Davenport

C
elestine let out a melodic laugh at Henry’s playful accusation of diabolism. “Oh, dear brother, who truly wears the mantle of the diabolical here? I daresay your scheme is far more torturous than any loss of my meager allowance from Mother last month!” Her grin was radiant as she extended her hand, sealing their pact. “It’s a deal, then!”

“Though I must admit, it feels quite unladylike to be engaging in such wagers,” she added with a teasing shrug. “But alas, with suitors no longer in my sights, our energies must be devoted entirely to ensuring Evie finds her love match.”

Yet, beneath her cheerful demeanor, a flicker of sorrow lingered in her eyes, betraying the lightness of her words.

“I must wholeheartedly agree with you on that point. Father is positively wretched in his own unique fashion with each of us, is he not?” Celestine made a playful grimace, then continued, “Yet you and Morgan have turned out so splendidly. I am truly grateful for both of you… I hope you understand that, Hen.” She fixed her gaze upon her eldest brother, hoping he could discern the sincerity that shone in her eyes.

“However, should you happen to lose our little wager today, I trust you won’t hold it against me—for being right or for enduring Father’s company until the very end of dinner. He does have a rather leisurely pace when indulging, and it seems he’s never without a drink in hand.” She teased, cleverly omitting any mention of Henry’s own penchant for drinking.

Though it troubled her to see her brother retreat into a stupor, Celestine resolved not to utter a word that might undermine his confidence. Having faced her own share of setbacks, she understood all too well how difficult it could be to rise again after a fall. In their world, alcohol was typically the province of men, and thus she was fortunate to be distanced from it enough to avoid forming any habits of her own.

Celestine understood that her brother turned to alcohol as a means of escaping his reality, much as she found solace in novels, painting, and writing. She would never dream of depriving him of his refuge, just as he would never deny her her own. “I must say, I missed your presence at the ball last week,” she remarked suddenly, looking out towards the horses as if she were interested in the race. “I caught glimpses of you on and off the dance floor, dancing with a Duchess…” She refrained from prying further but couldn’t help asking, “Did you at least enjoy yourself?” As the wind picked up, she pulled her coat a little tighter around her shoulders, trying to shake off the chill that seemed to seep into her bones.

MOOD

Mischievious

OUTFIT

here

LOCATION

Athletic Club

TAGS

AnimeGenork CapellaStargaze Pyroclast

coded by xayah.ღ
Ian Amesbury

I
an’s eyes widened slightly at Evelyn’s gasp, but true to form, the fiery redhead surprised him yet again with her teasing demeanor. A low chuckle, almost resembling a growl, rumbled from his chest as he shook his head. “Ah, even the lunatics must rest, mustn’t they?” he retorted playfully, raising a dark brow in response to her apology for leaving so abruptly without a dance.

Yet, deep down, Ian knew he was not one for dancing, but he kept that thought to himself; he had no desire to hurt her feelings.

“That is splendid to hear. I must admit, I was rather worried,” Ian confessed. When she mentioned being alone, he nodded thoughtfully. He was unconcerned about what others might say regarding their stroll together. Typically, he played the role of chaperone for Duchess Jameson, and this occasion was no different, even if he was technically off duty—though he found himself quite enjoying the company of this intriguing woman.

A chuckle escaped him at her jest. “Indeed, being raised by wolves might very well be preferable to some of the mamas we encounter here.” he remarked with a grin. When Evelyn revealed that this was her first race, his smile widened even more. “Fear not, I excel at this sort of thing. I’ll show you the ropes, and by the end of the day, you’ll be out-betting most of these gentlemen!”

He offered his arm to her, and as she took it, he began to lead her forward with a sense of eager anticipation.

Before he plunged into the details, Ian smiled and said, “You owe me nothing, Lady Forbes. A second chance to dance with you would be absolutely delightful. But if you prefer to continue teasing me about my muttering, I would welcome that as well.” He referred to her earlier apology with a playful glint in his eye.

“Now, as for the gentlemen today, they may choose to wager on a single horse or spread their bets across several. However, the more horses you back, the greater your potential losses, and the riskier the endeavor becomes.” As they strolled slowly toward the betting tent, he gestured with enthusiasm. “The simplest strategy is the win-place-show method. You simply select a horse and bet on it to win one of the following first; place, for second; or show, for third. You can even employ this method across the board, betting on the horse to win, place, and show, thereby covering all three positions to enhance your chances.”

“If I were a novice, I would begin by selecting a horse and betting on just one of the three positions, rather than spreading myself too thin,” Ian advised, turning his gaze to Evelyn. “It’s also wise not to overlook the newcomers to the track or those just embarking on their careers; they often possess untapped potential and are considerably younger than their seasoned rivals.”

“Think of horse racing as a reflection of the Ton. Some of the older horses enjoy excellent care and significant backing. Yet, it may very well be the younger contenders that no one expects to triumph. I find myself drawn to them, as they have the most to prove. A man—or a horse—who has everything to gain is often the one to watch.” Ian then reached into his coat pocket and produced a handful of spare change. “Shall we place some bets, my lady?” he inquired with a charming smile.

MOOD

Playful

OUTFIT
xx

LOCATION

The Windsor Athletic Club

TAGS

sprouhtt

coded by xayah.ღ
Helena Bexley

T
he melancholic English backdrop had receded, much like all else when Helena found herself ensnared in the depths of her sorrow. She was transported to a realm devoid of sunlight, where warmth was but a distant memory. It was akin to winter, yet somehow even more frigid—not in a manner that would bring about a swift demise, but rather one that ensured a slow, agonizing withering of the soul.

Yet it was the tender warmth of August's hands upon her arms that abruptly drew her back from the abyss. She had not been aware of the copious tears that had escaped her control, nor how her visage had contorted with anguish. It was as though she had momentarily surrendered to the overwhelming tide of emotion, allowing herself a brief respite to fully succumb to the sorrow that threatened to consume her.

Had she been in possession of her faculties, Helena might have given more thought to the audacity of August's tender touch—an act so intimate it would surely set tongues wagging.

From her position a short distance behind them, Victoria had observed the entire scene.

She resisted the urge to hasten her steps, though she was prepared to advance with her customary poise and alacrity. However, the look from her eldest son halted her mid-stride, paralyzing her efforts to shield her son's feelings. She raised a hand to her mouth, torn between the desire to intervene and the uncertainty of what to say. She recognized that look; it rendered her as powerless now as it had once before.

The Dowager Viscountess cared little for what society might whisper about her offspring, but she was deeply concerned for their feelings. Should gossip cause them distress, it became a matter of grave importance. August had already endured much, and although she had cautioned him that this friendship would only bring him further pain, Victoria resolved to let him proceed as he wished. Perhaps, in granting him this semblance of freedom, he might come to understand that his life was not entirely bereft of choices.

Helena felt increasingly sluggish, watching as August turned from his mother to her. His head shook in the same disbelief that she felt every day. "My dear Helena…" The use of her Christian name did not escape her notice, even amidst her emotional turmoil, for it was a departure from the formality he usually maintained. He confessed that he found himself short of words, but the mere act of someone who did not have to offer their condolences brought her unspeakable relief. Despite her best efforts, she could not stem the flow of tears, even as August tenderly brushed his hand against her cheek. The shallow breaths catching in her chest convinced her that she would be useless in conversation, so she simply nodded as he guided her to a park bench.

For months, Helena had borne this burden alone, but in the presence of her friend, her former love -- the energy she had expended in keeping herself together seemed utterly depleted. Her muddled thoughts struggled to comprehend why this was so. She allowed herself private moments of grief, times when she believed she needed them. Yet, she had not fallen apart before anyone since the day she received the devastating news. And now, here she was, crumbling bit by bit before a man who bore no responsibility for her anymore, a man she often wondered why he still cared for her.

Helena blinked silently, watching August closely as he drew near, handkerchief in hand, gently dabbing away her tears. She had thought of him often since her loss, remembering how he had managed to endure such sorrow at a tender age. For, if she were to be truly honest, she felt she might have lost her mind in the days following the tragedy and she was anything but a child. Helena recognized the slight tremor in his voice, and when he dipped his head, hiding his face from her view, her hands yearned to cup his cheeks. Yet, they remained splayed in her lap, restrained by the knowledge that her emotions were running far too high.

"Aug-my lord," Helena's voice faltered as she mustered the courage to speak, her words emerging with a hint of trepidation. He had taken her hand gently in his, an offer of assistance both gallant and sincere. "I do not wish to encroach upon your season — I am well aware that your dear mother is resolutely determined to see you wed."

Her gaze flitted momentarily to Victoria, who, for once, seemed content to remain on the periphery of their conversation. "As your friend, it is my duty to convey that it is not incumbent upon you to care for me as you have so selflessly done for others." Helena's deep brown eyes finally locked with Augustus's piercing blue ones, her resolve clear and unwavering.

"My grandparents were bestowed my mother's belongings — out of respect," Helena whispered, her voice tinged with melancholy. "With their blessing, I have kept a few cherished items. Part of my journey here was to deliver these possessions to them, as well as to escape the confines of my own home."

A deep frown marred her delicate features, and though fresh tears welled in her eyes, they stubbornly refused to fall. "Duties and obligations kept me tethered for so long, yet everything in my home served as a painful reminder of them. I was tormented by their memories in my dreams, and even in waking moments. In the garden, I could sometimes swear I saw my mother amongst the servants, tending to her flowers. And as I passed by the study, if the door was slightly ajar, I thought I could glimpse my father's silhouette, bent over his desk." The tears finally broke free, and Helena reached up with her free hand, attempting to catch them as they fell.

"They left me everything, naturally, being their only child," Helena said, her tone laced with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "Regrettably, I have not delved into my family's history as thoroughly as I would have wished. My parents were... rather private individuals. Particularly with Lady Whistledown's ever-watchful eye upon society, they were most adamant about safeguarding their secrets." She glanced towards Augustus, her expression uncertain, struggling to convey the depth of her thoughts. It seemed, in the end, that simplicity was best.

"My father, the only child of his family within the Austrian Monarchy, bore the title of Emperor," Helena began, "A title that might seemed silly to me as a child, yet it holds its significance. And now, most unfortunately, that title has been bestowed upon me."

Her gaze fell to the space between them, her thoughts momentarily distant. "I was bestowed the title formally a mere six months. It has scarcely been enough time to mourn, let alone to breathe. However, the advisors my father trusted — and whom I, too, hold in high regard — believed it was in the best interest of my family's name and lineage for me to take it in my own right." She paused, omitting the pressure from her advisors for a marriage that would benefit her lineage. The man before her, with whom she had once been so close to marrying, need not bear the weight of that burden. The pain of it all was already more than enough to endure.

When her eyes finally sought his, wondering if her deception would be the turning point, she said, "When we were betrothed, I was both fearful and cautious of this. I know how deeply you cherish your family, how steadfast your loyalty to your duties remains, and yet — I also understand how you are—" Helena glanced momentarily at Victoria before lowering her voice, "Burdened by those very responsibilities."

"It was not a secret I held lightly, but when we both realized that neither of us could part from our respective worlds, I did not wish to burden you with more than you could bear, August." She bit her bottom lip, painfully aware of the memories their conversation conjured, as her eyes burned with unshed tears.

MOOD

Downhearted

OUTFIT

here

LOCATION

Primrose Hill

TAGS

Pyroclast

coded by xayah.ღ
Duchess Scarlet Jameson

S
carlet paid little mind to the bustling crowd around her, though the conversations were loud enough to force their way into her ears. At least she was spared the advances of attention-hungry mamas eager to match their sons with a Duchess. Ian had been right about her flushed state, and despite the chill, she opened her fan and began to fan her face gently. The combination of the fan’s movement and the light breeze brought a sigh of relief, but her gaze remained fixed on the track below.

A scene was unfolding with a dapple grey horse that seemed easily spooked, backing into a small crowd of people. Scarlet's brows furrowed in concern. “The poor creature looks distressed,” she murmured to herself. “They ought to stop pulling on the reins like that.”

Aethon, on the other hand, was as calm as ever, much to her amusement. The horse appeared far less perturbed by the crowd than she was, which brought a smile to her lips behind her fan. Her serene moment was interrupted when the gentleman beside her made a remark that irked her and before she could bite her tongue — "The true mistake of a rookie would be to bet on a decent pick,” she said, turning to face the gentleman directly.

While she was momentarily taken aback by how handsome he was, Scarlet’s fiery spirit did not wane. Stranger or not, she would defend her Aethon.

“Surveying the lineup for today’s races, I would venture to say that more than half of these horses are inexperienced. When you consider it in those terms, the odds of one of them winning are quite favorable, wouldn’t you agree?” Scarlet’s gaze was sharp as she looked at Francis. “Honestly, I believe you’re placing your bets on a losing horse. Argo, from what I understand, is much older than the rest. I give him another year in the races at most. He may have a chance at winning today’s race, or he may well break a leg halfway down the track.”

Scarlet then glanced past Francis towards Lydia with a smirk. “I hope I am not being too bold in suggesting that you might want to reconsider cheering for that horse, miss.” Looking back at Francis, noting that he had very soft eyes, she said, “The youngest often have untapped potential. Wild, sure. But sometimes, a fresh spirit can surprise even the most seasoned bettors." And then added, "Best change your mind now before you lose money."

MOOD

Competitve

OUTFIT

here

LOCATION

Athletic Club

TAGS

WanderLust. CapellaStargaze

coded by xayah.ღ

WanderLust. · Jul 14, 2024

WESTON SINCLAIRE
MARQUESS OF WINCHESTER

Mildly Entertained

Windsor Athletic Field

Matilda

AnimeGenork and Sophy

SandraDeelightful

Click Me

Weston had yet to hear the end of his mother’s scoldings since the Queen’s ball. The entirety of the night wasted, Weston. The only young lady you managed a dance with was one not even yet eligible to wed. Honestly, what would your father think? He detested when Odette used the memory of his father against him. Every theoretical disappointment burned like a slap in the face from his ever dissatisfied mother. He tried to let her chidings roll off his shoulders, attempted to remain unphased in the face of her ire, but she had a way of getting under his skin, causing his hands to flex slightly as he refrained from balling them into fists.

The races had been a welcomed distraction for the entire Sinclaire family. With Lydia’s evident success in managing to capture the attention of the Bloomington boy, Odette had been too caught up managing her daughter’s social calendar to continue pestering Weston. Even now, his mother was making a beeline for young Francis Bloomington, so intent on securing his companionship for Lydia that she failed to notice the other two Bloominton daughters lingering in their elder brother's shadow. His smile broadened at the sight of Matilda, who was fanning herself from the spring heat next to another blonde whom he could only assume was one of her elder sisters.

Making his way up the few steps to where the sisters were seated, Weston cleared his throat, hoping to catch the attention of Matilda. If nothing else, he knew the young girl was a surefire way to brighten his spirits. He had found her wit quite amusing at the Queen’s ball and knew he would enjoy her company once again today. “Ms. Bloomington, it’s good to see you again.” He grinned, careful to keep his distance unless and until he was invited to sit with them. He didn’t want to risk forcing his company on them if it was unwanted, nor did he want to hinder their view of the track. “Tell me, have you yet placed any bets on today's competitors? I must admit I am … unfamiliar with most of the candidates.” Back in Winchester, Weston often made a point of familiarizing himself with the horses and their jockeys before a race to ensure he didn’t make a fool of himself betting on a lost cause. Here in London, however, he had not had such an opportunity. “Perhaps you could spare me some embarrassment. Which steed holds your favor?” Weston smirked playfully.

His gaze then fell on the older of the two girls, her hair slightly longer and her demeanor slightly more closed off. “You must be one of the older sisters Matilda was telling me about. The family resemblance is astonishing.” He was beginning to see why the Bloomingtons were such a highly coveted family, each and every one of them was undeniably attractive. So much so that it was almost distracting. He paused for only a moment, his sage green eyes searching for any sort of reaction that might indicate how he was fairing with his introduction, before realizing he had yet to formally introduce himself to Matilda’s sister. “Forgive me, I’m Weston Sinclaire, Marquess of Winchester. And you must be…?”

coded by natasha.

Pyroclast · Jul 16, 2024

18th of April, 1815
~ Primrose Hill, Camden ~

Lord Augustus Bloomington

So sweet and demure was Helena that even as she mourned her parents, she still thought of how accepting help from her friend would affect his life. August almost laughed at how absurdly unimportant his mother's resolution to see him take a wife now seemed when compared to Helena's situation. "That is hardly a concern at a time like this," he tried to assure her. She argued that her feelings were not his responsibility, that he didn't have to care for her. They looked at each other and he gazed into her tearful brown eyes. "But I do care for you." A slight ache fluttered somewhere deep in his chest. To see this young woman, one of his oldest and dearest friends, in such a state of heartbreak and in the midst of raw grief, it was natural that some of her pain would transfer to him.

Helena moved on to explain the circumstances of her mother's belongings and her mission to deliver them to her grandparents whilst in England. Having been locked into the responsibilities of a Viscount since the tender age of 13, August had seldom travelled himself, let alone set foot on a ship. To picture Helena sailing to England with a box of her late parents' belongings...he couldn't imagine a sadder scene. And her grandparents, losing a daughter and a son-in-law, too. It was a huge weight for everyone to bear. She went on to describe an all-too-familiar stage of a familial death: the duties that came along with it. Despite his young age, August, as the heir, had a lot to do with the aftermath and procedures of his father passing. It had seemed so inhuman, so cold, to turn his death into a series of business meetings and paperwork. It was weeks before August felt he was able to properly grieve, and even then, with all his new responsibilities and so much to learn, he hardly had the time.

Helena described the torment of living in a house filled with memories of the deceased, something he also remembered well. How they would appear out of the corner of one's eye, evoking an eerie combination of horror and hope, before transforming into somebody else: a servant, a stranger, an acquaintance. Or maybe no one at all. Just a memory, etched into a room so vividly that it looked for a moment like they were still there. And then, when it became clear that they weren't, the room would feel emptier than ever. Tears suddenly crashed down Helena's cheeks, and August reached to tenderly catch them with his handkerchief.

Even though she had just told him her mother's belongings had mostly been given to her parents, it didn't register in August's mind that when she then said that everything had been left to her, she may have meant something immaterial. He had never been to her family home in Austria before, so he was imagining her sitting at his own desk - which had once been his father's, of course - and, like him, going through the bureaucratic trials of sorting out the estate. Although their losses were circumstantially different, he so far had been able to relate to everything she had told him in some way.

That was, until she mentioned family secrets. What had she discovered in the wake of her parents' death? For what reason might they have concealed their family history from her? But when her eyes met his, he noticed a change in them...it was the sort of look one might give before confessing something important.

After she said 'monarchy', every word that followed sounded jumbled. His brows knitted together, and he sat up straight in his seat, wondering if he had heard correctly. She was an empress, now? As of six months ago?

August felt her eyes on him, but he couldn't meet them, instead letting his stern gaze fall to the ground a few metres before them. He was still finding his tongue when she brought up their prior betrothal and how she had been fearful and cautious, fully aware of what their marriage would be, even at the time. She then brought up his family, his responsibilities, his burdens, his motivations to stay in England for his family rather than marry the woman he loved and move to Austria to be with her. That had perhaps been the hardest conversation August had ever had to have and certainly the most difficult decision he had ever had to make. He had spent years doing his best to move on from his feelings for her, but now that she was bringing it all up again, he couldn't help but feel hurt.

"So, that was why you chose not to tell me?" he asked. His voice was hollow and he sat stiffly, now, unable to look at her directly. "Because you didn't want to burden me?" An involuntary frown crossed his features. "Or was it because you didn't trust me not to spill your secret to Lady Whistledown?"

This odd mixture of news was hard for him to process; on the one hand, he was fighting an urge to cradle her as she wept over the loss of her parents; on the other, he wanted to leave her on that park bench to stew in her guilt. In the end, he took a deep breath and collected himself. "Lady Bexley, I understand that you are in an indescribable amount of pain at present, so I shall speak my feelings now and then put them to bed," he said to the ground between his feet. "I do wish you would have told me. It pains me to think that you could not trust me with the knowledge of such an important part of your identity, especially during our engagement. You knew everything about me, Helena. I considered us close confidantes." A soft, melancholic laugh escaped him. "And now, I...I am questioning whether I know you at all." A silence lingered between them for a moment. "I can't say it would have changed my mind, if that's why you kept it from me. But I should have liked to know all the same that I was about to marry into Austrian royalty. I just...don't understand why you thought you couldn't trust me, when I loved you so."

Interactions

Bellz Helena

WanderLust. · Jul 16, 2024

WREN DEVEREAU

Annoyed

Windsor Athletic Club

Open for Interaction

It had been quite some time since Wren had last attended any sort of social event with her brother. Asher had spent the last five years tending to their mother in the countryside, and though Wren had been able to visit them for holidays and birthdays, there had never been time - or the means - for Asher to accompany her to any gatherings. Even now, as her elder brother walked alongside her, his presence was only due to great tragedy.

When their mother had passed, Wren had been overcome by a distinct bitterness that had festered inside of her like a rabid animal. There was a part of her that blamed Asher, and her Aunt Joanna, for her own absence during her mother’s last few days. It pained her to no end, that Asher was expected to endure such hardship alone while Wren was meant to stay in London with Aunt Joanna. Not that Wren had minded staying with her, Aunt Joanna had always treated Wren like her own daughter, with as much grace and kindness as one could be expected to exercise with a spitfire such as Wren. Still, she wished her brother hadn’t had to endure such adversity alone. Moreso, she regretted not having been able to give her mother a proper goodbye before death claimed her.

The siblings were just now starting to get reacquainted with another. Wren, admittedly, had not changed (or matured) much over the years. Her demeanor was still as wild and unchecked as ever, if not more exacerbated now by the fact that she was meant to marry an acceptable suitor and provide him with numerous heirs and her unyielding obedience. It was, perhaps, one of the first times that Wren had required a chaperone at an event. Now an eligible bride, her requisite ‘innocence’ was of the utmost importance, her purity needed society’s golden stamp of approval if she were to ever be accepted amongst high society. She nearly chortled at such a notion.

“Aunt Joanna granted me some pin money for a respectable wager today,” she mused, attempting to make lighthearted conversation with Asher as they immersed themselves amongst the throngs of spectators at the Windsor Athletic Club. The races today held great promise for a high returning bet, with multiple newcomers eliciting odds skewed enough to make even the most experienced gamblers look twice. “Though I do not care to support such barbaric practices… poor things.” She trailed off, her attention caught by a dappled gray mare with sky blue ribbons braided into her mane and tail.

Over the hemming and hawing of the crowd, Wren could just barely make out the sounds of an agitated spectator barking commentary at the handlers of the gray horse who was prancing backwards, her hindlegs threatening to kick out at anyone who continued pushing her forward when she was so clearly spooked. Whomever he was, the shouting gentleman was right. They needed to give the terrified mare some space, loosen her reigns before things really got out of hand. Wren had an ebony Friesian stallion back home who was easily spooked, her experience with such matters was not lacking in any way, though she suspected any advice she bothered to offer would be widely overlooked given her lack of trousers and a top hat.

She exchanged a wary look with Asher before marching forward, closing the gap between herself and the handlers of the dappled gray mare. If Asher protested, she didn’t stick around to listen. The horse let out a strained whinny as she approached, bleating in terror as its chest heaved. The brunette girl's brows furrowed for a moment, her eyes landing on the ribbon that was tied neatly in a bow at the base of the mare’s tail. The tails of the ribbon were brushing ever so slightly against her hindlegs, a few inches too long for comfort, Wren suspected.

coded by natasha.

Pyroclast · Jul 17, 2024

18th of April, 1815
~ The Windsor Athletic Club ~

Lord Leon Sinclaire

This was the first horse race to take place since the Sinclaire family had lost their patriarch. In the years leading up to his death, Leon had lost some closeness with his father. It wasn’t that there was animosity between them, but their respective grieving of Gregory had set them apart, with Leon growing increasingly consumed by his drinking and philandering and less focused on his family. He regretted it sorely, of course. What he would give to have his father back, to spend more time with him. Had he known the man had not long to live, he might have tried harder to make the most of what time they had left together. With the death having been so recent, only four months ago, it was still very much on Leon’s mind. The atmosphere of the Windsor Athletic Club was strange to him, now, despite nothing being out of the ordinary that anyone else could tell. He had arrived with his siblings, but had let them go off on their own. He had half a mind to leave, to go and do something somewhere the memories of his father couldn’t haunt him. But he knew Henry was in attendance somewhere, and if he could find him then he was sure he had a better chance of making it through the race.

Leon walked around the edges of the bleacher, his eyes peeled for people he knew. There was Weston, seated with the Bloomington girls, and Lydia beside the second Bloomington son. Although he himself had avoided attending the royal ball at Kew Palace, he had heard of the connections his siblings had made there, and the fact that they had already reunited at the races so soon after arriving told him that their budding friendship – if that’s what it was – transcended the merriment of the ball. It took a minute or two for him to spot Henry, who was with Celestine, but when he did, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called over the crowd, “Davenport!”

A grin spread across his face when they spotted him, and he bounded up the steps, squeezing past the other spectators on the bench until he reached them, and promptly sat down beside Henry. “Thanks for saving me a seat,” he said cheerfully, as if they had planned to meet up at all. “Davenport, you’re in fine shape today! I don’t suppose you’ve put money down on any of these steeds yet?” He leaned over his friend to take hold of Celestine’s hand. “My lady,” he said, and bowed his head to kiss it. “Looking divine as always. Tell me, which horse will you be cheering for today? I fear I’ve arrived too late to place a wager, but I might go down and see if they’ll let me put down a coin or two.” As clumsily as he had sat down, he stood up again, swaying slightly. “Save this seat for me, will you? I’ll bring us all back some lemonades.”

To the annoyance of the spectators on the bench, Leon shuffled past them all again to reach the steps. The crowd grew thicker towards the betting kiosk. He placed 5 shillings on a random horse named Cimarron without reading any of the odds, and then began to search for the bar. As he ambled around, it became apparent that there was some kind of commotion where the horses were gathered. He drew closer and saw that one of them, a dapple grey horse with ribbons in its mane and tail, was spooking. He also noticed that among the handlers, jockeys, journalists and spectators, a very beautiful woman, seemingly on her own, had approached the horse from behind. She wore a dress the colour of the midnight sky, adorned with beaded flowers, and her brunette hair flowed down her back like a waterfall. Leon opened up his hip flask and took a swig, before putting it away and approaching her side. He didn’t look at her, his eyes instead on the spooking horse. The pair were really too close for safety, and certainly not helping the situation by joining the crowd of onlookers. Leon hadn’t ridden his own horse since his father’s fatal fall, and as he stood before the steed, it struck him how large a beast it was.

“Five shillings says it kicks someone in the head.”

Interactions

WanderLust. Wren

AnimeGenork Henry

Bellz Celestine

WanderLust. · Jul 17, 2024

WREN DEVEREAU

Annoyed

Windsor Athletic Club

Leon

As Wren continued to survey the increasingly chaotic situation with the dappled gray horse, her eyes repeatedly strayed back to the blue ribbon on the mare’s tail. It was only when she heard the sound of gravel shifting underfoot to her left that her attention was drawn away. The faint smell of alcohol tickled her nostrils as her eyes landed on the face of an annoyingly attractive young gentleman whose light colored irises were presently fixated on the distressed mare.

“5 shillings says it kicks someone in the head.”

His comment caused her nose to wrinkle into a slight scowl as one of her eyebrows arched delicately upwards. “She’s frightened.” Wren growled lowly, as if the man had insulted one of her cherished friends. “I’m sure all of this commotion isn’t helping matters.” She surveyed the gathering group of handlers, each one trying but failing to soothe the distressed animal. With a heavy sigh, Wren moved a few paces closer with an unbothered ease about her.

Despite multiple shouts from the handlers telling her to get back as they yanked on the poor mare’s reins, Wren reached forward, placing her left hand on the horse’s flank to let her know she was approaching before using her other hand to untie the ribbon that was two inches too long. Freed from the incessant tickling of the silken fabric on her hind legs, the mare seemed to calm down a bit, her head lowering as she turned back to look at Wren who greeted her with a friendly smile and a pat on the neck. “I think this might be part of your problem.” Wren extended her hand, dropping the discarded ribbon into the handler’s palm with a chastising glare. “If the ribbon is truly necessary, perhaps try shortening the length a few inches so it doesn’t brush against her hind legs.”

Wren turned back to face the gentleman from earlier with a smug smile as if to say I told you so, before once again returning to his side, folding her arms across her torso as the handlers began to escort the dappled mare away. “You were saying, Mr. -?” she looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to grant her his name before she continued gloating.

coded by natasha.

Pyroclast · Jul 17, 2024

18th of April, 1815
~ The Windsor Athletic Club ~

Lord Leon Sinclaire

It seemed his suggestion had almost instantly aggravated the woman. He wasn’t sure why he had said it, or what sort of reaction he had expected from her. There was nothing about her to suggest that she had a sense of humour. He hadn’t even taken a proper look at her face, yet - all he knew is that she looked attractive from the back. Still, when she growled something at him in defence of the horse, he couldn’t help but allow a mischievous grin to spread across his face. She suggested that the commotion wasn’t helping the horse to feel better and he raised his eyebrows, tilting his head at the horse. “Hm, I am sure you’re right,” he said with a touch of irony, wondering if she might have considered herself part of the commotion, given that she was also standing close to the spooking horse.

“I wonder what -” he started, but the lady was already walking away from him. He stared, at first impressed and then in alarm, as she approached the horse. Its handlers were shouting at her to get out of the way and Leon shifted on his feet, almost nervous that his playful bet could be about to come true. In the end, he started to follow her with the intention of dragging her back - but she made it to the horse's side before he could reach her and, for some reason, it let her. She untied the bothersome ribbon dangling from its tail that had been tickling its legs. Leon’s mouth hung open slightly as he watched her and waited anxiously for her to get back to a safer distance.

It was only when she turned and walked back over to him that he finally got to see her face. She was truly beautiful, almost intimidatingly so - or maybe it was just her smug expression that made her seem suddenly more challenging to talk to. She asked for his name in a roundabout way and he bit down on his lip, eyes narrowing as he wondered what her game was. “Sinclaire,” he said, nonchalantly. “And you can stop looking so smug, lady - you never agreed to the bet.” He was trying to maintain a level expression, but a smile was beginning to tug at the corners of his lips. “How about your name, then, since I gave you mine?” he asked. “And may I assume that you’re here to watch the horses race from the benches, instead of standing within kicking range? These beasts can kill a person, you know.”

Interactions

WanderLust. Wren

WanderLust. · Jul 18, 2024

WREN DEVEREAU

Annoyed

Windsor Athletic Club

Leon

In a matter of moments, Wren had decided that her companion's devil-may-care grin was just about the most infuriating thing she had ever witnessed. It pained her that that smirk of his made him look especially more alluring. At the utterance of his surname, Wren’s eyes narrowed significantly. Sinclaire?

“Surely not Weston Sinclaire, Marquess of Winchester?” She almost scoffed at the notion. She distinctly recognized the name from her miniatures. The Sinclaires were a well-to-do family, perhaps wealthier than god himself, who made a habit of summering in London. If memory served her correctly, and it usually did, then the youngest Sinclaire, Lydia, was making her debut this season. Though Wren was only aware of that fact because Lydia had been mentioned fleetingly in the latest edition of Lady Whistledown. “No… you must be the younger brother, Leon, is it?”

For once, Wren was glad that her Aunt Joanna had encouraged her to commit her miniatures to memory. If nothing else, it had given her the upper hand thus far in her conversation with this vexing cavalier.

“And you can stop looking so smug, lady - you never agreed to the bet.” Leon’s evidently irked tone of voice caused Wren’s eyebrows to ascend in mild shock, though the faintest of smiles tugged at the corner mouth. “Of course I didn’t agree to your silly little bet, it was childish and crass.” Although her voice was laced with venom, she attempted to maintain a pleasant demeanor so as not to draw attention from the many spectators around them. Insulting someone in high society required a certain level of tact that Wren was all too experienced with.

Leon’s persistence, though, was not to be discounted. Normally, any self respecting gentleman would’ve been scared off by Wren’s abrasive personality by now. Leon however, asked her name. “You think I now owe you my moniker, simply because you were foolish enough to give yours away for free?” Her lips turned up in a playful, coy smile as she continued walking towards the spectator benches, fully expecting Leon to keep up with her stride. “Wren Devereau, though please refrain from using it unless absolutely necessary.”

Finally having ascended a few steps towards a mostly empty bench, Wren took her seat, securing an unfettered view of the track. There was room for Leon to sit next to her, should he desire to do so, though she wasn’t holding her breath. His comment on the perceived danger of a spooked horse caused Wren’s eyes to roll to the back of her head. Heaving a sigh, she fixed her gaze once more on the track. “I assure you, I have more to fear from most of the gentlemen here than I do any of the horses.”

Down at the tracks, both horse and jockey alike continued to bustle about in preparation for the race. She wondered how much longer it would be before the starting bell. Her eyes landed on a champagne colored thoroughbred, immediately dissecting its muscle distribution and height, its estimated age and a few other factors that Wren believed would influence the stallion’s ability to race. “That’s your champion, there.” Wren pointed towards the beautiful horse, whose name she had gathered was Aethon. “Look at the legs on him, beautiful proportions.” She noted. Wren was exceptionally competitive, a trait she had possessed since childhood that showed no signs of dissipating anytime soon. Now that she had selected her own favored steed, just about anyone would be hard pressed to sway her mind.

“Your sister was mentioned in the latest Whistledown was she not?” Wren prodded. If Leon was going to sit with her he might as well make himself an entertaining companion. “It seems she’s garnered the attention of this season's most eligible bachelor. You must be very proud.” There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice, as if she half expected Leon to brag about his sister's prospects.

coded by natasha.

Bellz · Jul 20, 2024

18th of April, 1815
Primrose Hill, London

Lady Helena Bexley
Mood: Guilt-ridden ; Outfit: here ; Tag(s):

Pyroclast

112b97008614a0d8b48d434ee254e7640fb871b6.gifv

Helena was no fool—and she prided herself on knowing August better than most. So, when he ceased to be as tender as before upon hearing her next confession, she understood the risk she had taken. Helena knew that this burden was hers alone to bear, the weight of his anger for keeping secrets that should have been theirs to share from the moment he proposed.

But she had not anticipated him questioning whether her motives were to protect him or to avoid becoming fodder for the latest edition of Whistledown. A broken, unexpectedly bitter laugh escaped her, and more tears fell, which she caught with a gloved hand. "I would never think you capable of such betrayal," she began, her voice trembling.

"But the weight of my secret was mine to bear. When I finally thought I could confide in you before our wedding, our engagement ended as swiftly as it had begun. I did not want you to carry my burdens. You have always been my strength. It is difficult being so far from home, but I found it easier to call this place home with you." Helena took a deep, steadying breath before continuing.

Allowing him to speak, it pained her that he would not meet her eyes, nor even glance in her direction. Though she had confided in Francis her unwavering resolve to distance herself from August this season, having him so close again, only to watch him slip through her fingers in a single conversation, sent her into a silent panic.

Her face fell, tightening as August expressed his hurt over her lack of trust. He spoke of how she knew everything about him and how he had considered them close confidantes. The soft, melancholic laugh that escaped him shattered her heart into further pieces before he questioned whether he knew her at all. It felt like that time years ago when she had fallen on her back, the wind knocked from her lungs.

Out of everything he said, August questioning whether he truly knew her after fifteen years of friendship—and something more at one point—was the lowest blow. The silence lingered between them far too long as Helena fought for breath. August continued, saying that her revelation about her ties to Austrian royalty might not have changed his mind, but he would have liked to know he was marrying into it. "I just...don't understand why you thought you couldn't trust me when I loved you so." Those words cut her deep, reminding her of what she had lost and why she had not returned to England. More tears burned in her eyes and she reached up to wipe at them before they could fall.

"Oh, how I wish I could go back and do things differently," she whispered. "I never meant to make you feel this way, to make you question our bond… to make you question whether you know who I am." Helena’s voice remained quiet as her eyes dropped to her lap. "But I am who I have always been to you, my Lord. Simply Helena. Titles are meaningless. I met you as Augustus Bloomington—and you did not change. At least in my eyes…when you became Viscount." She looked up at him finally, hoping he would meet her gaze. "You are still the same boy I met in the country. And I am still the same girl who had no concept of how to quiet herself."

"This was a secret kept out of respect for my parents, who wished me to keep it," Helena began, her voice steady but soft. "When it ended, I believed that perhaps if I told you, you might feel obligated to marry me rather than wanting to marry me for the right reasons." She continued to look at him, willing him to understand.

"I thought I was giving you the choice you so desperately wanted all this time—not to be forced or obligated into something because of duty. Marrying me after finding out would have felt like a duty, rather than what we both wanted it to be. Out of love. I loved you, and I knew you loved me so, but it would have turned bitter if others were to find out and force marriage upon us rather than allow us to make our own choices.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she pressed on. "It was out of love and a desire to protect you and your free will, not a lack of trust. I wanted us...to just be us...above all else. And I still do…"

Helena took a deep breath to steady herself. She gently reached out and placed her hand on his, a tentative gesture meant to bridge the chasm between them. "August," she said softly, "I understand that words alone cannot mend what has been broken. Allow me the chance to show you, how deeply I regret the secrecy."

Part of her wished to say that she wanted to restore their friendship, but…she knew that was walking on dangerous ground already. "But…if you wish for me…" The woman let out a shaky breath, "To return back to Austria, I will do so. For I do not wish to cause you more pain." The woman’s eyes looked away from him now, anywhere but his eyes. Her own burned but she ignored the onset of fresh tears.

WanderLust. · Jul 24, 2024

LYDIA SINCLAIRE

Pleasantly Entertained

Windsor Athletic Field

Francis

CapellaStargaze and Scarlet

Bellz

Lydia’s gloved fingers traipsed delicately over the cardstock paper of her betting card as she listened to Francis’ explanation. The ebony stallion that he had pointed to, Argo, appeared to be quite the equine specimen, with a muscular build and lengthy legs. At his comment that betting on a lesser experienced horse would surmount to a ‘rookie mistake’ Lydia’s brows furrowed. “Well, I certainly would not want to make such an oversight.” Her gaze continued to follow Argo as he was led towards one of the starting gates. “He is quite beautiful.” She noted with a pleasant smile, before her attention was drawn away by the voice of a woman sitting nearby.

The auburn haired woman illustrated in no uncertain terms that she disagreed with Francis, and try as she might, Lydia could not help the smile that pulled at the edges of her full lips. The woman sitting next to them was the picture of confidence and intelligence, traits that Lydia herself consistently strived to embody. Her calculation of the sheer amount of inexperienced horses participating in the race today sent Lydia’s head tilting to one side, “Why, yes, I suppose that would skew the odds in favor of a newcomer.”

When the auburn haired woman addressed Lydia directly, expressing that she hoped she was not being too bold in her suggestions, Lydia shook her head with a friendly smile. “Not at all. I rather appreciate your commentary.” she paused for a moment, before extending a hand towards the other woman. “I’m Lydia Sinclaire by the way. My family and I are just here for the season, but we’re originally from Winchester. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Lydia’s gaze fell down towards her blank betting card before rising towards the track once more. Her crystalline eyes landing first on a dappled gray mare, then a bay stallion, and finally landing on a horse who was almost champagne in color. “That one there… Do either of you know its name?” she pointed a gloved finger towards the champagne stallion.

coded by natasha.

AnimeGenork · Jul 24, 2024

Theodore Willowby

A chuckle forces its way out of Teddy’s mouth, and he tries to cover the sound with his fist. “That was difficult, you’re right. The old girls didn’t want to give us an inch.” He couldn’t help but keep the amusement on his face even as Benny managed to offend some member of the ton. There were some looks sent his way, as if he was meant to rein in his friend. But Benny was not in his employ, as much as he could wish he was. Shaking his head sympathetically, he murmured, “They’ve never seen you throw a hay bale. I’m sure all of the ladies would be fawning over you then.”

Luckily, they were both on the same page to move. Teddy noted the way his friend rotated his shoulder, though he knew better than to point it out. He was distracted as his arm was tucked in between his friend’s, laughing again as they moved. “Ah, worry not, Benny ol’ pal. I know what you meant.” It wasn’t as if Teddy fancied the ruffles and top hats himself. Which was why he went for the simplest suits he could without offending his stepfather. He smiled at the way Benny reached up to straighten him out, nodding. “I’d say your suit is much better. It has character, unlike all these people.”

A rare mischievous grin crawled up Teddy’s face. “I think my mother will have bigger things to worry about than my suit if we pull this off.” And that was a big “if.” Honestly, Teddy wasn’t sure he had the wherewithal to overthrow such a big spectacle for London society. That would be too many people on him for something he did in the name of the animals. Even with Benedict here, it was up in the air whether he would do something of true value related to the plan.

His attention was drawn suddenly by the gentlemen seated next to them, pointing down to one of the horses being led onto the track. Teddy widened his eyes and shifted his gaze to the horse, noticing the way the jockeys and handlers crowded it. He flashed back to the aforementioned cow incident, the way Teddy and Benny and several others had crowded one of the cows, and, well… it hadn’t ended well. Not that either he or Benny had gotten hurt, but it had been a close call. For the cow especially.

A young lady approached the horse, adjusting the ribbons on its hindlegs. She turned away, speaking to someone Teddy couldn’t see, but the horse was still agitated. This couldn’t stand.

“Benny, I’ll be back.” Maybe it was too brazen for a future lord such as himself, but he couldn’t let this poor horse suffer. He leaped over the railing, landing roughly on all fours. Teddy didn’t dare to dust himself off as he hurried over to the horse, shooing away the handlers and jockeys who finally noticed what was going on. “Get away from her!” he shouted with all the ferocity of a man whose beloved wife had been injured. But he was still very much a boy, and the horse was certainly not his wife.

Moving to the horse’s side, he gently brushed a hand down her neck and back, shushing her. “There, there, girl. The bad men are gone.” She was a beautiful dappled gray, and he murmured all the compliments at her disposal about her being the prettiest mare on the track, the most ladylike. Under his touch, the mare calmed, turning her neck to gaze at him. He smiled and held out a hand, waiting for her to still so he could caress her muzzle. A few moments passed, and she soothed, the only remaining sign of her anxiety in her thrashing tail. “Shhhh,” he soothed, holding her muzzle in his hands and kissing her nose. “I’m sorry they did not listen to you. Better now?” Perhaps the horse did not actually speak, but he could imagine she did, thanking him for his time and apologizing for her outburst. Not that a horse should ever apologize for human-caused anxiety. “Don’t worry, I’ll come back if they do it again.” Taking hold of the reins, he handed them off. “Don’t crowd her again, or she might kick. And I personally wouldn’t blame her,” he said sternly.

Suddenly, he realized the attentions of many in the stands were on him. Teddy blushed deep red, looking around nervously and avoiding the eyes of the lady from before and her companion. He ducked his head and hurried back to the stands, taking a rough seat next to Benny again. “I fear I’ve made an arse of myself.”

Noticing the gentleman who had pointed out the horse in the first place, he whispered, “Thank you for bringing her to my attention, sir. I-I don’t know what came over me.”

Kill him now.

Mentions: Wren & Leon | Interactions: Benedict, Edmund, Horsie| Tags: Bellz Pyroclast WanderLust.

coded by: @s e v e n
Henry Davenport

Henry’s grin was absolutely devilish as he shook his sister’s hand, leaning in to plant a kiss on her temple. His darling sister. She was so much more like him than either of them would admit in public, and he was terribly proud of her. Whatever had happened last season with her engagement, while it was partially his business, did not determine her worth, and he sorely wished the rest of the ton would see it. Then again, he would always take her side, much like he tended to take Rhys’s. It was not really a wonder why he defended the “underdog” of a situation—was he not that in his own daily life?

“Unladylike it might be, but you are still the diamond of my heart, Celly.” Henry batted his eyelashes at Celestine, grinning like the drunken bachelor he was. “All of those men are fools for not calling on you. Both of my dear sisters deserve love matches, and by jove, you’re going to get them!” The alcohol was only part of his confidence in these words—he truly endeavored to make sure his sisters were safe and taken care of, away from their father. If that meant he was the last unmarried child in the household, so be it. As long as his brothers and sisters were happy.

Henry’s entire countenance softened as he wrapped an arm around his sister and gave her a one-armed embrace. “Not so splendidly as you, dear sister. I am grateful every day that God gave us you.” Releasing her, he stuck his tongue out in an ungentlemanly-like manner. “I suppose I shall have to forgive any grudge my loss would cause me, though trust me when I claim that I will be much drunker than he.”

“Ah, yes, the duchess. I fear I must have offended her. I did enjoy myself, until the very end. I don’t remember much of that part.” Henry’s smile fell a little flat as he stared down at the drink in his hand. “I regret I did not escort you to the ball myself, Celly. If I was a better man, I would have been the one to show off how wonderful you are. Morgan was always better suited to such things.” He downed the rest of his drink, smacking his lips loudly as he noticed the way his sister shivered. Well, he wasn’t going to let his sister fall ill again, not after last time. Removing his jacket, he draped it around his sister, giving her the gentlest smile he could muster while intoxicated. “Here. I’m plenty warm from the drink.”

Of course, his fun could only last so long. His best friend in debauchery, Leon Sinclaire, suddenly appeared, talking faster than the Davenport son could process. What Henry did process, however, was the sour feeling in his chest at the interruption. This was his time with his sister, why did his friend have to interrupt? It took all his willpower not to punch his friend (not that he was all that violent to begin with) as he kissed Celestine’s hand, his hand tightening into a fist as his teeth gritted. But just as quickly, Leon was gone, and he let out a breath. “I apologize for him, Celly. We are… much alike.”

Leon did not return right away, and frankly, he was relieved for it. Of course, trouble started anew as a young gentleman leaped over the railing to… calm down a horse? Interesting. “Interesting. This is most unexpected. Wonder how this affects Father’s chances in the bets.”

Mentions: Scarlet, Solomon, Morgan, Genevieve | Interactions: Celestine, Leon (Brief) | Tags: Bellz Pyroclast CapellaStargaze

coded by: @s e v e n

Pyroclast · Jul 26, 2024

18th of April, 1815
~ The Windsor Athletic Club ~

Lord Leon Sinclaire

The smile that Leon had been trying to restrain finally broke out upon hearing the lady mistake him for Weston. His glassy blue eyes glinted with mischief and his mind began to conjure up ways in which he could take advantage of her mistake, pranking both her and his older brother. However, she was quick to correct herself, spoiling his fun in the process. “It's just Sinclaire to you, anyhow,” he said. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?”

Her tone oozed with venom when she called his bet childish and crass, and a bemused smile returned to his face. “I bet you're fun at parties,” he remarked. “What's it like to have no sense of humour?” A coy smile flickered across her face, however, and she teased him about revealing his name as soon as she had asked. His grin remained, eyes narrowing as he tried to figure out how serious she really was. He was having a hard time trying to read her. “Well, excuse me for being polite,” he gently teased. “I’ll remember to give you the cold shoulder next time.”

The mysterious woman began to walk away from him again, and this time he followed as quickly as if he were tied to her by a string. She gave his name, along with instructions not to use it. He couldn't help but grin again, and even had to swallow a laugh. “Nevermind, I shall just continue to address you as ‘lady’.”

She led him up the steps of the bleachers to a bench, where she promptly sat down. There was a seat beside her and she hadn't told him to go away, so he took it. He had completely forgotten about the lemonade he had promised Henry and Celestine - and even that he already had a seat next to them. Leon didn't miss the roll of Wren's eyes when he reminded her how dangerous horses could be, but he didn't take offence - she was unaware of his family's recent trauma and so if anything, he found it amusing, even endearing. Her comment about having more to fear about men than horses was disturbing, but he wasn't quite sober enough to think about it too deeply. “Well, you don't have to worry about me, lady,” he assured her. “I'm as good as gold.” He withdrew his hip flask and winked at her before taking a sip.

For all Leon knew, he could have been gazing at her for several minutes before she redirected his attention to one of the horses down below. She seemed confident that it would be the champion of the race and even though he had no idea, he screwed up his face and scoffed at her. “Mm, no,” he said, and leaned in close to her so she could follow the direction of his finger as he pointed. “No, it's that one, there. The black beauty with the button braids. Runs by the name Cimarron. Great muscle definition, in his prime and has a history of proven stamina. That's your champion.” Leon hadn't in fact done the slightest bit of research on his chosen horse before betting on it - all he knew, from hearing the handlers call out its name, is that he was pointing at the right one.

His attention was drawn to the nervous dapple grey horse when a man who looked to be in his twenties bounded over and managed to clear the area so the horse had some space. He appeared to have a bond with the animal, stroking its muzzle and calming it down. "You seem to have some competition for best horse whisperer," he remarked to Wren. "Who is that? He must have some authority, to have got the handlers and jocks out of the way. If I knew it was that easy to get one of those horses to myself, I'd have got on Cimarron's back and ridden him home." He watched with some admiration at the young man down below, wondering what his story was.

Wren gave herself away as a reader of Lady Whistledown when she once again brought up his sister, and how she had caught the attention of a Francis Bloomington. “Ah, the sparkling diamond boy,” he mused, matching her sarcastic tone. “Very proud, yes. Both of my siblings, in fact, are sitting with the Bloomingtons for the race today.” He glanced over at Weston, and then at Lydia, who both seemed content with their current company. Squinting for the bright sky, he then fixed his mischievous eyes back onto Wren, who was stubbornly watching the horses instead of him. “Why, you’re not jealous of her, are you?” he teased. “Have you not caught anybody’s eye yet?”

Interactions

WanderLust. Wren

Mentioned:

CapellaStargaze Francis

AnimeGenork Teddy, Henry

Bellz Celestine

Bellz · Jul 30, 2024

18th of April, 1815
Windsor athletic club

Lady Celestine Davenport
Mood: Excited ; Outfit: here ; Tag(s):

AnimeGenork ;

Pyroclast

Celestine listened intently as Henry spoke of the Duchess and his fear that he had offended her. He admitted that he had enjoyed himself but remembered little of the evening’s merriment. Glancing at her eldest brother, Celestine wondered, for the briefest moment, how lonely it must be to create a world where joyous moments were forgotten. Yet, she also recognized the privilege of being able to drink to forget the darkest ones. Men were afforded such liberties—to be openly reckless with a drink or flippant with a woman, to take on as many mistresses as they pleased, both before and after marriage. Women, however, were condemned to suffer in graceful silence, especially those of high status. Celestine did not miss the way her brother stared at his drink a beat longer than usual.

As her eldest brother, the rake, the drunk, the irresponsible one, claimed he was not the better man, he then proved otherwise by taking off his coat and draping it over her shoulders. Celestine’s wide brown eyes softened, and she smiled at Henry sweetly, "Thank you," she said softly, pulling the fabric closer for warmth. A beat of silence passed between them before Celestine asked, "Is Morgan better suited because Father said so, or better suited because you truly believe that, Hen?" Her head tilted as she looked at him directly. "You are a good man with a kind heart. A mess perhaps, but we Davenports are all a mess in our own way, are we not?" Celestine was about to say more when someone shouted their last name, a familiar voice cutting through the air.

Lord Leon Sinclaire had seated himself beside Henry not a moment later. Upon taking hold of Celestine’s hand and kissing it, she could not help but smile shyly. "Lord Sinclaire, a pleasure, as always." Leon inquired which horse she intended to bet on, but she was uncertain whether it was wise to reveal her wager with Henry against their father. Celestine’s eyes turned to Henry, only to find him looking more irritated than delighted by the presence of his friend. She raised a delicate brow. None of it seemed to matter, however, for Leon appeared to be on a mission—apparently to procure lemonades.

"How queer," she remarked with a small giggle, watching the man stumble away. Henry quickly breathed out an apology, noting that the two of them were alike. "Hen, it’s quite alright. I rather like Leon. And he is your friend. I expect your friends to greet you." Celestine placed a hand on his arm. "But it’s just you and I now, and we have a bet to attend to."

A young lord had jumped over the railing to help a racehorse as if on cue for some trouble. "How noble of him…if not a bit dangerous," Celestine said, watching with interest. "He seems to know how to handle the lovely creature."
"But… Perhaps that’s the horse Father bet on. Maybe it will get stage fright and race in the other direction!" she grinned.

When the gentleman returned to his seat, the riders and the horses took to the starting line. "Oh look, Hen! They are starting!" Celestine exclaimed. "All of the horses are so beautiful if I wasn’t betting against Father, I don’t think I could bet on any of them winning over the other," she said. "Winners in their own right in my mind." The starting gun sounded, and the race began. "There they go!" She clapped her hands together, feeling content with the festivities as she craned her head to see better.

AnimeGenork · Aug 6, 2024

Henry

Henry Davenport

“I’m afraid both reasons apply to my particular thought, dear Celly.” Henry didn’t want to meet his sister’s gaze as they spoke of such things. He wanted to be the brother his sisters deserved, but he could not bring himself to behave much better. A part of him feared the abuse would increase if he suddenly shifted. His father would surely think a devil had possessed him, or perhaps he had made such an error that he needed to overcorrect in order to not further shame the family. Not that they had much grace to ruin at this juncture. Yet he felt a bit of levity at Celestine’s reassurance. “That we are. Fortunately, we still manage to be the most beautiful lot in a room.” He winked, grinning.

At least his sister was feeling gracious about Leon’s interruption. His friend had yet to come back, and at this rate, it seemed they were all but forgotten. Fine by him on this particular day, as he was greatly enjoying his time with his dear sister. They had not spent so much time in a room since her illness, and he didn’t expect her to remember all of what transpired during those hours. She had been asleep and sickly for most of them.

“Skittish one, that horse is. The man, too.” Henry watched the events curiously, if a bit blearily, as his vision was not the sharpest. “We would hear Father from across the club should that happen. In which case, I do indeed wish it so.” The evening would be unbearable if their father’s horse made such an error, and yet a dark part of Henry wanted the man to lose horribly. The family funds were in shambles because of careless spending such as gambling, but at least it would teach the old man a lesson.

He smiled and nodded. “That it is. I’m not well-versed in horses, so I think I would also have trouble choosing one. I’d probably pick whichever jockey has the best hat or some such.” Henry hesitated to say he’d choose the most attractive jockey, since, for all his shames, he had somehow managed to keep it somewhat quiet that he enjoyed any sort of company to his bed. Instead, he chose to lean back in his seat and observe as much as the race as was drunkenly possible, and he was not disappointed. Though not the most exciting spectacle, there was something breathless about not being sure who would win. Even if his vision was swimming from all the alcohol. “Celly, you might have to tell me who won. I can’t tell a damn thing from here.”

Mentions: Leon | Interactions: Celestine, Leon | Tags: Bellz Pyroclast

coded by: @s e v e n

Pyroclast · Aug 7, 2024

18th of April, 1815
~ Primrose Hill, Camden ~

Lord Augustus Bloomington

August sat with a frown as he listened to Helena explain to him why she had never shared with him the truth of who she was. To him, she had always just been Helena: his sweet Austrian friend from a wealthy family who came to England every summer, who loved to dance, penned beautiful letters, taught him Austrian proverbs, and brought out the best in everyone. Memories of their shared summers raced through his mind as he tried to place them in this new context of her identity. All that time they had spent playing and joking around as youngsters, the deep and honest conversations they had shared, being vulnerable with one another; all that time, she had been heiress to the emperor of Austria. He couldn’t seem to fit it into their story.

Like a martyr, Helena suggested that she had meant to protect him from the burden of her secret. He supposed she hadn’t wanted him to face the pressure of keeping something so important between them, though he knew that he would never have betrayed her had she trusted him with it, and even she, rather indignantly, admitted the same.

“The most important secrets are the easiest to keep,” he told her. “You say that I am your strength, but it is for that reason, Helena, that it would not have been a burden for me to keep your secret. I can bear the weight. For you, I can bear the weight of anything. And I suppose…I must apologise if I failed to convey that through our life of friendship.” He bowed his head, allowing his gaze to fall to the grass beyond them. "I can understand wanting to hide your position from the ton, Helena. I mean, a Viscount is well below royalty and still it comes with great social responsibility. It is fair to wish to be treated as a regular member of society, I grant you, but…”

It was clear that she felt guilty enough, so he did not feel the need to remind her that they were best friends. Perhaps it was his fault, somehow, that she had not considered him different to the rest of them, that she had expected him to treat her no better than their peers. That was how he was interpreting her words, anyway. His memories seemed different, now. It was like looking at a painting he had admired for his whole life, only to notice that half of it had been painted with a different palette.

Yet, as to directly challenge his thoughts, Helena assured him that she was still the same person he had ever known, She reminded him that nothing had changed between them after he became Viscount, though he believed if that were the case then she might well have told him of her title, too, without expecting consequences. It was hard for him to wrap his head around; the title less so than the fact she had been hiding the truth from him.

Though her grief and guilt were evident, Helena steadied and softened her voice for him. To hear that it was her parents’ wish for her to keep the secret certainly softened the blow. He could respect her loyalty to them, and their reasons behind the decision meant less to him than Helena’s would have been, if it had been her idea. August drew a deep breath. Only now that her parents had passed was she free to reveal her true identity to him, and here she was, telling him at her first opportunity. It dawned on him that her concealing the truth had been an act of devotion to them, rather than one of betrayal to him.

She continued to explain herself: how she had worried that it might have added a pressure onto their engagement, that he might have felt obligated to marry her out of duty rather than love. He wanted to laugh at the notion, but only managed a melancholy smile. He was seeing her true self now, but being an empress had nothing to do with it. Her words carried him back in time to when they were engaged. That liberating feeling of knowing the rest of his life would be spent in the loving company of the person around whom he could be most himself. When nobody else understood, Helena understood. When the world felt too large, she was there to bring him to a place where only they existed. Their foreheads would meet, and everything else would fall away.

Such memories were bittersweet, of course. That future that had brought them both such comfort to look forward to had changed suddenly over the course of one unexpected conversation four years ago, leaving them both with broken hearts. August looked down at their hands as she placed hers atop his. This time when he saw her ringless finger, a sense of longing touched his heart. And when she volunteered to returned to Austria, he smiled and shook his head.

“You forget that I am a constant in your life, as you are in mine,” he assured her. “I have always been with you, and I always will be. That is what constant means. I am a constant to you.” He turned his hands so that he was able to hold hers, and gave them a squeeze. “Please forgive me for making such a fuss. I see now that your secrecy was not about a lack of trust, but about honour. You were honouring your parents’ wishes, and that is something far greater than myself, even if our friendship, to me, means the world.” August lowered his head and leaned in a little closer, trying to will her to look him in the eyes again. “Helena, my dearest friend,” he softly spoke. “You must stay, so that I may help you in your grief as you once helped me. The only pain you might cause me now is the thought of you suffering alone.”

Interactions

Bellz dearest friend and nothing more

Bellz · Aug 13, 2024

Chapter 3: Love Unmasked

(11 days later)
Saturday, April 29th, 1815
Sinclaire Estates, London

Dearest Gentle Reader,
The horses on the track were not nearly as captivating as the events unfolding in the stands. Our illustrious Diamond was seen in the company of none other than the Duchess of Bedford. While one might hope for the spark of first affections, it appears their attention was firmly fixed on the thrill of horse betting. This author finds it fascinating that the spark of competition replaced romantic affection, which one could argue is far more passionate and genuine. This unexpected pairing has certainly caught the Ton’s interest, but only time will tell if they can withstand the pressure of prying eyes.

Another potential couple that has come under scrutiny is the notorious Lord Leon Sinclaire and the enchanting Miss Wren Devereaux. Though his reputation precedes him to such an extent that he might no longer be aware of it, there is a glimmer of hope that even he can be tamed. Much like the racehorses we witnessed, it takes a patient and determined woman to handle such a man. With many gentlemen already tamed, one might wonder if it is worth the effort. However, this author believes that those who have faced the most challenges often have the most to offer in relationships. After all, not everyone finds excitement in the mundane.

And speaking of the racetrack, Theodore Willowby has emerged as quite the horse whisperer at the races—and, dare this author say, quite the catch. His natural ease with both equines and eligible ladies has not gone unnoticed. It is clear that his prowess extends beyond the stables, leaving many a young lady with stars in her eyes and perhaps a few foolish men seeking to emulate his success.

Yet, as some seasons begin, others may be drawing to a close. Solomon Davenport was seen wagering heavily on losing horses, raising questions about his ability to provide dowries for both his daughters this season—especially since Miss Genevieve Davenport is in her first season. She has much to offer as a beautiful and charming young lady.
But a lack of dowry can stop any match in its tracks—especially for those who, and they shall remain nameless, have far less to offer.

Lastly, let us turn our attention to the social event everyone is eagerly anticipating—the Moonlit Masquerade Ball hosted by the ever-ambitious Lady Odette Sinclaire. With an eye for grandeur and a penchant for drama, Lady Sinclaire promises an evening of mystery and intrigue beneath the starry skies. Whether it will be a night to remember or one to forget entirely remains to be seen, but rest assured, dear readers, this author will be watching.   But a word of caution to those attending: the anonymity of masks can be as dangerous as it is alluring. Secrets may slip, and hidden intentions may come to light under the cover of night. While the dance floor may glitter, not everything that glimmers in the moonlight is gold.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

(11 days later)
Saturday, April 29th, 1815
Sinclaire Estates, London (Ballroom)

Lady Celestine Davenport

Celestine had attended more parties than one might expect for someone so young, and yet, as she stepped out of the carriage, she felt something different tonight. Surrounded by her family, all adorned in their own masks, she experienced a rare sense of liberation, as though for once, she had nothing to conceal—even if the ball’s very theme was one of mystery and disguise.

Her pearl-colored masquerade mask fit so naturally that it felt like a second skin, granting her an unexpected comfort, and dare she admit, a newfound confidence as they approached the Sinclaire estate. The sprawling gardens before them were a vision of perfection, meticulously manicured and bathed in the soft glow of twinkling candlelights. The night air was clear and pleasantly warm, much to Celestine’s delight, and the full moon cast its silvery light over the entire scene, creating an atmosphere that was nothing short of enchanting. For the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to simply be—to embrace the magic of the evening without the weight of past burdens.

For once, instead of her usual dread, Celestine felt a thrill of excitement she could scarcely place. The gown she wore tonight, a deep glittering blue that appeared almost black under the night sky, had once been intended for her debut season—a season cut short by illness and circumstance. The velvet fabric was an unconventional choice, but the modiste who had crafted it assured her that it would spark conversation most favorably.

Celestine had been pleased to find that the gown still fits her well, requiring only a slight adjustment to the waist, which she had managed herself. Any funds they had managed to save for Genevieve’s upcoming season were to be used for her younger sister’s new dresses, but tonight, in this gown, Celestine felt like a princess—a sensation she had not experienced in far too long. She silently credited the masquerade mask for this newfound confidence, allowing her to emerge from the shell she had so carefully constructed around herself. The mask, though simple, was as darling as the gown, and as she caught a glimpse of her skirt in her peripheral vision, she marveled at how the glittering fabric reflected the moonlight, resembling the stars in the sky above.

Luxurious carriages continued to arrive in droves, depositing guests dressed in splendid attire and intricate masks, all eager to partake in the evening’s grandeur. The air was filled with laughter and animated chatter as they ascended the sweeping staircase, where liveried footmen stood ready to assist. Celestine stole glances at her siblings, curious about their thoughts as they climbed the same steps. Once they passed the bowing footmen, she could not help but gape at the sight before her.

The Sinclaire estate had been transformed into a wonderland of shimmering silks and rich brocades. The opulence of it all was almost overwhelming, and as they were ushered with the rest of the guests toward the main ballroom—the very heart of the evening’s festivities—Celestine nearly cursed under her breath at the sheer magnificence of it all.

Screenshot 2024-07-24 at 11.13.08 PM.png

"Are they attempting to rival the Queen herself?" Celestine mused aloud, her gaze drifting upward to the crystal chandeliers suspended from the lofty ceilings. The dazzling light refracted through the prisms, casting a mesmerizing display across the room. The walls, swathed in deep crimson velvet, were adorned with gilded mirrors that reflected the glittering assembly of guests. In the center of the room, a grand orchestra occupied an elevated platform shaped like a crescent moon, accompanied by a lone opera singer whose voice resonated through the vast hall. The melodies wove through the air, beckoning couples to the dance floor, where the polished surface mirrored the swirling colors of the dancers' attire.

Celestine had never encountered such opulence before, and she couldn't help but wonder what occasion warranted such grandeur. Beyond the ballroom’s splendor, even the large doors leading to the gardens revealed a scene equally enchanting. Lanterns hung from the trees, casting a soft glow over the meticulously manicured lawns. For those daring enough to escape the hustle and bustle of the masked ballroom, a string quartet played near a fountain that shimmered under the benevolent moonlight, offering a more intimate setting.

On any other night, Celestine might have sought refuge in those very gardens, but tonight, she felt no such urge to retreat. Instead, she found herself drawn to the dance floor—not solely for her younger sister’s sake, but for her own as well. Glancing at Genevieve, she leaned in and whispered, "Has any masked gentleman caught your eye yet?" Her voice was low, mindful of the atmosphere around them.

She knew Henry was likely off finding his way to cope with the discomfort these gatherings often brought him, and after their conversation at the races, Celestine couldn’t fault him. Morgan, ever dutiful, lingered near them out of a sense of obligation, but Celestine silently hoped he too would allow himself the freedom to enjoy the evening. As they stood at the edge of the dance floor, Celestine felt no urgency to seek out interaction, yet she remained quietly hopeful, her heart stirred by the possibility of what the night might bring.
with: Evie

CapellaStargaze
mentions: Henry

AnimeGenork ; Morgan

(11 days later)
Saturday, April 29th, 1815
Sinclaire Estates, London (Ballroom)

Charity Gallagher

Performing on stage at the Opera House was as familiar to Charity as breathing. The stage was her domain, a place where every step, every gesture was a dance she had mastered. Stage right from stage left, the ebb and flow of the audience's rapt attention—these were constants in her world. Yet, as she ventured into the more exclusive, private performances for those whose wealth seemed to know no bounds, she felt her once-burning passion for the craft slip through her fingers like sand.

Tonight, she had been summoned to Lady Sinclaire's grand estate, arriving early as instructed. The estate, with its opulent grandeur, demanded her attention, leaving her momentarily lost in its splendor. Lady Sinclaire herself was an intriguing figure—decisive, perhaps even imperious. But for the sum offered, Charity was willing to bend to her every whim.

Arriving ahead of time had afforded her and the accompanying orchestra—a group of musicians she often performed with at the Opera House—ample time to prepare. Yet, without the familiar sting of the spotlight upon her, the entire experience felt disconcerting. The room was still empty, save for a few attendants bustling about, oblivious to her presence. Cherry, as she was known to her closest friends, glanced at the orchestra, who were already poised with their instruments. The conductor handed her the sheet music, and she thumbed through it absentmindedly. At least the compositions were familiar, a small comfort in this unfamiliar setting.

Once the orchestra had settled into their rhythm, and Charity herself was adequately warmed up, she stepped down from the stage to retrieve her drink, which rested just behind the elevated platform—only now did she realize that the platform was shaped like a diamond-shaped star. Lady Sinclaire's penchant for extravagance was evident in every detail, and Cherry couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like to reside in such a grand estate, where wealth flowed as freely as water, providing not only for one’s family but also for such lavish, and perhaps unnecessary, adornments.

After a few measured sips from her glass, the moment had arrived. Guests began to trickle into the grand salon, descending the sweeping staircase with all the grace and grandeur that the upper echelons of the Ton could muster. Cherry’s eyes couldn’t resist wandering to their attire, a silent admiration for the fabrics, the intricate designs, and the effortless elegance with which they carried themselves.

Even amidst the excesses of the Ton, Cherry always found herself captivated by the fashion—the gowns that shimmered like jewels. Her own attire, a vibrant purple gown from the Opera House’s finest collection, matched by a delicate mask, held its own against the finery of the evening.

With the guests settling into their places, she returned to the platform, the orchestra following suit, taking their seats behind her. Cherry turned her head slightly to watch the conductor, awaiting his cue. As his baton lifted, counting them in, the music began, filling the room with a melody that would soon become the evening’s most enchanting memory. 

Screenshot 2024-08-12 at 11.44.36 PM.png

The evening brought an unexpected intimacy that Charity was not accustomed to. The guests were able to step far closer to her as she sang, and many seized the opportunity, observing her as though she were an exhibit in Lady Sinclaire’s grand display—a living art piece to be admired and scrutinized. At first, the surprise caused her voice to falter, the notes falling flat as the weight of their stares bore down on her. But Cherry quickly recovered, her professionalism taking over.

It was in that moment that she found herself longing for the familiar confines of the stage, where the audience remained a faceless, distant entity. There, she could feel a connection through the sheer act of performance, without ever meeting their eyes. Here, in this lavish ballroom, she was acutely aware of every gaze upon her, and she couldn’t decide if it would be considered rude to meet their eyes in return. Nevertheless, she continued to sing, fulfilling her duty as she had been hired to do.

By the fourth or fifth song, the intensity of the stares and the dazzling colors of the Ton began to blur, fading into the background as the music became her sole focus. It was a much-needed reprieve, the music enveloping her, soothing her frayed nerves. It was as if each note warmed her from within, lifting her higher and higher, much like the heady sensation of too much wine. When the moment was right, she allowed a natural smile to grace her lips, a reflection of the joy the music brought her.

The final song before her vocal break was one she held dear, If Love’s a Sweet Passion. As she sang, she allowed herself to be fully immersed in the melody, the words carrying her away, leaving the grand ballroom and its inhabitants far behind.

The song was slow, romantic, and a delight to sing. As the melody filled the room, a few couples had already taken to the dance floor, their graceful movements drawing a wistful smile from Cherry. Though she possessed many talents upon the stage, dancing was not among them. To see the couples engaged in such a delicate artistry, moving together and then apart with such elegance, stirred a gentle ache within her. It was a beauty she admired from afar—a life she knew she would never lead.

Cherry understood beauty in other ways, though. It lived in the roles she embodied on stage, in the characters she cherished and into whom she poured her heart and soul. Yet, outside the theater, her life felt drained of color, save for the love she held for her family, which was the one true joy that sustained her.

As she sang the final verse:

"When in striving to hide,
She reveals all her flame,
And our eyes tell each other,
What neither dares name…"

She allowed the last note to linger, carrying it far beyond the accompaniment, letting it resonate off the marble walls. When her voice finally fell silent, the room erupted into applause. Cherry offered a low curtsy, her lips curving into a modest smile.

With that, she stepped down from her little platform, grateful for the chance to take her vocal break. She needed to refill her glass and perhaps find something to eat, a brief respite from the evening’s performance.
with: nudge nudge, wink wink

WanderLust.

(11 days later)
Saturday, April 29th, 1815
Sinclaire Estates, London (Garden)

Lord Rhys Davenport

Rhys already had a fucking headache. Was it the suffocating mask, the stifling outfit, or the intolerable crowd? The answer was all of the above. None of it pleased him in the least, and he would have much preferred to drive a dagger into his own gut than endure one of these tedious affairs. Yet, here he was. Why, exactly, was he subjecting himself to this torment again?

As he lifted a crystal glass of brandy to his lips—a glass he had managed to procure through less-than-proper means—Rhys reminded himself of his primary motivation for attending: to thoroughly irritate Morgan, of course. But that was closely followed by his reluctant desire to make amends with the rest of his family. It had been years since he had been cast out. Surely, they couldn’t continue to nurse old grudges? Their father might, but some men never changed. If Morgan was still holding onto that grudge, perhaps he was no better than the old man.

“You left me alone last night.” A woman’s voice called to him from across the garden, and he nearly groaned aloud.

“That was the point, darling,” he replied, his tone dripping with mock sweetness as he turned to face her. Good God, what was her name again? He had downed so many drinks last night that it had slipped right through the cracks of his memory.

“Perhaps you can make it up to me by joining me on the dance floor,” she purred, her voice laced with an expectation he found utterly irritating.

Rhys let out a harsh laugh. “Look, uh...” Damn it, her name still eluded him. “I don’t think you quite understand how this works, luv.”

The bewildered look on her face was almost enough to make him feel guilty—but not quite.

If Rhys had been any other man, he might have felt a twinge of guilt. And if he were any other man, he would likely have remembered her name after spending the night with her. But he wasn't. “I’m not the sort you want to linger with,” he said sharply. “Trust me, find yourself another man. That’s my only warning.”

The woman opened her mouth to protest, but Rhys silenced her with a raised finger. “My only warning, darling,” he murmured, the tone edged with a dangerous finality. “Now, make your way back inside and leave me be.” At least she had the good sense to turn and walk away, though he couldn’t deny the small pleasure he took in watching her depart. She was beautiful, after all… Still, her name remained an enigma to him, and it hardly mattered. A new night meant a new woman to take home at the end of it.

But first, he would have his fun with Morgan. All the while, he’d ensure his family understood that he was here to stay this time. He intended to show them that he had changed—though, old habits, as they say, were hard to break.

Being compelled to travel had been one thing, but discovering the peace in doing it for himself had granted Rhys a completely new outlook on life—on family, on everything. As he glanced back at the spot where the woman had stood only moments ago, he realized that was perhaps the only aspect of himself that hadn’t changed. Yet, he would feel far less guilty about that if he discovered that Henry and Morgan hadn’t changed a bit either. At least he had earned his reputation honestly, rather than hiding behind some golden boy façade like Morgan.

Rhys found himself pacing the garden, the soft trickle of the fountain and the distant strains of a string quartet somewhere around the corner providing a momentary reprieve from his thoughts. He could venture inside now, seek out his family and confront whatever awaited him. But something held him back. His jaw tightened in contemplation as he smoothed down the fabric of his coat and took another sip from his glass.
with: nudge nudge nudge (at Lydia)

WanderLust.
mention: oh and fuck you Morgan

CapellaStargaze , Love you Hen

AnimeGenork

(11 days later)
Saturday, April 29th, 1815
Sinclaire Estates, London (Conservatory)

Lady Esmeralda Quijada-Hotham

Another stifling gown for yet another evening of forced smiles and polite conversation. Esmeralda had already grown weary of it all. While her stepfather and mother navigated the sea of faces with practiced ease, Esmeralda had no desire to engage with the curious white faces that approached them, inquiring about their life in Spain, about the days before they had moved to England. The endless stream of questions had begun to feel more like an interrogation than polite conversation.

But tonight, she believed she had found a way to endure the relentless questioning, the tedious conversations, and even the endless rounds of dancing with far greater ease. The solution lay in plain sight, glimmering temptingly on the table in the refreshment room—a table laden with champagne, its delicate bubbles promising a reprieve from the evening’s trials.

Her mother and stepfather lingered nearby, engrossed in conversation with a lackluster couple whose names Esmeralda had no intention of recalling—their pronunciations far too tedious to bother with. But Esmeralda’s plan was foolproof, or so she believed. If she could not evade the evening’s tiresome obligations, then perhaps she could at least soften their edges with a few glasses of champagne.

The only other soul to approach the refreshment table was an older blonde woman, who departed almost as quickly as she had arrived. Esmeralda seized the opportunity, making her way to the table with a determined stride. The scratchy fabric of her dress irritated her arms as she moved, but she paid it no mind, too intent on her mission to care about appearances. She just wanted to forget that she was trapped at this insufferable ball.

"Hermosa," she murmured to herself, reaching for a glass. She quickly lost count after the fourth, likely downing six glasses before deciding to stop. English champagne, she found, was disappointingly tame—watered down, lacking the boldness of the spirits she was accustomed to in Spain. 
Surveying the opulent surroundings, a wave of homesickness began to wash over Esmeralda. Her parents had hoped she would have mingled with the other guests by now, but she still felt like an outsider at these gatherings. Her mask did well to conceal her discomfort, but it provided little solace. Seeking a distraction, she decided to fetch another drink and, on a whim, reached for a strawberry from the refreshment table.

As she did, she inadvertently collided with a man, stumbling slightly. "¡Lo siento mucho!" she gasped, her voice tinged with panic as she steadied herself, closing her eyes for a brief moment to regain her balance. Perhaps another glass of champagne hadn’t been the best idea after all. When she finally felt steady enough to speak, she opened her eyes and looked at the man, noting his dark curls and finely tailored attire.

"I am sorry, señor. Did I hurt you?" she inquired, her gaze drifting over his elegant clothing with a mix of concern and curiosity. She struggled to find the right English word to describe her clumsiness. "I am usually not so..." Her hand fluttered in an uncertain gesture as she searched for the word, finally settling on, "torpe."

She sighed, unable to recall the precise term, and then, noticing the strawberry still in her hand, offered him a charming smile. "Would you like this? As a small token to make amends for any trouble I may have caused?"
with: ...please accept the strawberry dear Henry

AnimeGenork

(11 days later)
Saturday, April 29th, 1815
Sinclaire Estates, London (Conservatory)

Lady Victoria Bloomington

"Must we always descend into the carriage like a herd of untamed beasts?" Victoria inquired, her tone laced with a delicate sigh as she addressed her children. "I expect no creased gowns or disheveled coats," she continued, her voice firm yet gentle. Once the last of them was settled, she gracefully followed, allowing the footman to close the door behind her.

Victoria had been most curious to see the Sinclaire estate ever since Odette had so eagerly introduced herself and her son to her daughters. In this modern age, wealth played a crucial role in securing a marriage. And with Weston being a Marquess, it was clear that he and his mother had ample means. Yet the true extent of their fortune became strikingly apparent as their carriage swept into the grand, U-shaped drive, halting before the towering edifice that was the Sinclaire home, a majestic three stories in height. Though Victoria, ever the lady, would never stoop to open admiration, she could not deny her surprise. The astonishment was shared among the others, it seemed. Inside, the estate was just as lavish as its exterior, and Victoria nearly found herself gaping in awe, a reaction she quickly stifled, for such a display would be entirely unbecoming of her.

"The chandeliers are quite extraordinary, aren't they?" Victoria remarked to August, who held her arm. "Lady Sinclaire certainly has a penchant for opulence." Though her smile was warm and inviting, there was the faintest trace of judgment in her tone, carefully concealed from the watchful eyes around them.

As they descended the grand staircase into the bustling ballroom, Victoria turned to August and Francis. "Tonight will present a greater challenge in keeping watch over your sisters," she instructed. "Do your utmost to ensure they do not wander too far from propriety. I shall be circulating the room myself, making certain they do not stray. But remember to enjoy yourselves as well—mingle, dance, and take in the evening’s delights."

Her gaze then shifted to her daughters. "These masks provide men with the perfect opportunity to obscure their true intentions—do not be deceived. But above all, enjoy yourselves. Should you need me for any reason, I shall be close at hand, and your brothers will not be far behind." She smiled tenderly at her children, her pride evident. "You all look positively radiant."

With that, Victoria gracefully parted from them, making her way towards the refreshment table before beginning her careful survey of the room.

Victoria watched the younger couples swirling gracefully across the dance floor, their faces alight with the early stirrings of romance. She tried not to linger on them too long, though it was difficult not to be reminded of a time when she, too, had known such feelings. Those moments were now but distant memories, tucked away in the recesses of her mind. Seeking a respite from the bustling ballroom, she slipped into the refreshment room, which was more conservatory than parlor—a welcome change. The air here was cooler, the crowd sparser, allowing her to breathe more freely. With a soft sigh, she glided over to the drinks table, her movements as refined as ever.

Screenshot_2024-08-09_at_10.21.29_PM.png

She selected a crystal glass filled with champagne, examining the bubbles as they danced to the surface before glancing around the room. Most of the guests were engaged in conversation or admiring the lush greenery that filled the space. Without much thought, she brought the glass to her lips and drained it in one graceful motion. Placing the empty glass among its companions, she quickly reached for another, discreetly moving away from the table to avoid drawing attention to her indulgence.

Odette had an impeccable taste in flora, and Victoria found herself drawn to a cluster of blooming hyacinths displayed on a raised bed. She sipped from her second glass, once again finishing it in one go, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread through her. A faint blush colored her cheeks and chest as she continued to admire the flowers in solitude.

There was a time when Stephan would have humored her by admiring flowers together, though he had often found it dreadfully dull. Yet, by the end of each outing, he would surprise her with a bouquet of her favorite blooms. The memory brought a bittersweet smile to her lips, but as the conservatory began to feel stifling, she retrieved the paper fan attached to her wrist and began fanning her flushed face, trying to cool the warmth that had settled over her.
with: ALL OF HER ANIMAL CHILDREN IN ATTENDANCE but you look FABULOUS

MUMMY LOVES U now she's gonna drank.

neverbackdown

AnimeGenork
mentions: speaking of drank...

(11 days later)
Saturday, April 29th, 1815
Sinclaire Estates, London (Gardens, near the fountain)

Duchess Scarlet Jameson

The evening held a rare quietude, unmarked by the usual chatter and bustle of her sisters. Scarlet found herself pondering their absence, unable to fathom why they had declined to partake in the evening’s festivities. Unlike them, she had been invited by name, a summons she could hardly ignore. The Sinclaire family was scarcely known to her, but propriety dictated her attendance at a ball to which she had been formally invited.

To her surprise, this was one of the few occasions where she could genuinely enjoy herself, a rarity in a season where she often found herself the unwilling target of eager mothers and their hopeful sons. The mask she wore provided just enough anonymity to allow her to slip into the gardens unnoticed, a welcome escape from the demands of the ballroom.

The estate itself was a marvel, but the gardens—ah, the gardens were truly breathtaking. The moment Scarlet stepped into their verdant embrace, a smile graced her lips. Lanterns hung gracefully from the trees, their soft glow mingling with the light spilling from the grand doors of the ballroom, casting an enchanting aura over the scene. It was a sight that could have been captured on canvas, had she ever possessed the talent of an artist.

Turning back toward the ballroom’s doors, she observed the masked figures mingling, dancing, conversing, and laughing under the night sky. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she might catch another glimpse of that *Diamond* who had everyone abuzz. The thought lingered as she allowed herself to be enveloped by the beauty of the night, savoring the rare sense of tranquility that the gardens provided.

Screenshot 2024-07-24 at 11.36.19 PM.png

Even if she had wished to feign forgetfulness, there was hardly a soul in the ton who did not know the name of Francis Bloomington now. How utterly vexing it had been to witness him place his bet on a losing horse, doubting the ability of her own. The frustration she felt was palpable, yet—if she were to be entirely honest—there was something inexplicably alluring about the way he had looked at her afterward, admiration clear in his eyes as she triumphed over him.

Scarlet found herself puzzled by the contradiction of her own emotions. How could one feel both frustration and attraction toward another? Surely, she found this man to be nothing more than a nuisance, did she not? And yet, the thrill of competition had stirred something within her, a pleasure in the challenge, and the fact that he had taken his defeat with such grace only added to her confusion.

What was wrong with her, indeed? She could not help but dwell on it, the memory of his gaze lingering far longer than she would have liked.

"I know that look." A voice said and Scarlet rolled her eyes, "Did you come disguised as a tree?" She wondered out loud, not bothering to look at him as she admired the fountain to her left. Ian let out a laugh, "If you didn't see me before I made myself known that means I am doing my job well." Scarlet then looked at him, clad in deep gold. "You look lovely." She commented and Ian smirked, "As do you, I shall be around if you need me." Scarlet nodded her head, looking back to the fountain. "Try not to fool some unsuspecting ladies into believing you are an innocent man underneath that mask." She teased, but when she turned her head back to him, he was gone.

Sighing, she moved to take a seat at the edge of the same fountain she had been admiring. Ian had said he'd known the look but Scarlet couldn't fathom what he'd meant. She had simply been lost in thought. The sound of the string quartet was soothing enough, and as she looked to the water which reflected the night stars and the full moon in it, she allowed the music to take her thoughts with it.
mentions: you frustrating sparkly thing you

(11 days later)
Saturday, April 29th, 1815
Sinclaire Estates, London (Ballroom)

Lady Helena Bexley

As the golden hues of the setting sun bathed her grandparents' estate in a warm glow, Helena found no solace in the serene beauty that surrounded her. The tranquil landscape offered no respite from the turmoil within, a turmoil that had robbed her of sleep for days since her fateful conversation with August. Frustration gnawed at her, for she had laid bare her secret to him, yet the heavy guilt that pressed upon her heart remained unyielding, a constant weight she could not escape.

There was no need to ponder the source of this guilt, for Helena understood all too well why it lingered so relentlessly. The moment she gazed into his familiar blue eyes and heard his vow to remain a steadfast presence in her life, the truth became painfully clear. Three years had passed since she had last seen him, three years during which she had foolishly believed that time and distance would dull the affections that once burned so fiercely within her. But now, she realized with startling clarity that those feelings had not faded in the slightest. The fire that had once consumed her still blazed, as vivid and unrelenting as ever.

It unsettled her deeply, not solely because of the potential strain it might place upon their cherished friendship, but because of the grief that clung to her like a heavy, unshakeable cloak. Her parents’ death was a wound still fresh, a scar that had barely begun to heal. The pain of their loss was sharp and unrelenting, a grief so profound that it hollowed her out, leaving her adrift and disconnected from the world around her. It was this grief that cast a shadow over every small pleasure life offered, filling her with a sense of guilt for daring to find joy amid such sorrow.

Thus, the unexpected resurgence of love for August felt like salt on that wound. The very thought of seeing him tonight, as striking as he always was, sent a tremor through her heart. Helena knew he would be concerned for her, would look upon her with those same kind eyes, and yet the longing she felt for him seemed almost a betrayal to her parents’ memory. To be consumed by thoughts of romance when she should be deep in mourning weighed heavily upon her conscience.

Of course, Helena’s return this season was to secure a husband, a match that would serve both herself and her country. But did she need to find romance at this very moment? The notion felt overwhelming, almost unnecessary in her current state of mind. “Miss?” A soft voice interrupted her thoughts. One of her lady’s maids stood before her, a quiet presence that gently called her back to the present. “Lord Haas requests an audience with you in the study.” Helena turned her head, meeting the young woman’s gaze as she bowed slightly. With a sigh that was almost imperceptible, Helena rose gracefully from the bench. “Of course, thank you,” she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.

As Helena finally tore her gaze from the documents and glanced out the window, she noticed it was dark. She would be late. “I am done for the evening,” she murmured, rising gracefully from the desk. Her lady’s maids—three in all—and Marko, ever vigilant, stood as well, each offering a respectful bow. Helena, unperturbed, swept out of the study and ascended to the third floor of the house, where her bedroom awaited. Though her maids trailed only a few paces behind, their presence did little to alleviate the solitude of her thoughts. The Ton buzzed with anticipation for tonight’s festivities, but Helena found herself unable to muster the slightest excitement—a sentiment entirely foreign to her nature. A part of her longed to forgo the ball altogether, yet she knew such an absence would attract more attention than she was willing to endure.

Why, after all these years, could she not simply move on? Why did her heart betray her so cruelly when she needed clarity and strength the most? Helena was emotionally spent, stripped bare by the turmoil. She could not escape the echo of his words: “You forget that I am a constant in your life, as you are in mine…” Her eyes fluttered shut as the weight of his sentiment reverberated through her mind. A soft protest escaped her lips as one of her maids tightened the strings of her corset, but the maid’s hurried apology went unanswered, lost in the whirlwind of Helena’s thoughts.

As she gazed into the mirror, Helena scarcely recognized the woman who stared back at her, both in form and in spirit. Her reflection blurred as tears welled in her eyes, and she drew in a deep, shaky breath. The effort to distance herself from him felt unnatural, even after three long years and the painful way things had ended. It was as though she were forcing her heart to resist its most natural inclination, like trying to hold back the tide—inevitable, relentless, and overwhelming. She knew that every stolen glance, every brief conversation, would only intensify her struggle. It would be as it had been before they were together: her watching him from afar, wondering if he felt the same pull. Only this time, she would wonder if he, too, was haunted by the memories of what they once had and held so dear.

Screenshot 2024-07-24 at 10.41.59 PM.png

Dressed and polished to perfection for the ball, Helena was ushered toward the carriage, once again left alone with nothing but her thoughts on the ride over. Each bump in the road sparked fresh waves of anxiety within her, and she clung desperately to the notion that it would all be worth it in the end. Yet beneath the yearning, a deep-seated fear took hold. If she got too close to August, she might foolishly reopen wounds for both of them. She also feared the judgment of society, the inevitable whispers that would follow if they were seen together too often. Their broken engagement had been the talk of the Ton, and Helena could not bear to be the subject of gossip once more, especially when she was still grieving. But the judgment of the Ton be damned—what terrified her most was the possibility of losing him entirely, as a friend. He had vowed to be a constant in her life, forever. The very thought of losing that promise, that bond, was a terror far greater than any scandal or heartbreak.

Even if they must maintain a distance now, it did not mean they could not be friends again once both are married to others and content in their lives. August knew her secret now—truly knew her—saw beyond the carefully crafted facade she presented to the world. But even before this revelation, he had known her intimately—her strengths, her vulnerabilities, her joys, and her sorrows. And she knew his just as well. The thought of losing her dearest friend haunted her most of all. Without him, life in England would have felt unbearably lonely. The grief she had been striving to manage might have overwhelmed her entirely. He had been her anchor in so many ways, even from afar through letters… and the mere thought of him drifting away filled her with a profound sense of dread. Helena swallowed hard as the carriage came to a halt at the Sinclaire estate. She knew what she must do. Their friendship was far too precious to risk, even if it meant locking away her feelings deep within her heart. It was a painful choice, one that left her heart heavy with longing, but it was a choice she felt compelled to make, to protect what little she still had left of him. 

As Helena proceeded toward the ballroom, a sudden wave of self-consciousness washed over her. She glanced down at her gown, her thoughts plagued with doubts about whether the pink tulle was too extravagant, the bodice’s beading catching the light and shimmering as she moved. The gown left her shoulders bare, with sleeves that draped languidly on her arms. Her delicate masquerade mask, crafted with pink and gold hues to complement her dress, featured large flowers on either side and strands of gold beading cascading downward. Lightly, she touched her rose-colored necklace and traced a gentle finger over her matching tiara, silently hoping it remained properly in place after the jostle of the carriage ride.  When she entered the ballroom, the brilliance of the chandeliers illuminated the space, revealing her at the top of yet another grand staircase. The room was already abuzz with activity—some couples engaged in lively dance, while others mingled with practiced ease. At her first ball, mingling had felt so effortless, and dancing had begun to weave its way back into her life. Yet now, as she stood observing, she found herself tracing her fingers lightly along the banister, surveying the sea of unfamiliar faces.

Everyone appeared unrecognizable, but then again, that was the very essence of the masquerade, wasn’t it? Perhaps it was not that the Ton had changed during her absence, but rather that she no longer felt she belonged. It was a falsehood she had long told herself—and August—that she fit seamlessly into this world. The marriage market, already fraught with complexities, was made all the more challenging by this added layer of uncertainty. Honoring her parents’ wishes had been straightforward enough, yet the thought that others would only see her true self once her secret was revealed had been the silent force keeping her from speaking out—despite her natural gift for conversation. With August now aware of her secret and soon-to-be pursuing new interests, Helena was left to navigate this season with trepidation.

Her father's words echoed in her mind: Life was but a dance, one could either sway to its rhythm or, with sufficient courage, compose a melody of their own. Grief, however, remained a perplexing adversary. One moment, Helena felt as though she could stand resolute, and the next, she found herself gripping the banister, struggling to maintain her balance against the turmoil within. Even the cherished memories, those that urged her to summon strength in her darkest hours, were not immune to grief's relentless grasp. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, but she drew a steadying breath, pushing herself away from the banister and turning toward the ballroom staircase. The guilt could eat her alive but what she needed to secure surpassed her own discomfort.  
with: no one as of yet. Might just leave tbh
mentions: welp, we can guess can't we. The man who did NOT follow her to Austria