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

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10th of April, 1815
~ Kew Palace, The Ballroom ~

Lord Solomon Davenport​

1718824761854.pngIt was all too easy for Solomon to tune out his children when they spoke. He had lost patience waiting for the day one of them came to him with something worthwhile to say. In particular, he never expected Ichabod, who appeared to live more in his imagination than reality, to come out with anything worthy of attention, such that the sound of his voice prompted Solomon’s hearing to switch off in some Pavlovian response. Instead he swirled his drink - an indulgent cocktail designed by the Prince Regent himself - and peered down into it as if hypnotised by the whirlpool he was creating.

“Ichabod…” The name drew slowly from his lips, each syllable enunciated as though he was speaking it aloud for the very first time. His gaze never left his drink, instead raising it for closer inspection, as if mesmerised. “Ichabod. Do you know what Ichabod means?” He allowed a pause for him to think, though he wasn’t waiting for an answer. “It means, without glory.”

Finally, he turned his attention to his youngest son, boring into him with his deep, piercing eyes. “I have given you twenty one years of life, and still I wait for the day I can say it was worth it,” he uttered in a low voice. “Year after year, chance upon chance. I give you everything. You have everything. And what have you done with it all?”

Just as long as he had avoided making eye contact with the young man, he now refused to free him from it. He drank blindly from his glass, trapping his son in an austere gaze. “I shall be dead before any of you bring any kind of glory to our family. None of you followed in my footsteps - perhaps because you knew you would not be strong enough to survive it. I can only hope you will marry a lady who is smart and sensible, so that my grandchildren may stand a chance.”

A commotion on the dancefloor managed to steal his attention and he finally took his eyes off his son. Watching everybody fuss over the fallen dancers made him chuckle. He enjoyed the scene for a few moments longer until he all too suddenly grew sick of his son’s presence, and a scowl replaced his laughter. ”Go,” he commanded, using his cane to smack the back of Ichabod’s calves. “Make yourself a fool like the rest of them. I have not the energy to expect higher of you.”

Interactions
Jesster Jesster Ichabod
 



ichabod





c'est la vie


































DANCING ON MY OWN
















location

taking a stroll






mood

i hope u fall off a horse again xx






interactions

solomon davenport
















It is not oft that sweet tendrils of anger envelope child of melted sugar and fresh harvested honey but when it does, he does not let it consume the fibers of his being for he is weaved with the becomings of a gentleman, or so he hopes. He listens to words that fall off a forked tongue, serpent eyes boring into him, and decides no, there is not a place he would rather be. His smile does not falter for a moment but chocolate eyes caramelise into hardened candy.

“If we are to pick at names,”
Ichabod says, voice still carrying the softness of a cloud.
“I should remind you Solomon means peaceful one, and the ton are quick to see you are anything but. I advise you do not let Lady Whistledown see more of your endeavours or your cherished name may go down the drain. She holds more power in a silly gossip column than you could ever hope.”


He sets empty glass down, pulling at his gloves, and gaze trails from Lord Davenport's as if his mind is drawn in another world, a soft sigh escaping his lips. A few steps forward and it appears he is to grant his creator's wishes but black heel swivels to meet his gaze once more, hazy twinkle fading into a look not so unlike his own.

"You have never had expectations of me at all. Being dead before I bring any glory to this family is a fate you surely expected long before this conversation, and I will join you in the graveyard before giving you the satisfaction of grandchildren."


Wallflowers who hide behind the shadows of others do not shine with complacent pride that eats the soul, but Ichabod could not help but feel a tinge of selfish satisfaction.

"I hope you enjoy Queen Charlotte's ball, Father."


Teeth gnaw at the inside of his cheek to stave away any sting that may have come from the hit of a cane as he weaves his way into the crowd. A charming smile, and few pretty words get him laughs but he does not take to the dance floor just yet instead biding time with small talk until he is able to slip his way out and decides to walk alone for it is the only time the knots that restrict his breathing finally become unraveled.











 

  • Henry Davenport

    Considering the infamy associated with his name, Henry was rather impressed she did not throw her drink in his face. While that would be refreshment of its own, he did not relish the thought of the inevitable scolding from his mother. It seemed he was going to avoid such a fate—and to his dismay, another Whistledown mention—at this particular event, but he couldn’t let his guard down just yet.

    As he rose from his bow, she dipped into a curtsy, and a gentle smile spread across his face. “Is all of this not a complex charade of pretending, my lady? I may find these events rather dull, but I do so enjoy the game of it all.” Casting a glance to the side, he added, “And in any case, I would hate for Her Majesty to catch wind of our lack of enjoyment. It would bode ill for all in attendance.”

    He couldn’t help but check on the couple making a scandal of themselves. “I agree. I’d hate for them to figure out we knew where they were when they are inevitably caught and chastised. I suppose I shall have to torture us both by leading you in dance.” He extended his arm and began the journey indoors, a strange sort of mirth filling his body. Though perhaps that was the alcohol. It was quite hard to tell most of the time, considering the frequency of his drinking. Not quite so frequent as the elder Lord Davenport, but regardless.

    “Calling any part of my dancing ‘prowess’ is quite magnanimous, I assure you. My skills are adequate, better used elsewhere.” Perhaps she would pick up on his allusion, perhaps not. All he was truly sure of was that the dancing was successfully keeping him rather out of everyone’s line of attention. Those that did spot him, however, were surely whispering about his intentions with his would-be dance partner. Such was the way of the ton.

    And so they struck up a dance, Henry and this mysterious and charming lady. He grinned at her praise. “Just wait, my lady, I have yet to step on your foot.” Though he did no such thing, taking careful steps to insure that he would not totally embarrass himself this night. Just this once, he would give his mother a boon and not cardiac arrest. His father would still be disappointed, as was the way of dreary Lord Solomon, but at least his mother’s worries could be eased.

    He raised an eyebrow at the abrupt change of topic. “She does indeed. I am an admirer of hers myself—I do so enjoy the way she describes my exploits.” Henry dared to let out a chuckle at her question. “Indeed, an excellent question. I will be honest, I had no idea you were outside. I simply wished for a breath of fresh air before I had to take part in the night’s festivities in earnest.”

    A commotion erupted some distance away from their dance, and Henry peered over his shoulder to spot a conundrum of limbs and fallen dancers. “Oh my. Thankfully I did not entangle us in that.” Before he turned back to his dance partner, he realized he spotted his brother and sister in the foray, and shot Celestine a curious glance. He had no time to take in the rest of the participants, and frankly they were probably better off for it. (No doubt he would find some way to make fun of any of them later, should he recognize them.) “Shall we move further away, lest we be pulled into the storm?” He twirled them away, not desiring to be mentioned in Whistledown for anything other than his own exploits.


    Mentions: Solomon, Morgan, Celestine | Interactions: Scarlet | Tags: Bellz Bellz Pyroclast Pyroclast CapellaStargaze CapellaStargaze​


    coded by: @s e v e n​
    ​
 
10th of April, 1815
grand royal ballroom, Kew Palace

Lady Esmeralda Quijada-Hotham​
37f06f912afae2f911a5bf9df98b62a2.gif
Esmeralda found herself far more at ease with a drink in hand, though the reasons eluded her. Perhaps amidst the whirl of what seemed like a dream, the tangible presence of a favored libation grounded her. Her mother inquired if she felt up to conversing with a lady nearby, and Esmeralda simply nodded."Si, madre, go on." she replied with a smile, not wishing to intrude on her mother's enjoyment with her own anxieties. Esmeralda let the smile linger, honing the confident facade she often wore and feeling nearly complete in it.

Surveying the room, Esmeralda couldn't help but notice that everyone seemed to have found a companion. Were they all acquainted, or were there others like herself, adrift in this sea of faces? A voice spoke from behind, and Esmeralda turned, mid-sip, to find herself face to face with Euphemia, a woman of striking appearance whose smile radiated kindness. Esmeralda returned the smile into her glass as she lowered it from her lips. Though some of the words were difficult to discern over the hum of the crowd, it was clear the young woman was paying her a compliment. "Oh, muchas gracias, señorita!" Esmeralda exclaimed, before catching herself and realizing she should practice her English. Clearing her throat delicately, she continued, "Thank you, v-very much miss." her smile faltering ever so slightly."I feel like a princesa."

Esmeralda admired the woman's gown, marveling at its delicately sewn fabric. "Your dress is…" She paused, snapping her fingers together twice in thought, searching for the right word in English. "magnífica!" She relented, unable to find the word she was looking for. she finally settled, though still feeling she hadn't quite captured the essence. "Beautiful. I've never seen such fabric here. The others wear..." Esmeralda struggled, frustrated with her linguistic stumbling despite her efforts to practice among English speakers. "The fabric others wear is... how would you say? Dull?" A knowing smile graced her lips. "But not your gown."

"Mi nombre es — " The woman hesitated, catching herself before lapsing back into Spanish. With a sigh, she extended her hand, hoping for a handshake as she made another attempt. "My name is Esmeralda. I'm afraid I'm not accustomed to all these English traditions. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss—?" The introduction had been drilled into her by her maids, a necessary exercise to blend in seamlessly, at least for now. The lady before her appeared gentle enough to perhaps overlook her peculiarities. Esmeralda's grasp of the English language was progressing, albeit slowly. She grasped it adequately, thanks to her mother speaking it to her consistently over the past two years in an effort to immerse her in the language. Esmeralda prayed it would suffice to simply get through the evening, which was her sole objective. Normally, she possessed enough self-assurance to navigate such gatherings effortlessly, whether among the wealthy or otherwise. Yet, it was the unfamiliarity of conversing in a language she rarely practiced that threatened to unravel her composure. She abhorred appearing foolish, especially in such esteemed company.
with: Effie <3 Pyroclast Pyroclast
 
10th of April, 1815
grand royal ballroom, Kew Palace

Lady Helena Bexley​
ef3c69cbf3ffea59b9472c2ea4d75f0e.jpg
Helena expressed her gratitude with a gentle nod as Francis graciously pulled out a chair for her near the refreshment table. Though she endeavored to conceal the discomfort in her ankle, it was clear that any further dancing was out of the question for the evening. "Indeed, we must see to it that this is remedied, Frankie," Helena remarked with a twinkle in her eye, in response to them not often being in ones company. When Francis, with an unexpected fervor, labeled Augustus a fool for having let her go, Helena could not suppress a delicate laugh, for such forthright words were seldom heard from his lips. "Alas, it takes two to craft such folly," she sighed, her smile diminishing slightly as he gently lowered her into the chair.

Helena found herself quite taken aback by the sudden boldness of Francis, whose words seemed to echo the sentiments she had harbored in her heart these past three years. The slightest tension hung in the air, a subtle heaviness that Helena knew all too well, hinting that something between them had shifted. Yet she was certain that Frankie was entirely unaware of this delicate change, and she was certainly not the sort to act upon such a fleeting notion, especially with the brother of her dearest friend — a man to whom she had once been betrothed.

Blinking, Helena forced herself to avert her gaze from Frankie and instead focused on her ankle. "Well, I am both in your debt for rescuing me from the dance floor and for sparing me the ignominy of wandering about like a lost puppy this evening. If all I owe you is a dance, then I shall be more than happy to oblige at a later date, Francis." She accepted the glass of lemonade he offered, smiling sweetly though her eyes hesitated to meet his.
 Gathering her courage, Helena finally looked up and said, "Do not squander your evening with a wounded woman such as myself. Your dear mama would have my head were she to learn I kept you from the ton's finest. I assure you, I shall be quite alright here on my own and will seek assistance if I find it necessary to depart." With that, she made a gentle shooing motion, urging him to enjoy the festivities.

"Do not be a stranger now, Francis. Let it not be too long before we share the dance I owe you, else I truly might find myself an old maid," she quipped, her nose scrunching adorably as she laughed. After their goodbyes were exchanged, Helena watched Francis depart, then turned her gaze to the dance floor.
 Could she make a daring escape on her own, should fortune favor her? Yet, perhaps this was a sign. The Queen had once advised her that fleeing from one's troubles would only extend them and cause greater harm in the end. And here she was — quite literally harmed.


If Augustus wished to approach her, he could do so now, and she would find herself entirely at his mercy. Though the thought pained her, for there was a time when Helena had not merely loved but craved his company. They had once been so perfectly in sync, their courtship blossoming into an engagement, until reality cast its shadow upon their happiness.
A part of her still longed for his presence, even if it meant sitting together in silence. She yearned for his nearness. Yet, she knew it was wrong after all this time, following their so-called "mutual agreement" to end the engagement when neither could meet the other’s needs. Despite the hurt, Helena’s heart still ached for him. This was why she continued to write letter after letter, maintaining the illusion of normalcy even through their three years of separation.


Now, faced with the immediacy of the moment, she felt utterly out of control, entirely at his whim.

Taking a delicate sip from her lemonade, Helena winced as she carefully rotated her injured ankle. It was tender, but she was confident it was not broken. Regardless, any thoughts of making a swift escape were out of the question. She had spent the past three years running from her troubles, and now, whether she liked it or not, all she could do was sit and perhaps, for once, face them head-on.
Was with: (sent you on your way sir) Frankie, Francis, Sir Moves-a-lot CapellaStargaze CapellaStargaze
Mentions: Augustus Pyroclast Pyroclast (You got your time to move in if you want to)
 
10th of April, 1815
grand royal ballroom, Kew Palace (Dance Floor - Left Side)
🎶music change 🎶
Lady Celestine Davenport​
4962d2acfb89ea4a89ffdd7ff1eabb4e.gif
Celestine felt a shadow descend upon her spirits, her confidence ebbing away. Yet, in that very moment, Augustus bestowed upon her a word of endearment, calling her beautiful. Her eyes, previously downcast, flickered upwards to meet his as they gracefully maneuvered around one another. His words, assuring her that she had much to anticipate, infused her with a sense of hope, even if a part of her heart doubted their truth. As they circled each other once more, her gaze dropped again, weighed down by her uncertainties. But then, with a delicate yet determined touch, Augustus raised her chin with a gentle knuckle, compelling her to follow its upward direction.

"I do not believe anyone could find themselves discontented while dancing with you, my Lord," Celestine remarked, a shy smile gracing her lips. "Your wit and energy are most infectious, you know?" Her smile brightened further, mischief dancing in her eyes. "And perhaps I am a murderer, what then should you do?" The absurdity of her words brought a laugh to her lips, a giggle escaping despite her best efforts to maintain composure. Augustus's gaze was momentarily diverted, and Celestine followed his line of sight to see a commotion where people had fallen.

"Of course," Celestine said, understanding his silent wish to attend to his sister. She watched from a distance for a moment, before inching closer, drawn by concern and curiosity. She observed from a discreet distance, affording the Bloomingtons a semblance of privacy while remaining attentive should her assistance be required. When Francis aided Lady Helena in rising from the ground, Celestine watched the woman intently, a spark of recognition in her eyes.


Though she had been but a girl at the time, she recalled the fervent whispers that had rippled through the Ton regarding their relationship. Much like her own unfortunate failure to secure an engagement, Augustus and Helena had also faltered in fulfilling their betrothal. The entire affair had been nothing short of scandalous, a tale that had captivated society's attention.

Celestine recalled how nearly everyone in the Ton had shunned the Bloomington family for much of the off-season and well into the new season. Her own family, however, had remained steadfast in their loyalty. By the second season thereafter, a new scandal had eclipsed the previous debacle, rendering it seemingly forgotten. Yet, keen-eyed Celestine noticed subtle signs that things were far from unchanged. The absence of Lady Helena from subsequent seasons was a significant indication, at least to Celestine.

And now, three years later, she observed Lady Helena being helped off the dance floor by the second eldest Bloomington brother. Celestine pondered if Helena sought to erase the past with the passage of time. Though such matters were ostensibly none of her concern—unless, of course, they proved successful. Perhaps she, too, could vanish for three years and return once the Ton had ceased its incessant gossip. Yet, she doubted such a reprieve was possible so long as Whistledown wielded her pen.

From the corner of her eye, Celestine observed Morgan assisting Edmund and Amelia attending to Sophy. Then, Henry managed to catch her gaze, his look questioning. She could only return his look with equal incredulity—was he truly dancing with a Duchess? How on earth had he managed that? Celestine's shoulders lifted in a light shrug. Turning her attention back to the scene, she found Augustus standing quite alone. Biting her full bottom lip, Celestine glanced left and right before moving forward. It was evident that Lady Helena had not shared Augustus's enthusiasm upon their encounter. "Everything all right, my lord?" Celestine inquired softly as she approached him from behind. The music continued, seamlessly changing tunes as if nothing untoward had occurred, but Celestine paid it no heed as she moved to stand before Augustus.


Her eyes met his, a gaze perhaps more intimate than propriety allowed. She quickly shifted her glance to where his brother and Helena had gone, then returned her attention to Augustus with a gentle smile. "Perhaps you should speak with her? There will be plenty of room on my dance card before the night is through, should you wish to continue it later on, of course."
with: Augustus Pyroclast Pyroclast
mentions: Morgan/Francis CapellaStargaze CapellaStargaze ; Amelia neverbackdown neverbackdown ; Sophy SandraDeelightful SandraDeelightful ; Henry AnimeGenork AnimeGenork ; Edmund Pyroclast Pyroclast
 
LYDIA SINCLAIRE
Twitterpated
Kew Palace
Theodore AnimeGenork AnimeGenork
Dress Hair Jewelry
“I am just now realizing… I did not have the honor of learning your name before we began dancing. Please forgive me, I have been terribly rude so far this evening.”

Teddy’s voice caused a kaleidoscope of butterflies to flap their wings in her chest, and Lydia’s laugh trickled from her lips like the chiming of bells. “Not at all, you’ve been a perfect gentleman thus far.” she reassured him, hoping that this new thread of conversation might further sway his attention away from the turmoil to their left, where it seemed the fallen dancers were just beginning to recover themselves. “Lydia,” she finally introduced herself, deciding after a moment's hesitation to add her surname. “Lydia Sinclaire.”

The odds that Teddy recognized her family name were low, unless he was harboring some great affinity for politics and high society that she had yet to be made aware of. It was only then that she realized she had already mentioned she was the sister of a Marquess, and much to his credit, Theodore had not seemed dismayed in the slightest. While he may have been the first to cast doubt on himself, he did not seem the type to worry himself greatly with stature or titles, a trait that Lydia found quite refreshing if she were being honest.

“Theodore Willowby, I do believe you’re quite the natural at this.” she grinned, her voice hushed, as though she didn’t want any neighboring dancers to overhear. For someone who had been thrust into high society so late in life, Teddy seemed to be admirably holding his own. But as their dance progressed, she couldn’t help but feel foolish for how entranced she had become with her very first partner of the night, unable to conceal her girlish smile as they twirled about one another.

Her eyes once again landed on his as she studied his face, committing to memory the structure of his jawline, the subtle curl in his hair, the shifting hues of his irises. For the briefest of moments, Lydia allowed herself to dream of what a life with Teddy might be like. A quiet existence in the country where she could familiarize herself with Theodore's beloved cattle, perhaps find herself cozy beside the fireplace with a good book and a furry friend curled up in her lap. A simply life, with a kind husband. Would her mother ever approve of such a match? Of a marriage that did not propel them further up the social hierarchy?

A warm blush rose to her cheeks as she realized she very well might’ve been staring at Teddy for longer than was appropriate. She cleared her throat, fishing in her mind for some sort of excuse that would justify her prolonged gaze when her brows furrowed in disappointment. The music was coming to a close, the melody slowing and quieting until it finally ceased all together. Their dance was over, and her mother’s chirping voice in the back of her head reminded her that it was improper to dance with the same partner twice in one night.

Attempting to conceal her discouragement, Lydia curtsied ever so softly, and thanked Theodore for the dance, lingering perhaps a moment longer than she should’ve. “Promise you’ll find me at the next ball?” She cocked an eyebrow at him, a playful smile tugging at her lips. Although, before he could answer, the musicians had taken up their instruments once more. A new melody washed over the crowded ballroom as the next round of dancers began to take to the floor. With a final, forlorn smile she took her leave, knowing she could not stay any longer without tempting scandal.

As she made her way off the dance floor, her eyes scanned the bustling hall for her mother, or perhaps her brother, on the lookout for a splash of red hair amongst the sea of pastel fabrics. Unsuccessful in her search, she resigned to make her way towards the refreshment table, hoping a glass of lemonade might do well to satiate her nerves. The blush colored fabric of her gown glided gracefully behind her as she walked, passing servants and members of the ton alike and for a moment, she almost took comfort in her anonymity. When she was not burdened with her mother’s scrutinizing gaze or her brother's incessant tendency to draw attention to himself, it was almost easy for her to disappear into the crowd, just another pretty face on display for the masses.

That was, until the gut wrenching sound of tearing fabric cut through the air. The blood in her veins turned to ice as she turned behind her, trying to discern where the noise had come from, only to find that a servant carrying a tray of champagne was now pale with worry as he looked down at the floor. Following his gaze to the hem of her own dress, Lydia swallowed thickly. The servants shiny, black shoe still pinned the pink fabric of her gown to the floor, and upon closer inspection she could clearly see an evident tear along the back seam that cut its way up dangerously high.

Her dress was torn, in front of everyone. The sound of her own heartbeat pounded in her ears as she looked around, praying to any deity that would listen, hoping nobody had yet noticed her misfortune as the tried to concoct some sort of plan to get out of this unscathed. “I am so sorry miss… please, let me assist you.” The servant's voice shook with panic, almost as though he feared the mistake might cost him his livelihood as he still somehow managed to balance the tray of champagne in his right hand. “The fault is mine entirely. I was not watching where I was going, please do not worry yourself.” Lydia’s voice was so steady it surprised even herself as the gears in her mind starting turning overtime. She only had so much time before the situation began to draw the attention of unforgiving eyes.
coded by natasha.
 
10th of April, 1815
~ The Ballroom, Kew Palace ~

Lord Augustus Bloomington​

1719190697809.pngThough Helena’s voice was like music to his ears, her wavering smile dampened his spirits somewhat. His imagination was weak and after three years, his memory of her had grown hazy, so to see her face again, to hear her voice and have her attention on him, even if only for a moment, filled him with a bittersweet nostalgia. The last time the two had seen each other had been the summer after the fallout of their engagement. He had done his best to force himself to move on, to treat her as the friend he had always known before their affections blossomed into love, but as hard as he had tried to just enjoy her company for what it was, he had struggled to deny that his feelings still plagued him.

She told him he looked well, and made a joke about her having been tossed to the floor, which drew from him a fond chuckle. “You look as fine as ever, my lady,” he assured her. She didn’t seem quite so pleased to see him as he was to see her, and part of him preferred to believe it was because she was embarrassed about her fall. Before he could offer her a hand, his brother muscled in. Of course, as her dance partner, it was perfectly gentlemanly of Francis to tend to her. Augustus only gave him a sheepish nod when Francis explained that he would take care of her before resuming their dance. “Of course, brother,” Augustus replied, albeit somewhat stiffly.

He gave a polite smile when Helena met his eyes and assured him that they would catch up soon, but he found that it took some effort to maintain. As soon as her gaze fell away from him, so too did his smile. Had his brother simply not realised that he had not yet been made aware of her presence? Had he not thought to tell him? Or was he truly so dense that he thought nothing of it? Granted, the Viscount had made a great effort to reassure not only himself, but also his family and the ton that he had moved on from his feelings for Lady Helena. Perhaps Francis had just believed him.

As he watched the pair leave the dance floor, poor Helena with a slight limp, August lost himself in thought. It was only when Sophy piped up in her small voice that he snapped out of it and instead turned his attention onto her. She asked to be taken to the refreshments, and he was about to oblige before she went on to suggest that he take her home altogether. “Home?” he repeated, and moved to hold her shoulders at arm’s length so he could look her directly in the eyes. “Dear sister, I know such large social events can affect you, but you have not yet been here an hour! I really must insist you give this opportunity a chance.” He looked her over with a close eye, trying to spot any sign of ill health. A touch of anxiety may disappear on its own, but if she was to faint then he would feel responsible.

Augustus couldn’t be too disappointed when Sophy at last departed from his side in search of Amelia. She sought the comfort of her family, and he couldn’t blame her, not when she had overcome enough anxiety to accept a dance only for it to fall through in such a dramatic way. He watched her make her way over to their sister, at least glad that she was in safe hands. An odd feeling was forming in the pit of his stomach, one that he couldn’t quite place.

A welcome voice came into earshot and he turned to find Celestine standing before him. A broad smile came over him, accompanied by a wave of relief. “Lady Celestine,” he said through an exhale. “Do forgive me - I meant to return to you, but became distracted. Sophy has rather an anxious mind. I fear I shall be watching over her this whole season!” Despite the comforting presence his friend provided, his sense of unease remained. She responded to him not with words, but instead with a warm gaze. He noted her beauty: her sweet smile, her lustrous brunette waves that cascaded down her back, the touch of melancholy in her soulful eyes. Augustus’ smile all but faded, giving way to a more solemn expression. Her eyes appeared to be searching his, and he wondered if maybe the source of his unease was apparent to her, despite remaining in the dark himself.

Still trying to understand what was happening between them, August didn’t follow her gaze straight away when it shifted elsewhere. It was only when she suggested that he ought to speak to somebody that he looked over and saw who she meant. His hand moved to his stomach as he finally recognised the cause of the strange feeling developing inside him: it was Helena. He watched her and Francis converse in the distance before turning back to face Celestine. “My lady, I would be delighted to continue our dance,” he assured her, attempting to reflect her warmth in his smile. “But, please, do not speak so lowly of yourself. Your dance card should fill up in no time, and I should be lucky if I find you later with a space left on it for me.” August brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Enjoy the ball, Lady Celestine. Come speak to me any time you wish.” Still with her hand in his, he drew her in close with a mischievous grin on his face, and whispered into her ear, "And don't go committing any murders, will you?"

Now, there was nothing left but to make his way over to Helena. Upon first noticing her on the dance floor, he had been nothing but thrilled. Now, enough time had passed for reality to set in, and he had to acknowledge that it might take some time to work out how to be around each other again. By this point, Francis had gone on his way, and Helena was sitting alone - which was just as well, for Augustus wasn’t sure he was particularly happy with his brother.

“I do hope you were not hurt during that fall?” he asked her, as soon as he was close enough. He did not sit, instead choosing to stand nearby with his hands connecting neatly behind his back. Despite the discomfort swirling inside him, he couldn’t help but smile at her. “The Irish gentleman who fell into you - I’m sure I remember his father introducing him as a physician. If I can find him, I’m sure he would be willing to tend to any injuries you may have sustained.”

Interactions
Bellz Bellz Celestine, Helena
SandraDeelightful SandraDeelightful Sophy
CapellaStargaze CapellaStargaze Francis (mentioned)
 
WESTON SINCLAIRE
MARQUESS OF WINCHESTER
Mildly Entertained
Kew Palace
Mama Bloom Bellz Bellz and Tilly AnimeGenork AnimeGenork
Click Me
"Are you enjoying the party? I know my own sons find such festivities rather taxing, yet there they are on the dance floor…even if they are causing quite a ruckus,"

Weston’s eyes moved to follow Victoria’s gaze towards the dance floor, and while he was able to make out the figures of a few who had been caught in the midst of what appeared to be quite the tumble, he was unable to pick out which of the women among them were the Viscountess’ daughters. When the elder woman asked if he was enjoying the party, he searched for the right words to answer her, pausing momentarily.

“My younger sister used to make me dance her around the study balanced on my toes. It was quite the chore then… though I’m starting to warm up to it.” he grinned wryly before turning his attention to Matilda, whom Victoria had expressed held quite a fondness for dancing. When Matilda confirmed the notion, he couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow at her, the faintest hint of mischief glimmering in his eyes as he folded his arms over his chest.

“A regular ballerina in our midst and they’ve made you sit out on all the fun?” he tsked a few times, shaking his head in disappointment. “No, it simply will not do. Miss Bloomington, with your mother’s permission of course, you absolutely must give me the honor of your first dance. A dress rehearsal if you will, for when you finally show society what we’ve been missing.” Weston extended a hand towards Matilda with a playful smile, though was careful to keep his distance in case Victoria should decide it was improper for her youngest to take to the floor just yet.
coded by natasha.
 



Francis Bloomington


































Francis gave Helena a small smile before giving her a small bow. He was glad for this time he had with her tonight even if it was cut a little short.



“I do hope we can catch up more soon.” He straightened up, hoping they truly did. He wasn’t sure where his brother’s head was at when it came to Helena but that would be something August would have to figure out on his own.



Francis turned away to leave just in time to see a servant rip a young ladies dress. She looked mortified at how high the rip was and the servant seemed remorseful. He noted how even in her distress, she stayed kind and it was all he needed to hop in to save her from anyone else noticing.



Francis walked to the girl and gave her a small reassuring smile. He held his arm out and glanced around the room.



“Why don’t we get you out of here before this wardrobe malfunction is the talk of The Ton. What do you say?”



Francis looked past her to see his mother conversing with another woman and a man that had to be around his age. Surely his mother wouldn’t mind him pulling her away to chaperone. “I promise we will have a chaperone and we can find something to cover that rip in your dress.”






























girls like you



VSQ










♡coded by uxie♡
 

  • Theodore Willowby

    Teddy was going to have to figure out a way to cover up his embarrassing social blunder. Seriously, why couldn’t his stepfather have given him some more decorum lessons before throwing him to the stampede? Not that the lady in front of her seemed offended by his breach of convention, introducing herself as Lydia Sinclaire. Frankly, Teddy wouldn’t have recognized the name even if his stepfather had caught him up on everyone. He’d heard there was a system the young ladies had to learn the names of the ton members—why couldn’t he be afforded the same thing?

    Of course, as soon as he told his parents who he had danced with, they would probably be reacting differently than he. He was in for some sort of lecture later.

    “You flatter me, Miss Sinclaire.” Or was it Lady? Dear God. Why was this so difficult? “I’m sure you will be able to find much more suitable partners for dancing than I. As I mentioned before, I require more practice.” At least he wasn’t still talking about cows.

    Preoccupied as he was with making sure he did not step on Lydia or anyone else’s feet, Teddy barely noticed the lull in their conversation. He was too afraid to look her in the eye for longer than was polite. Or at all, really. Although he was theoretically supposed to be charming every lady he came across, he was fairly sure he had no chance at his current state, no matter how kind this first young lady was.

    Hearing the sound of her clearing her throat, Teddy looked up, his head tilting slightly as he waited. Then he realized the music was winding down, and he slowed his dancing until they came to a stop. Huh. That had been relatively quick, even despite the disaster that had occurred minutes before. A shame that he would now be free to not dance. Truly.

    Teddy bowed low in response to Lydia’s curtsy. She asked him to promise to find her at the next ball, and he opened his mouth dumbly, unsure how to respond. The music responded for him, leaving him speechless at the edge of the dancefloor as she moved away. His mouth snapped shut. Was she just being polite, or was that sincere?

    He couldn’t honestly remember when he made his way outside, only that suddenly he was breathing in the night air. Sitting heavily down on the steps, Teddy let himself melt. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he let out a heavy breath. Thank God that was all over. Until next time, that was. But at least now, he had done something, as his parents wanted. Now he was free to sulk and miss his cows. A farm boy’s dream.


    Mentions: N/A | Interactions: Lydia | Tags: WanderLust. WanderLust. (ended)​


    coded by: @s e v e n​
    ​
 
10th of April, 1815
grand royal ballroom, Kew Palace

Lady Helena Bexley​
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The floor was not vacant for long following their brief encounter, as a resplendent array of colored skirts, resembling a field of blossoms swaying in a gentle spring breeze, moved in harmony with the next melody — a quadrille, more languid than the previous tune. Despite her slight pain, Helena's face remained adorned with a smile. It was truly enchanting to behold a gathering of people united for such a delightful activity. For a fleeting moment, her thoughts were liberated from the looming concerns and she found herself, in spirit, on the dance floor once more, where she had reveled only moments earlier — a place she genuinely cherished. Or at least she had cherished it once, in a simpler time of her life.

The reprieve from her anxiety was but fleeting, as the voice that haunted her most nights spoke with such gentle grace that, had she not already been seated, it might have rendered her weak at the knees. Foolish, indeed. Helena drew a measured breath, affording herself a moment to gather her composure before turning to greet August with a soft grin. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of his smile, though Helena swiftly endeavored to regain her poise. She observed that he did not attempt to sit, choosing instead to stand close by with his hands elegantly clasped behind his back.

The peculiar sensation in her chest signified a slight hurt, but what right had she to feel thus? She must keep her wits about her. August and she were naught but friends...or perhaps not even that, once this next season concluded. Helena had confided in Frankie that their dynamic had shifted, evidence of her resolve to shield her heart. It was truly vexing to endure another season witnessing Victoria orchestrate match after match for August with numerous young ladies. And yet, here she was, ready to subject herself to the same torment once more.

"It is quite alright, Viscount. I can assure you," Helena intoned, shifting to rotate her ankle lightly beneath her dress, her shoe peeking through ever so slightly. Despite her best efforts, the pain was evident in her features, yet she shrugged nonetheless. "You needn’t worry about me." She met his gaze, hoping he could perceive the sincerity in her words. A slightly awkward pause ensued, threatening to engulf her entirely, prompting Helena to swiftly change the subject.

"Besides, one cannot fault that gentleman for my own lack of grace. Have I ever been the epitome of elegance?" Helena laughed, shaking her head in amusement. "Do you recall the incident with your mother’s apple tree? I spent an entire summer nursing a broken wrist, all in a determined quest for the largest apple. I can still picture her stern gaze in the drawing room as she questioned what on earth possessed me. And you, dear August, nearly choked on your tea when I candidly confessed that I hadn't been thinking at all." She sighed wistfully at the memory, then turned her gaze upon August, their eyes meeting in a moment of shared recollection.

She had all but forgotten the astonishing azure of his eyes, or the manner in which his hair cascaded in those exquisite waves. Indeed, she had ardently endeavored to erase these memories, tirelessly occupying herself with such a futile purpose. Yet, all efforts were in vain.


This very moment had illuminated the undeniable truth: there was no conceivable way that anyone in their right mind could ever forget Augustus Bloomington.

"I must apologize for my brusqueness on the dance floor," she breathed, averting her gaze from him to the dancers twirling nearby. "It has been quite some time since we last saw each other and..." Helena bit the inside of her cheek, lost in contemplation. Gathering her courage, she dared to glance back at Augustus, her brown eyes softening. "It is a relief to see you well. Letters, even those exchanged with the utmost frequency, can sometimes prove insufficient reassurance." Helena's chest tightened with the weight of her emotions. In the quiet confines of her chambers, those missives had become her tether, clutching them close in moments of profound solitude. With her dear parents lost to the embrace of eternity, Austria held no kin for her anymore. Her adored grandparents, though cherished beyond measure, bore the frailty of the mortal coil.

August and the Bloomingtons had woven themselves into her heart as dearly as blood, their presence a solace amidst the tempest of her fears. The mere notion of peril striking any of them in her absence wrought an ache of anxious apprehension within her, most of all for him. Beholding him now, it was as if a figment from a reverie had manifested before her eyes—a vision teetering precariously on the brink of nightmare should Helena fail to withdraw from the man she had once loved, and yet found herself still capable of loving. Aware of her sudden emotion, she lightly cleared her throat. "I do hope you've managed to stay out of trouble without my presence to keep you in line?" Her tone was as light as it could be, teasing him once more.
with: August Pyroclast Pyroclast
 



Morgan Davenport



































Morgan watched as Edmund left with his father, a familiar look on Edmund’s face reminded him of himself when it came to his own father. Morgan composed himself quickly to ignore the feeling to go after him. What would people think anyway? He took a long breath before looking around the room. The chaos had started to dissipate and he took that queue to make his way off the dance floor. Most people would have went for a drink in this situation but he just grabbed a lemonade and tried to push his thoughts out of his head. The thoughts that went to the man that caused the whole fiasco. Was he alright? Was Edmund’s father like Morgan’s? He took a sip of the tangy liquid to clear his thoughts. He was supposed to be finding someone to court, not thinking about the clumsy and handsome newcomer of the Ton.



Morgan looked around the room, spotting some of his siblings milling about the room. He knew better than to think they were having an unblemished night but that’s just the weight you carried around as a Davenport. He knew they probably all had heavy secrets and he just hoped they were less self destructing than his own. He took another look around and spotted Amelia. She was definitely someone who would please his parents and he did enjoy her company. He just hated the idea of never being able to be truly honest not with anyone.



Before he could completely drown in his self loathing, he watched Edmund come back through the ballroom, only to disappear out the garden door moments later. Morgan sighed before putting down his glass and quietly following the same path. When he walked outside, the welcoming cool air moved his hair as he scanned the garden. He didn’t see any sight of Edmund but Morgan got curious as his eyes landed on the maze. He stepped forward and entered to see if his hunch was correct.



Morgan silently walked through the maze for a moment before seeing a shadow of a man in a corner of the maze. He approached slowly, hoping it was the man he was looking for and not someone else. What was he truly doing anyway? Why did Morgan care so much? He couldn’t really answer those questions and proceeded to walk closer until Edmund was clearer to see.



“Are you alright?” Morgan asked, his tone etched in worry. He stood with a good few feet of distance between him, not wanting his own feelings to muddle whatever this was. It wasn’t likely that this man he met minutes ago even shared the same secrets as Morgan and yet, here Morgan was in a maze checking up on a stranger.

































Bad Guy



VSQ










♡coded by uxie♡
 
10th of April, 1815
~ Kew Palace, The Maze ~

Lord Edmund Hennessy​

1b14e4bf728385547497b419b151c549.gifOnly after turning a few corners in the maze did Edmund begin to feel better. He had no intention of losing his way, but being out of sight from the rest of the party guests gave him the time he needed to ground himself. If his father were to find him there, Edmund was sure the man would hit him again, but the risk was worth it just to have some time alone and recompose himself. Nobody else would come looking for him, he was sure of that, and if he did hear anybody enter the maze then he could always move deeper inside. He loosened his cravat, closed his eyes and took some deep, controlled breaths. The cool evening air soothed him and soon his heartbeat had slowed to a regular pace and the lump in his throat dissolved.

Edmund had spent his whole life trying to get along with his parents purely in order to maintain peace within the family. It helped to distance himself as much as he felt he could get away with. The way they had treated their disabled son, Edmund’s favourite brother and best friend, was, in his opinion, totally inhumane. They never saw him as a person, but as a hindrance, an animal who needed to be locked away and never spoken about. To them, Benjamin amounted to nothing more than his disabilities. They didn’t know anything about him. But Edmund knew him. He knew that his favourite colour was green, that he loved flowers, ducks and giving hugs. He knew that putting on shadow puppet shows was a surefire way to make him laugh, and that he was fascinated by unusual coins. And he knew that, any time his parents were particularly insufferable, Edmund could go to his brother and escape into a world of love and laughter.

That world didn’t exist anymore. Benjamin was dead, and Edmund was standing alone in a dark maze. At least it was peaceful. Quiet.

Until suddenly, a voice penetrated the silence. Edmund jumped, startled by the close proximity from which the voice came. How had he not heard the approaching footsteps? He quickly darted around another corner, but stopped short, realising that running through a maze in the dark would almost certainly get him lost. Tucking himself into a dead end, only separated from the man by the width of the tall hedge, Edmund decided he would have to respond. “Yes, I'm alright,” he said in a clear voice, instantly cringing at himself. He only hoped his father's hand hadn't left a visible mark on his cheek. A silence fell between them, yet he could just about see through the hedge that the man was still there, as if waiting for him. It was the Davenport boy. With slow, tentative steps, Edmund crept around the hedge until the two men were standing face to face, a few feet apart from one another. Had he…come looking for him?

“It's a lovely evening,” he said awkwardly. “I was only…coming out to view the stars. Except, it's too early to see them, of course, so…” His voice trailed off. Everything he said sounded stupid. He grew suddenly aware of how unkempt he must look with his cravat undone, and reached a hand up to his neck to hide it. He looked away, searching for something else to focus on. But he could feel the man's magnetic gaze on him, drawing him back in, and Edmund found himself giving into him all too soon. Those dangerous blue eyes, glimmering in the low light.

“Did -” he cleared his throat. “Did you decide to leave the party, too? It was quite warm in there, I thought. Sometimes…sometimes you just have to get away from it all."

Interactions
CapellaStargaze CapellaStargaze Morgan
 
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Morgan Davenport



































Morgan watched as Edmund tried to hide in the shadows at first. Maybe he should’ve waited to come out here. Still, he waited until he got a reply in return, the man pushing out of the shadows. Morgan watched as the gap between them grew shorter than before. He could feel his pulse quicken but he shoved that feeling down, looking at Edmund. He was slightly shorter than Morgan but his shoulders were broader, his disheveled appearance more of a plus than a negative.



Edmund’s quick comment about the stars have Morgan looking at the sky for a moment before casting his gaze back to where it was before. He gazed at the hand that tried to hide his cravat. Morgan was too focused on his hand for a moment and then his face, that it almost startled him when he gazed back. His deep eyes felt like they reached Morgan’s soul. He was almost entranced before Edmund clearing his throat made Morgan avert his gaze to maze around them.



He let out a breathless laugh at Edmund’s question. He did leave the party but it was only to chase some fantasy and make sure the stranger he met was alright.



“I know the feeling all too well well about these parties being a bit much but I like to think I’ll act like it doesn’t bother me and one day, maybe that’ll come true.” He sighed and glanced back in Edmund’s direction, a wall of Morgan’s falling down as they met gazes again.



“We have all these rules and expectations that society has set, that our parents have set for us and yet they forget how suffocating it can become.”

































Bad Guy



VSQ










♡coded by uxie♡
 
10th of April, 1815
grand royal ballroom, Kew Palace (Outlines of Dancefloor)

Lady Victoria Bloomington​
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Victoria arched an elegant brow at Matilda's audacious introduction. Though she remained silent, her heart swelled with pride. The Ton, with its façade of propriety and occasional hints of frailty, often struck Victoria as a den of serpents. In her youth, she had learned the necessity of becoming a serpent herself when the occasion demanded it. Her parents had loathed this approach, yet it had secured her a fortuitous match. Observing her youngest daughter, she recognized that same indomitable spirit and felt a surge of maternal pride. All her teachings would soon bear fruit as Matilda prepared to join her sisters in society.


When Weston sought her permission to escort Matilda to the dance floor, Victoria scarcely gave a thought to the potential whispers of those around them. She knew that Tilly had longed for her moment in the spotlight, and though her past antics had ranged from the scandalous to the merely notable, Victoria understood her daughter better than most.


"I do not see why that would be a problem. Though be warned, Marquess. It is not my sons you will need to worry about should my daughter find your company lacking," she declared. Despite the veiled warning, Victoria's smile remained as warm as ever, her eyes gleaming brightly though they carried a distant, unmistakable caution.

From the corner of her eye, it was then that she observed Francis approaching with a young lady. "It would appear that my son requires my attention for a moment. Lady Sinclaire, if you would be so kind as to keep an eye on my daughter in my absence," she requested.


She concealed the handful Matilda could be, simply smiling at her daughter and saying, "I trust that you will be well, yes? Enjoy yourself."
With that, she excused herself gracefully and glided over to Francis and Lydia, her smile now softening as it reached her eyes. "Apologies, my dear. I was merely ensuring the Marquess was aware of what he was getting into, both with Matilda and with myself, should anything go amiss."


"Are you both in need of a chaperone?" she inquired, her tone friendly and uplifting, devoid of any threat, as she looked at Lydia with a glimmer of hope. She noticed the tear but chose to say nothing, not wishing to draw attention to it for the woman’s sake.
with: Francis CapellaStargaze CapellaStargaze ; Lydia WanderLust. WanderLust.
was with: Matilda AnimeGenork AnimeGenork ; Weston WanderLust. WanderLust.
 

  • Matilda Bloomington

    Oh, this gentleman was a riot. Matilda chuckled lightly, her smile losing its dangerous edge but not faltering in the slightest. “A ballerina I am not, though I’m sure I would impress anyone who witnessed my dancing. I learned directly from Mama. “ It was Matilda’s turn to raise an eyebrow at the young man’s—Weston, if she had heard correctly—suggestion. How audacious, positively scandalous! Which meant, of course, that Matilda adored the notion.

    She turned her gaze briefly to her mother, awaiting her approval, which she gave in spades and change. Matilda’s smile morphed into a smirk at the veiled threat in her mother’s words, her heart swelling with love for her dear parent, as she curtsied to the marquess. “I would be delighted to dance with you, Marquess Sinclaire. Let them all be dazzled by my dancing.”

    Taking his hand, Matilda approached the dancefloor, noting that the commotion from earlier seemed to have dispersed. She would have to interrogate her brothers and sisters later for the details, or perhaps Lady Whistledown would do her a favor and recount it blow for blow in her column tomorrow. Oh, how she was looking forward to it.

    There were stares, of course, some catching the heightened hem of her dress. Matilda ignored them all, turning instead to her unexpected dance partner. She had to tamp down the roiling chaos within her, but some of it slipped out despite herself. “You mentioned your sister balancing on your toes, perhaps I should do the same? I might be a tad harder to balance, considering my age, but it would be amusing, would it not?”

    Ah, but that would hardly show off her skills, now, would it? “I jest, of course, considering our reason for dancing. Thank you for offering this dress rehearsal of sorts. It was dreadfully boring sticking to the wall. I do hope you’ll offer again when I am officially out.” At least she would be able to skip the introduction then. The worst part of interactions in this society.

    “And how are you finding London this season?” she asked, moving the conversation along as fluidly as the dance. It would not do to show her hand too soon. Let her save her flirting for a more opportune moment.


    Mentions: The Other Bloomingtons | Interactions: Victoria (formerly), Weston | Tags: Bellz Bellz WanderLust. WanderLust.​


    coded by: @s e v e n​
    ​
 
WESTON SINCLAIRE
MARQUESS OF WINCHESTER
Mildly Entertained
Kew Palace
Mama Bloom Bellz Bellz and Tilly AnimeGenork AnimeGenork
Click Me
"I do not see why that would be a problem. Though be warned, Marquess. It is not my sons you will need to worry about should my daughter find your company lacking,"

Victoria Bloomington’s thinly veiled warning was enough to pique Weston’s interest, a devil-may-care smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he extended a hand towards Matilda. “I assure you, Lady Bloomington, I shall relish the challenge. It is not every day one’s conviction is evaluated by such formidable judges of character.” Weston bowed his head politely in farewell to the dowager viscountess before leading Matilda out to the dance floor, largely unphased by the lingering glances they received as members of the ton began to realize the hem of his partner’s dress did not quite brush the floor yet.

“You mentioned your sister balancing on your toes, perhaps I should do the same? I might be a tad harder to balance, considering my age, but it would be amusing, would it not?”

Matilda’s comment elicited a wry chuckle from Weston, who was exceedingly careful to place his hand on her waist just so, no higher or lower than was appropriate. He knew it wasn’t common practice for a bachelor to take to the floor with a young lady who was not yet out in society, but despite his mother’s obsession with proper society, Weston found he cared very little for the opinions of those who would come to such assumptions. The reality was he simply enjoyed Tilly’s company, and was happy to partake in a dance with the young lady if it gave her the opportunity to blossom on the dancefloor instead of wilting on the wall.

“I fear those lovely shoes of yours might complicate such a balancing act.” Of course, he knew Tilly had been making the comment in good fun, but he didn’t let that dissuade him. “Besides, you’re a much better dancer than Lydia,” he grinned. “She would’ve stepped on my toes at least thrice by now. You seem to be excelling without such accommodations, Miss Bloomington.” He raised his hand gently to turn Matilda underneath, and as their dance progressed he had to admit he was quite impressed with the young lady’s proficiency in the steps. Surely she must’ve practiced with her own brothers in the same way Weston had rehearsed with Lydia.

“I jest, of course, considering our reason for dancing. Thank you for offering this dress rehearsal of sorts. It was dreadfully boring sticking to the wall. I do hope you’ll offer again when I am officially out.”

“Yes, I believe I would quite enjoy the opportunity to dance with you again when the eyes of the ton are less… scrutinizing. Though I doubt you’ll be in any short supply of similar requests. I suppose I’ll just have to get in line with the rest of them.” His eyes drifted towards the edge of the dance floor, where his mother was keenly observing his dance with the youngest Bloomington daughter. It was no secret that she was less than enthused by his choice of partner, if only because she was not yet an eligible bride. A waste of time, Odette would declare, to entertain a dance with a flower that had not yet bloomed, regardless of her family’s impeccable social standing. But Weston was no stranger to disappointing the dowager marchioness.
coded by natasha.
 
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Sophy Bloomington​

“I am well, I think,” Sophy said, her cheeks still burning red. She smiled in thanks as she took the glass of lemonade from Amelia.

She thought about Amelia’s question for a moment. Did she enjoy it? The image of Lord Hennessy falling to the floor and knocking poor Lady Helena down as well was replaying in her mind. She tried to push it down as she thought to the moments before the accident. There seemed to be a mutual understanding of the awkwardness between them, dancing with someone who they knew nothing about, apart from a name.

“It was…” Sophy trailed off, trying to think of how exactly she felt after dancing with Lord Hennessey. She didn’t dislike her time with him, until their accident at the end. “It was nice, I suppose, while it lasted. Lord Hennessy was indeed charming, but there doesn’t seem to be interest in me, apart from that dance,” Sophy confided in her sister. She thought for a moment, before she continued. “If he were to call on me, I would not refuse him. But I do not expect him to. He was only doing it because his father pushed him to.”

She did not hold a grudge against Lord Hennessy for dancing with her on his father’s orders. And she could not blame him for following his father’s orders. From their brief interaction–though it was hardly an interaction when he had spoken to Augustus and only referred to her–he seemed to be a rather domineering individual.

Sophy took a sip of her lemonade, and a small smile crossed her face as she turned to Amelia. “I’m proud of myself, I think. I danced, which is more than I was expecting.” Amelia was, perhaps, the person in her family she trusted most.

She was proud of herself, she decided. She had been terrified to dance with anyone, at all. It had gone terribly, yes, and she was still embarrassed, but she didn’t run from the room in fear, not stopping until she reached home. But she hadn’t, and in her mind, that was a victory. A small one, yes, but a victory nonetheless. She doubted that things could go worse throughout the rest of the season. Or, at least, she hoped.

“But what of you?” Amelia asked, an eager undertone in her soft voice. She knew her sister would have no trouble finding a match. “You and Lord Morgan looked to be having a grand time? I’m sorry it ended so abruptly.”
 
10th of April, 1815
~ Kew Palace, The Maze ~

Lord Edmund Hennessy​

1b14e4bf728385547497b419b151c549.gifEdmund’s own words were purposefully deceptive, chosen to disguise the truth of why he had really gone outside and into the maze. He couldn’t face the rest of the ton after his blunder on the dancefloor, nor could he have risked anyone seeing him cry after the altercation with his father that had brought his grief for Benjamin to the surface. He hadn’t expected to be confronted so soon, so to have this man stand before him and ask if he was alright as though he could tell that he wasn’t, it was all Edmund could do to lie through his teeth.

The Davenport son gave a soft laugh when Edmund reflected his question back onto him, asking if he had decided to leave the party, too. While Edmund was still on the defense, the gentle, delicate sound of the man’s laughter brought a coy smile to his face. He was finding him to be a whole lot of surprises at once: he hadn’t expected to be so distracted by someone to the point of crashing to the ground in the middle of a dance; he hadn’t expected him to help him to his feet; he hadn’t expected him to follow him into the maze, nor to show such concern. And now, the man surprised him yet again by confessing that he found such extravagant parties and the rules and expectations of society to be suffocating.

Edmund’s eyes widened. “Yes!” he cried, and dropped his hand, exposing his unfastened cravat. “You know, I don’t think I have ever met anyone else who feels that way. I always thought I was alone in that opinion.” He stepped towards the hedge and began toying with the leaves, his smile coy once again. “These balls are beautiful to be sure, but they are designed for a certain genre of society, and though I may be of noble blood, I do not believe I truly fit into that genre.” He looked at the handsome stranger again. “Perhaps you feel the same…?”

Somehow, Edmund cared less about his disheveled appearance, now. He got the feeling that this person didn’t care as much as other people might. He stepped towards him and offered a hand, much like the way the man had done for him back on the dancefloor.

“My name is Edmund,” he said with a shy smile. “Edmund Hennessy.”

Interactions
CapellaStargaze CapellaStargaze Morgan


Lord Morgan Davenport​

7f78226552d7dc30fcd448ef14180bea.gifMorgan was taken aback by his statement but not in a negative way. This was the first time he heard someone say out loud their views on society, views that matched his. He could fake fitting in all he wanted but he never would truly fit. Edmund seemed to get that.

“I do agree. I may act like I fit in here but I do that to please my mother. My elder brother kind of frolics about and does what he wants. Someone has to keep up appearances. Guess that duty fell to me.”

Morgan couldn’t believe how easy it was to open up to a man he barely knew. He didn’t just bypass Morgan’s walls, he bulldozed them down. He didn’t know how to feel about it. He was in awe of the man in front of him, in appearance and mind. He knew he had a duty to uphold to his family and while he played the part for most of the night, this was definitely not in the cards.

When Edmund gave his name, Morgan couldn’t help the small smile that formed on his face.

“I’m Morgan Davenport.”
 
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- 11th of April, 1815 (The Next Day) - ​

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Dearest gentle reader,
As the sun rises over the Ton, a fresh wave of gossip and intrigue graces our elegant society. The Queen’s ball was no exception, humming with excitement and, oddly enough, chatter about cows. One must ponder why such pastoral musings surfaced at such a refined event. Could it be that our Ton mirrors cattle in their herd-like tendencies? When one strays, do the rest inevitably follow?

The most riveting moments of the evening occurred beyond the dance floor. Lady Celestine Davenport, in a display of uncommon bravery, defended a member of the Bloomington family against a Lord’s unwarranted remarks. Boldness, often admired only in daring fashion choices, found a new champion. This author commends Lady Davenport for her gallant spirit in a society that pits women against each other far too often.

Unlikely pairs graced the dance floor, perhaps inspired by the Queen’s own encouragement. Lord Morgan Davenport and Lady Amelia Bloomington made a striking couple, gliding gracefully and drawing admiring glances. Lady Sophy Bloomington and Lord Edmund Hennessy looked equally splendid until an unfortunate spill curtailed their moment.


A rake and a Duchess? It sounds like a tale turned upside down. 
Yet, it was true. Lord Henry Davenport, known for his rakish ways, was seen dancing tamely with the Duchess of Bedford. Remarkably, he was not the one causing a scene, though he returned to form later, more inebriated than most, save for his father.

The most curious encounter involved the once-betrothed Viscount Bloomington and Lady Helena Bexley. Their discomfort was palpable, yet they persisted in their awkward interaction. The scandal of their broken engagement lingers in our minds. One wonders why they continue this painful charade—has their love vanished, or is it simmering beneath the surface, rendering their former friendship unattainable?
This strange engagement only followed Lord Francis Bloomington’s gallant act of assisting Lady Bexley off the dance floor after Lord Hennessy’s clumsy interruption. And again, Lord Francis proved himself a hero by aiding Lady Lydia Sinclaire.

In a society where gentlemen rarely help a lady without expectation, Lord Francis stands out—a rare diamond indeed. We have been so dazzled by Viscount Bloomington that we may have overlooked his quietly noble younger brother. While the Viscount may be an eligible bachelor, Francis shines brightly without seeking an audience. We are fortunate to witness his understated splendor this season.

Queen Charlotte may believe she holds the power to bestow the coveted title of Diamond of the First Water now that I gave it to her, but this author contends that such a title still requires more than mere outward glitter and glow. I eagerly await the next move of this new dazzling diamond.

Your move, Your Majesty.

Yours truly, Lady Whistledown
​














Queen Charlotte



T

he double doors burst open, shattering the tranquility that had enveloped the large sunroom of the palace. "What is the meaning of this?!" the Queen demanded, her voice tinged with irritation as her Pomeranians barked incessantly, further fraying her already strained nerves. A footman entered, bearing a silver tray with a paper that could only be one thing. The Queen’s eyes widened. She set down her teacup and plate and gently moved her dog off her lap. The footman bowed, presenting the tray to her, and the Queen snatched the latest Whistledown column from him. After the ladies' debut and the party last night, she was no closer to procuring her diamond—at least not yet—providing the perfect fodder for that infernal writer to mock her.

As she read, her hands clenched the paper until her knuckles turned white. The more she absorbed, the hotter her anger simmered beneath the surface. It was true that Lady Whistledown had dubbed someone the season's first diamond, but this—this was another matter entirely. Sensing someone approach from behind, she glanced over to see Brimsley standing closer, a mixture of concern and curiosity on his face. "Step back, Brimsley," she warned, and her loyal aide obediently retreated. It was evident someone had managed to slip him a copy of the paper, judging by the shuffling behind her. Yet she remained fixated on the venomous words staining the page. …While Queen Charlotte may believe she holds the power to bestow the coveted title of Diamond of the First Water, this author contends that such a title requires more than mere outward glitter and glow…Your Move, Your Highness.

The column ended with a challenge, a direct invitation for her to join this little game of Whistledown's—was it hers, or his? "Brimsley!" The Queen's voice cut through the air, reverberating off the sunroom walls. Her right-hand man swiftly moved from his position five paces behind her to stand directly five paces in front. "Yes, Your Highness," he responded promptly.

"The Bloomington family... what do you think they stand to gain from such a radical move?" The Queen pondered aloud, her mind racing. "They are a well-established family, Your Highness," Brimsley replied, but Queen Charlotte merely pursed her lips. "Well-established, yes, but their reputation has been... questionable at best, hasn't it?" she questioned, and he nodded in agreement without hesitation.

"Arrange a meeting with Whistledown’s diamond, Francis, and his mother. I wish to understand the nature of this situation. If I am to name my own diamond, I must know his vulnerabilities. I want to ascertain if, perhaps, someone within their family is orchestrating this little... game," she declared. Brimsley smirked at the Queen's words. "A brilliant idea, Your Highness," he acknowledged. The Queen smiled briefly at him before gesturing for him to leave, picking up her tea once more and scrutinizing the paper with a fading smile.







MOOD

On the Hunt



OUTFIT

x






LOCATION

Kew Palace




TAGS: Everyone Everyone boiii












coded by xayah.ღ

Pyroclast Pyroclast CapellaStargaze CapellaStargaze AnimeGenork AnimeGenork SandraDeelightful SandraDeelightful WanderLust. WanderLust. Jesster Jesster sprouhtt sprouhtt neverbackdown neverbackdown
~ End of Chapter ~​
 
Self Deception Regular

Screenshot 2024-06-29 at 1.06.00 PM.png
Full Active Cast: Pyroclast Pyroclast CapellaStargaze CapellaStargaze AnimeGenork AnimeGenork SandraDeelightful SandraDeelightful WanderLust. WanderLust. sprouhtt sprouhtt neverbackdown neverbackdown

The Races: The Windsor Athletic Club - weather: slight chill, cloudy.
Promenading: Primrose Hill - weather: slight chill, cloudy.
- 18th of April, 1815 (8 days later)- ​















  • Celestine Davenport



    S
    pring had indeed arrived, yet the lingering chill and brooding clouds painted a less inviting picture, one that left Celestine apprehensive about the day's turn. Despite her yearning to remain at home, nestled by the fire with a beloved novel, familial insistence had dragged her to the races. Wrapped snugly in her Spencer jacket, Celestine trailed reluctantly after Henry and her father, the latter's company far from her preference. The race day bustled with a dense crowd, oblivious to the threat of imminent rain that Celestine monitored anxiously, clutching her umbrella with dutiful resolve.
    After her father callously abandoned them to indulge in drink and reckless gambling, squandering what little remained of their dwindling finances on some ill-fated horse, Celestine quietly followed her brother's lead. Reflecting on Lady Whistledown's recent column, which had lauded her conversational skills, Celestine chose prudence over verbosity for the time being. Surprisingly, the column had been overwhelmingly positive, hinting at a promising season ahead. Yet, she couldn't shake the suspicion that Lady Whistledown might be exercising early-season benevolence.

    Augustus, the elusive figure from that memorable night, failed to materialize by evening's end, leaving Celestine's dance card predictably vacant. Unsurprised by this outcome, she harbored a faint hope of encountering the Viscount once more, relishing the thought of sharing another genuine smile. Despite any romantic prospects, she found comfort in his company.

    Once settled in the stands with her brother, Celestine made no protest as Henry reached for a drink. Though she found his self-destructive tendencies concerning, she recognized her place as the younger sibling and respected his autonomy, recalling his care during her illness with gratitude. If she were granted the freedoms of a man, she reasoned, she would expect the same latitude. Today, however, she hoped her presence wouldn't burden him as it did others.

    Turning to Henry with a gentle smile, Celestine proposed, "How about a bit of friendly competition, Hen?" Her brown eyes gleamed mischievously as she nodded discreetly towards their father. "Instead of wagering on the horses, let's bet on Father. I wager he'll squander upwards of £250 on a losing mount." It saddened her to gamble on their father's frivolity with money they could ill afford to lose, yet she acknowledged the necessity of finding amusement amidst their predicament.

    "You could wager whether he'll squander more or less, and we could establish a reward for the victor," she suggested with a sly grin, casting a glance from their father to Henry. Her smile took on a more mischievous air. "What say you, dear brother? Do you fancy yourself more adept at predicting Father's whims than I?"







    MOOD

    mischievous



    OUTFIT

    here






    LOCATION

    Athletic Club




    TAGS

    AnimeGenork AnimeGenork











    coded by xayah.ღ

 
Evelyn Forbes.


Evelyn found herself clutching her stomach, a sudden pang of pain rendering her unable to remain at the ball. How unfortunate it was, for she had only just begun to warm to the notion of accepting Ian's name upon her dance card. Though she had no mastery over her body's untimely rebellion, a sense of guilt replaced the pain in her stomach as it lingered behind. It pained her to think of how abruptly she had left matters, and she knew she must make amends or, at the very least, offer an apology. She must ask her aunt where he resides, perhaps she can send a letter of invitation for an afternoon dinner or perhaps a game out on the lawn.

As the days slipped by, she pondered whether Ian's memory of her abrupt departure had faded into obscurity. Surely, by now, he had dismissed not only the incident but her very presence altogether. She knew without doubt that she need not remain in suspense over what the night might reveal, for Lady Whistledown's latest missive had been brought to her during a light snack. It was quite the talk of the town how everyone seemed to hold their breath until they could lay hands on Lady Whistledown’s latest scandalous revelations concerning the ton.It was most interesting to hear what everyone thought and especially in this society where many try to keep their lives as hidden as possible.

"You mustn't place too much credence in that Lady Whistledown," her aunt remarked as she settled her napkin on her lap neatly. It is but half the truth, if that. Besides, today is glorious, and you have been cooped up in this house far more than I have ever seen since your arrival; it is most unusual, even when you appear to be feeling and looking better."

"I know," Evelyn answered, "but I am still attempting to navigate the complexities of the people in this town—" This was an excuse her aunt has heard way too many times before and she for one has had enough of her niece trying to hide herself in the depths of what the surrounding nature offers her.

Her aunt interrupted her mid-sentence, "—but nothing. What better way to observe the true nature of people than during a thrilling race of sturdy and reliable horses, where fortunes hang in the balance?" She raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows at Evelyn, a challenge glinting in her eyes.

Evelyn certainly loved a challenge. Rising abruptly, the sudden movement caused her chair to scrape noisily against the floor and her fiery red curls to cascade down the sides of her face. She placed both hands firmly on the table, causing the delicate teacups to tremble slightly before them.

"Easy there..." her aunt laughed, clearly pleased to see her niece's spirited nature returning.

Evelyn declared, "You are right," her eyes alight with determination. "When have I ever shied away? People may not always appreciate my free spirit, but that has never deterred me from trying to pave my way through society as you have before me."

Within minutes, Evelyn gave her aunt a gentle squeeze and dashed upstairs to change her attire. She soon reappeared, ready for the outing, her excitement palpable. The household staff adored her spirited nature, often reminiscing about how their lady had been much the same at Evelyn’s age.

Evelyn graciously thanked the coachman’s aide for assisting her into the carriage, and soon, they were off to the races. She looked forward to the merriment and mingling that awaited her. Alongside the thrill of the event, there lingered a dwindling hope that she might encounter Ian once more, granting her the opportunity to excuse her abrupt departure from the ball.

At the races, Evelyn was greeted by a symphony of scents. The young ladies had drenched themselves in perfumes so potent they threatened to singe the nose hairs of any rivals. Mingling with these floral and musky fragrances was the unmistakable aroma of the stables—earthy and raw. Yet, cutting through these competing scents was a cool breeze, bringing with it the clean, crisp smell of the open air, a refreshing contrast that added a chilling yet pleasant note to the unpredictable game today.

location: wondering around the stands • tags: Bellz Bellz • mood: relaxed • Mentioned: Ian Bellz Bellz • Interaction: Free to interact!
 
18th of April, 1815
~ Primrose Hill, Camden ~

Lord Augustus Bloomington
​
fe043b6c362fd3b6b413953ea9617e0b.gifThe walk through the park gave the mother and son plenty of time to talk before they met Helena on Primrose Hill. Augustus was getting the feeling that his mother didn't support the idea of him spending time with her again after the ending of their engagement four years ago had left him heartbroken, so he did his best to busy her with other conversation in hopes that she wouldn't start giving him advice that he didn't want. Deep down, he understood her concern, but he had managed to convince himself through sheer determination that he was completely over his feelings for her and so refused to listen to anyone who might suggest otherwise. If he was ever to marry, then he had to be.

When he saw her waiting under the oak tree, however, nostalgia began to set in. Primrose Hill was known as one of London's prime spots for watching the sun go down over the city, and so that ancient tree was often where they met for evening strolls during their courtship and the summer of their short-lived engagement. It almost pained him to see her there again - but not wanting to dwell on his regrets, he forced himself to smile.

Helena and the Dowager Viscountess exchanged pleasant greetings, though Augustus couldn't help but feel like his mother was putting on a front. "I agree, you are a picture of good health," he echoed her compliment, refraining from saying more. The truth was she looked as stunning as she ever did, and if he didn't think his mother would read into it too much, he would have told her so.

It was for that same reason that he didn't offer Helena his arm when they began their walk. It felt unnatural to walk side by side; even after all the time that had passed, there remained a pull between them, and now he had to resist it. "The pond would be delightful," he agreed with a smile.

Their walk began with silence, both of them struggling to find a starting point of conversation. Finally, Helena asked him to fill him in on everything she had missed in her absence. “Everything?” he said, his eyes on the ground. “Oh, you know that I am not one to gossip…” What could he tell her? His first thought was of Celestine. His dear friend had had a difficult few years, between her battle with tuberculosis and her fruitless courtship with Lord Westwick. But it didn't seem right to disclose such information even to Helena, knowing how heartbroken and ashamed Celestine had been.

“Well, I suppose you will have seen at the ball most of what has changed since you last were here,” he began. “Lord Morgan Davenport returned from his tour in Europe, but you had better hear his tales from him rather than me, if you can bear to put yourself through it. My sisters have all come out this year, as I am sure you noticed. And Lady Celestine Davenport, again, as you would have seen at the ball, is much recovered from her illness.” He continued on, unsure of what to say of himself. “You have missed no weddings or funerals, if that is what you mean to ask.”

August took a deep breath and turned to glance her way, sending her a smile. “It truly is good to see you again, Lady Bexley,” he said, only just catching himself before he could confess how he had missed her. “But what of you, and your life in Austria?” he asked. "Are your family well?"

His eyes passed a subtle glance to her left hand. There was no ring, so he deduced there was no engagement - and from there, further deduced that there was also no courtship, else he supposed she would not have travelled to England. Ever since learning of her arrival, he had wondered what had prompted her return. He understood that she had grandparents in the country who she stayed with, for it was for her visits to them that the two of them had grown so close. Even if she had wanted to keep her distance from him after their broken engagement, he had to wonder what had kept her from visiting them for three whole years.

Interactions
Helena
 
Last edited:

  • Henry Davenport

    Henry was having some difficulty determining what kind of mood he was in today. He had indeed been mentioned in Whistledown once again, but it was fleeting and brief, and that was unacceptable. The fact that he’d been dancing with a duchess—and he only learned this fact after reading the column—didn’t even garner as much attention as the announcement of the so-called diamond. Really, what was the point of all that? Why, if anyone asked Henry, and they surely wouldn’t, he should be considered a diamond of sorts. He was handsome, charming, and save for the drinking that ensued after his dance with the duchess, his behavior had been exemplary. Surely his mother had to be proud of that?

    Still, it was hard not to wince at how his behavior had turned. He could only hope the duchess did not think too ill of him after his last drink. Frankly, he did not remember the end of the ball at all, which meant he had indeed drunken too much. Henry tried to avoid doing so often, but he had foolishly thought the dance would have exhausted some of the poison within him. Apparently, that hadn’t been the case. What an absolute shame. Henry knew he would have to apologize, if he ever saw the duchess again. Which was rare, coming from him.

    Now, he was attending the horse races, escorting his sister, who was a welcome presence, but unfortunately following after his father. He had avoided to speaking to Lord Davenport at every turn, as he knew he would bring up how even Whistledown knew the family patriarch drank far more than he. Though he was the only son with the particular vice of the drink, he knew he was nowhere near the level of sick intoxication that followed Solomon around. There was that, at the very least. A somewhat redeeming quality.

    Not wanting to spend any more time with his father than necessary, Henry ensured that he and Celestine were seated quite distance from him, holding his arm out when necessary to make sure she never lost her balance. She was anything but frail, that he knew, of course, but he couldn’t help but worry after her battle with tuberculosis. Henry would probably always worry about relapse, or even the onset of something more serious. The family Davenport seemed to have a special strain of bad luck in their roots, and he wasn’t taking any chances whatsoever.

    Naturally, he could not help but have a drink. Horse races were not exactly his idea of entertainment, but it was good for the social aspect. Although if pressed while under a rare spell of clarity, Henry would say that it was the time with his sister he was going to treasure the most about this day. Thankfully, she did not say anything about the fact that he downed three drinks in the span of about fifteen minutes, nor did he mention how clouded and blurred his head and vision already were. His faculties were still mostly with him, and that was all that mattered.

    “Oh? And what do you propose, Celly?” He was not quite drunk enough to tear up at the sound of his sister’s nickname for him, but he was drunk enough to feel incredibly sentimental about it. He raised an eyebrow and glanced over at their father, smirking at the suggestion. “Why, Celestine, I knew you were brilliant, but this is absolutely diabolical.” Which meant, of course, that he was all in. “While 250 pounds is a fair number to guess, I’d wager 300 is more accurate. We all know he does not have a sense for choosing winners. Unlike us.” He winked at her.

    “Instead of a money wager, let’s say the winner gets to leave the dinner table first, and the loser has to leave last. More time with Father Dearest, eh?” Though his behavior indicated a sheer lack of frugality needed considering the family’s financial situation, he was not about to place a bet he could not pay for. In fact, he hadn’t even wagered on any of the horses, though he’d been sorely tempted as he’d entered the arena. It would have to wait for another time, of course, when he’d finally taken over the family finances and could turn things around from the state to which they had gotten.

    “As for who is more capable of predicting our father’s whims, I suppose we’ll have to see. Sometimes it seems as if he changes his whims at the drop of a hat, or perhaps he changes his approach for each of us siblings.” As if it mattered why their father made their lives an eighth circle of hell. “Let’s only hope he did not choose the losing horse. At least he’ll be happier if his chosen steed wins second or third place.” At least, he hoped that would be the case.


    Mentions: Scarlet, Solomon, Caterina, Morgan & Ichabod (Vaguely) | Interactions: Celestine | Tags: Bellz Bellz CapellaStargaze CapellaStargaze Pyroclast Pyroclast​


    coded by: @s e v e n​
    ​
 
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