quinnverse

[quinnverse]

"Hitching myself to your side isn't quite as appalling an idea as it once might've been." She bit at the inside of her cheek as the memories of their first meeting flooded her mind. By all accounts, they ought to have ended up as enemies. The heated back-and-forth between the two had began the moment they'd met and, in honesty, it had still yet to truly cease.

And she had a feeling it never would. Even if they were to wed and spend a blissful honeymoon tangled in one another's arms, Emma knew the verbal sparring would return eventually. But it was a good sign, wasn't it? A pair of lovers who agreed on everything was boring, she thought. And it wasn't as though they fought about everything--although Emma was aware she could make it seem the contrary. She was capable of being civil, when she knew there was a reason to be. And if maintaining a healthy, happy marriage wasn't a good enough reason, nothing would be.

"Is that supposed to be your version of an official marriage proposal?" Emma pulled away enough to look at him. She fought the urge to search his head for any visible signs of trauma, anything that might explain why he would be offering a proposal of marriage so differently this time around. "After all this time of threatening it, I never thought you were actually capable of doing it pleasantly. Color me impressed.

"Though I would've preferred a ring to go with it, I suppose I can’t be too picky." Emma sighed, extending her arm to examine her hand in the dim light. She let out a heavy sigh of faux indignation before continuing. "And that is not me saying accepting any hypothetical proposal, by the by. Not yet, anyway."

Instead of returning to her nest of warmth beside him, Emma righted herself into a sitting position, enough to look at him in the warm light of the flickering hearth. She'd never expected either of them to be this bold, to find themselves prostrate in her bed, whispering secrets to one another over silk pillowcases. It wasn't at all how Emma had expected to spend her night, but she couldn't imagine it any other way.

"And what if I didn't want you to be a gentleman? What if—hypothetically, of course— we did get married, and I wanted you to be… less gentle? Not all the time, mind you. I know you are quite capable of being annoying and vexing..." Moving across the duvet in a slow, predatory crawl, Emma wore a mischievous expression. Thankfully, she remained rational enough to shrug off the urge to lift her leg and straddle him beneath her, but that didn't mean she was waving away all irrationality. "But are you capable of being wicked, Mr. Bolton?"

For a split moment, Emma's mind tried to place him among the gentry of London, his dashing countenance scattered among the other pompous faces. No, she concluded, dukedom didn't suit him. As proud and outspoken as he could be, Emma didn't think either of them were fit for such a role in society. Being merchants and traders suited them better.

"No, you may not resemble your trade, but you certainly earned the moniker based on our first few encounters. You have to admit, you were rather ghastly upon our first meetings. Then again, I'm sure I'd earned much worse a sobriquet. I know I was rather cruel to you. I apologize for that."

Shifting her gaze downward, Emma traced circles across the smooth duvet beneath her. But her somber expression faded as she nestled back into his side, the iciness of her thoughts warming to the heat of his body. For a quick moment, she wondered if accepting his marriage proposal would be worth it just to have him in her bed each night. Minus all the nefarious things she could think of doing, the simple security of having a man next to her was something she could get accustomed to.

"Hmm... Mrs. Bolton. It does have a nice sound to it, don't you think? Not too exotic, nor too prudish.” A shadow crossed her eyes as she reveled in her thoughts and her expression dampened. “It’s sad to think that I’ll be the last Dunster. Since I’m an only child and a daughter at that, the name will die with me. Generations of Dunster men whittled away into… nothingness. It’d almost be poetic, if it weren’t so entirely depressing."

“I don’t 'hitch myself' to any side. I thought you’d know that by now.”

A brief swell of relief formed between Benjamin's ribs, and he flashed an earnest grin. "All right, fair enough...but what about 'hitching yourself' to my side? Would that be equally egregious?"

He knew he needed to stop torturing her, and by proxy, himself, but there was something about Emma that made it so delightfully easy.

Amusement fading, he nodded as he listened to her speak. "Yes," he rasped. "Yes, of course...family is all you have -- all you can count on. Wherever my family goes, I follow."

"If we were married, wouldn't you be loyal to me? Because I'm pretty sure that's one of the main clauses of marriage."

Benjamin faltered. In heart, absolutely, but in terms of conviction? He couldn't trade his soul for a cause he didn't accept. Deciding not to completely lie, he affirmed, "I would be loyal to you, yes. When my heart is bound to another, I don't make light of such a vow."

There was a shift in Emma's expression -- not so much impish, so much as coyly vulnerable -- and the blood rushed to Benjamin's face at her query. "Do I desire you?" he echoed, the spoken words making his cheeks burn all the more. "Right this very moment?" With a soft, breathy chuckle, he affirmed, "Yes, I can admit to your accusations...but I've also been taught to be a gentleman, so goading me into action may not be wise."

No, he knew it wasn't, and yet he oddly felt secure lying there alongside her, his fingers fondly skimming through the auburn shock of her hair.

A look of skepticism crossed Emma's eyes. “Hmm… I don't know. Perhaps you only like the thrill of the chase,” she challenged.

With a frown, Benjamin lightly kissed the finger she pressed over his lips. "If that were truly the case, would I not have already taken what I wanted? And believe me, Em: there is far more shrew to be discovered. I'm sure of it."

Ignoring her remark about her "talents," he grinned in spite of himself, catching her wandering hand and splaying it over his chest. She was right. It was difficult when decisions involved the heart, and most especially ones that could only end poorly.

"Broken hearts never fully mend," Benjamin mumbled. "Or at least, I don't think they do...there will always be a crack, a flaw where you were once whole. I've never been broken by romantic love, but I am marred from other losses. My mother, my best friend...and my brother. And honestly, as much as it all stings, is it not worth it to potentially be broken, rather than never experiencing that at all?" He shrugged, his eyes growing glassy. "To love is to hurt, Em. There's no escaping that."

Emma nuzzled him, her brow arching. “Admittedly, I didn’t expect it to be you.”

Benjamin laughed at that, hardly able to disagree. "I'd say 'likewise,' but I'd risk repeating the obvious. I may not be a duke or a baronet, but I am a successful merchant. And, lucky for you, unlike Baron Wainwright, I do not resemble my hog trade...though you certainly claimed I was a pig."

Curling his arms around her shoulders, Benjamin pressed his cheek into her crown and smiled, attempting to still the frantic rush of his pulse. "'Lady Emma' may sound peculiar," he agreed, "but are you saying Mrs. Bolton has a far better ring to it?"

[quinnverse]

“Is it that obvious?” Belle replied with a smile, her attention locked on the speaker ahead. In a world where she was often made to feel like an outcast and a problem child, Belle was surprised to find that a place like this existed—a place of intellectual and strong women with the bravery to speaks up about the injustices of the world. “I just can’t believe I didn’t know about these meetings before. A world of likeminded people living right under my nose this entire time.”

open starter - Eloise Bridgerton open to anyone connection: your muse (f/m/n) meets Eloise for the first time at a political rally

As much as Eloise had tried to dress down, looking over the crowd, it was unmistakable that she was a young woman from the Ton. More reason to keep to the back and appear as inconspicuous as possible. Still, she had drawn some eyes. None of them concerned her, though. She had just as much reason to be here as everyone else. Women's rights. The young lady had not thought it possible that a meeting like this could be possible. That there was a place where women could speak their minds freely and demand respect and equality.

She was so entranced by the current speaker that she didn't notice the person stepping next to her. A quick glance. A small smile appeared on Eloise's lips. "She's the best speaker so far." The excitement in her voice was palpable. "Is this your first time at one of these meetings?" Eloise longed to find more who shared her mind. People she could talk to about such topics without judgment.

[quinnverse]

“Yes, I suppose I must be.” Iris offered a weak, tight-lipped smile. “Though, I suspect my family is more pleased about it than I am.”

open: f/nb

plot: historical vibes, plus wlw yearning

muse: katherine cavendish, meek middle child of an intrepid social climber and his ruthless wife

“i heard about your engagement. you must be very pleased.”

[quinnverse]

are you blushing? did i make you blush? / for : Grace Eversleigh.

“What? N-No.. Why would I—? Oh.” Letting out an exasperated laugh, Grace shook her head. “Oh, you’re teasing me, aren’t you? I told you a secret in confidence and you’re teasing me!" Stifling a laugh, Grace fought to maintain a calm expression. "You are quite lucky I enjoy your company.”

[quinnverse]

“What you call brave may be considered foolish to others. Thankfully,” she began, wearing a mischievous grin as she looped her arm through Edwina’s. “I don’t give a twopence about what they have to say. Let them talk all they want. Whatever happened last season is over and done with. We have new seeds to sow this season, Edwina.”

Olivia had been drawn to Edwina for many reasons, her beauty being only of them. After the scandal that happened with the Viscount and the eldest Sharma sister, Olivia had sensed a kinship in the making. Her eldest brother had been embroiled in a short-lived yet scandal-laced relationship as well before he was left a widower-- though Olivia suspected there was far less admiration involved in her brother’s marriage than in that of the new Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton.

“This will be our year, I'm sure of it. So, tell me, friend, do any gentlemen catch your eye tonight?”

open starter - Edwina Sharma open to anyone connection: friend (f/m/n) or crush (f/m/n)

Edwina stood on the side, watching the couples spin on the dancefloor with sparkling eyes. No one had asked her to dance yet, and she wondered if the young men of the Ton were avoiding her to avoid the gossip that would surely follow. Not everyone had forgotten what had happened last season between her, her sister, and Lord Bidgerton. She tried to not let it affect her mood.

With a sigh, she took a sip from her drink as she spotted a familiar face coming towards her through the crowd. "You're very brave, my friend," the young lady greeted them with a chuckle. "The others might talk if they see you standing with me."

[quinnverse]

come here , let me look at you . / for : Honoria Smythe-Smith.

“It’s not too much, is it?” If she was going to find a proper husband, Honoria needed to look the part of a proper debutante. Her looks needed to outweigh her family’s scandalous reputation, and her debut needed to outshine her brother’s crimes. “Mama said pink is fashionable now, but I adore this shade of blue. It suits me better, don't you think?"

[quinnverse]

quinnverse. an indie low maintenance, low activity roleplay sideblog feat. some of my favorite heroines of the julia quinn literary universe. follows back from @/awynter. adored by elfie.

[quinnverse]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝟎𝟏 . ( a collection of assorted prompts intended to inspire drabbles & maybe starters. adjust as desired. )

describe a time your muse committed a justified act of violence.

describe a time your muse felt truly free.

describe a time your muse just couldn't help themself.

describe a time your muse committed a crime.

describe a time your muse discovered something about themself.

describe the earliest birthday your muse can remember.

describe a time your muse broke the rules.

describe your muse's feelings on their gender.

describe your muse's feelings on their sexuality.

describe a time your muse felt truly loved.

describe a time your muse lost their temper.

describe your muse's very first kiss.

describe the moment your muse discovered their passion in life.

describe a time your muse longed for something so deeply it tore them apart.

describe a time your muse worked themself to exhaustion.

describe a time your character was treated medically.

describe a time your muse made an unheard cry for help.

describe a time your muse couldn't care for themselves.

describe a time your muse couldn't commit to something or someone.

describe a time your muse realized they were in love.

describe a time your muse felt betrayed.

describe a time your muse learned devastating information.

describe a moment your muse reminisces about often.

describe a moment in which your muse lashed out violently.

describe the first time your muse held a weapon.

describe a time your muse blacked out.

describe a moment your muse was absolutely terrified.

describe a moment your muse went into fight or flight mode.

describe a moment your muse had a big, life-altering revelation.

describe the first time your muse took someone's life.

describe a time your muse went somewhere they shouldn't.

describe a time your muse sneaked out of the house.

describe a traumatic experience from your muse's childhood.

describe the first concert your muse ever went to.

describe your muse's dream [ engagement / wedding ].

describe an outing that went terribly, horribly wrong for your muse.

describe a time your muse found themself somewhere unexpected.

FOR PAIRINGS:

describe a time our muses slept in late together.

describe the moment receiver knew they were in love with sender.

describe the first significant fight our muses got into.

describe a time receiver thought they were going to lose sender.

describe the first time receiver realized they were comfortable around sender.

describe a moment that receiver felt betrayed by sender.

describe a private thought receiver has had about sender.

describe a time our muses went on a long scenic road trip.

describe a moment where receiver held onto sender a little tighter.

describe a moment of pure joy between our muses.

describe a moment where sender made receiver feel safe.

describe a moment of grief and mourning between our muses.

describe a moment where receiver lost their temper with sender.

describe a moment where receiver broke down in front of sender.

describe a moment receiver jumped into action to protect sender.

describe a kiss between our muses that 'shouldn't' have happened.

describe a day/night our muses lost track of time together.

describe the first date our muses ever went on.

describe the day our muses got the keys to their first place.

describe a night our muses stayed out until ridiculously early.

[quinnverse]

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪🗡ྀ࿔ 〖 and other stories . . . 〗 a collection of dialogue + action prompts inspired by angela carter's the bloody chamber and other stories. some prompts usfw. add +reversed for the muse receiving the meme to perform the action instead. adjust details as necessary.

dialogue :

are you sure you want to marry him?

oh! how you must want me!

soon.

i had never been vain until i met you.

anticipation is the greater part of pleasure.

all the better to see you.

what is that key? the key to your heart?

every man must have one secret, even if only one, from his wife.

all is yours, everywhere is open to you.

but now... what shall i do now?

my darling, i cannot wait for the moment when you make me yours completely.

there is a striking resemblance between the act of love and the ministrations of a torturer.

you are in some great distress.

any bride brought to a castle should come ready dressed in mourning.

oh god. i can smell the blood.

i thought all these were old wives' tales, chattering of fools, spooks to scare bad children into good behavior!

can't it wait until morning, my darling?

who can say what i deserve or no?

i've done nothing; but that may be sufficient reason for condemning me.

i have a place prepared for your exquisite corpse upon my display of flesh.

good fellow? i am no good fellow.

forgive me for robbing your garden!

all she wanted, in the whole world, was one white, perfect rose.

and what else was there to be done?

they are the death of any tender herbivore.

so late! you will want sleep.

you will come back to me? it will be lonely here, without you.

i will come back. soon, before the winter is over.

i am sick and i must die.

if you'll have me, i'll never leave you.

i think i might be able to manage a little breakfast today.

i have lost my pearl, my pearl beyond price.

if you are so careless of your treasure, you should expect them to be taken from you.

for all my pride, my heart is heavy.

if you wish to give me money, then i should be pleased to receive it.

i shall twist a noose out of my bed linen and hang myself with it.

you are a woman of honor.

nothing human lives here.

we have dispensed with servants.

take off my clothes for you, like a ballet girl? is that all you want of me?

all cats are cynics.

you read my thoughts, my love.

the woods enclose. the wood swallows you up.

all will fall still, all lapse.

it is easy to lose yourself in these woods.

i thought that nobody was in the wood but me.

there are some eyes can eat you.

sometimes the birds, at random, all singing, strike a chord.

eat me, drink me.

dive in and fetch it for me.

now you are at the place of annihilation.

and she is herself a cave full of echoes, she is a system of repetitions, she is a closed circuit.

can a bird sing only the song it knows or can it learn a new song?

beauty is a symptom of disorder, of soullessness.

a single kiss woke up the sleeping beauty in the wood.

be he alive or be he dead.

coffee. you must have coffee.

welcome. welcome to my chateau.

i rarely receive visitors and that's a misfortune since nothing animates me half as much as the presence of a stranger.

this place is so lonely.

now the village is deserted.

often i am so silent that i think i, too, will soon forget how to do so and nobody will ever talk any more.

i must apologize for the lack of light.

you have such a fine throat, like a column of marble.

i am condemned to solitude and dark.

i do not mean to hurt you.

i will be very gentle.

and could love free me from the shadows?

i've been waiting for you in my wedding dress, why have you delayed for so long.

you will feel no pain, my darling.

so delicate and damned, poor thing. quite damned.

the end of exile is the end of being.

it is a northern country; they have cold weather, they have cold hearts.

the devil is as real as you or i.

do not leave the path.

you are always in danger in the forest.

they are as unkind as plague.

fear and flee the wolf; for, worst of all, the wolf may be more than he seems.

besides, aren't you afraid of the wolves?

actions :

clasp. from behind, the sender places their hands over the receiver's eyes.

opera. through opera glasses, the sender watches the receiver.

choker. the sender fastens a gemstone necklace around the receiver's neck.

carriage. the sender locks the receiver in with them in their train compartment.

spine. the sender presses a kiss to the back of the receiver's bare neck.

cigar. the sender leans in and blows smoke in the receiver's face.

ermine. the sender wraps the furs around the receiver tighter as the snow falls.

keys. the sender silently enters the room and listens to the receiver play piano.

harem. the sender undresses the receiver before a collection of mirrors.

lazy. the sender brings the receiver breakfast in bed.

call. the sender calls the receiver and bursts into tears upon hearing their voice.

note. the sender discovers a love letter sent to the receiver from a previous lover.

death. the sender finds the receiver with the body of their latest victim.

hospitality. the sender watches from the shadows as the receiver take refuge from a storm in the sender's seemingly abandoned home.

servant. invisible, the sender feeds/washes/cares for the receiver.

hearth. the sender and the receiver talk past midnight by the fire's light.

hands. the sender falls to their knees before the receiver and kisses their hands.

bouquet. the sender has a hundred white roses sent to the receiver.

reunion. the sender lays eyes upon the receiver for the first time in an age.

bad luck. the sender hangs their head having lost a bet to the receiver.

voice. the sender sends their valet to speak their desires to the receiver.

powder. the sender dresses/makes up the receiver before an important night.

stallion. the sender grabs the reins of the receiver's horse and leads them away.

weep. the sender cries at the sight of the receiver in such a state.

dry. the sender brushes a tear from the receiver's cheek.

flush. the sender pinches the receiver's skin, watching it redden with blood.

prey. the sender guides the receiver's hands as together they skin a rabbit.

song. the sender sings and the receiver is spellbound, their feet following their song's command.

caught. the sender locks the receiver into a cage.

green. by the sender's command, the growth begins to take over the receiver.

tarot. the sender tells the receiver they are doomed to a sad fate.

stain. the sender touches the bloodstain on the receiver's white negligée.

wild. the sender rides hard through the night, chasing the receiver.

thirst. the sender sinks their teeth into the neck of the receiver.

china. the sender pours tea for the receiver and offers them biscuits.

blemish. the sender explores the receiver's skin and finds the mark of a witch.

wolf. the wolf reveals themself to be the sender before the receiver.

muzzle. the sender kisses the monstrous mouth of the receiver.

[quinnverse]

"Its not how I would like to view it, but it's the most likely outcome for a woman in my situation." Although her tone was nonchalant and she offered a gentle shrug, there was a hint of disappointment in her eyes. Belle knew there were good men out there--her best friend and her brother were fine examples--but most of the decent ones seemed to be either out of reach or out of commission. And while Emma seemed perfectly content with the life of a spinster, Belle knew that she would grow lonely and distraught after too long. She may not have the mentality of a traditional wife, but she bore the heart of one.

"Emma's mama--my auntie--she was nearly excommunicated from the family for marrying someone she loved. My own parents love each other now, but it was a result of their betrothal rather than a reason for it." Letting out a sigh, she let her gaze wander across the spines of the books. "I've always hoped for a love match... but I also acknowledge that, tragically, life isn't always like the novels I enjoy reading. Truthfully, I often find myself torn between the practical side of myself and the hopeless romantic side. A constant war between my head and my heart."

"Hmm," Belle chewed at the inside of her cheek as she thought. "Growing grass sounds far more engaging to me. Then again, I've always preferred being outdoors whenever possible, and the smell of paint makes me nauseous. My brother took an interest in painting one summer and it was miserable. I spent nearly the entire season out of doors."

Her expression of serious contemplation melted away and left behind a countenance of amusement at his words.

"If you are trying to wring another compliment out of me, you're chumming the wrong waters. By many societal standards, this trinket is only pretty on the outside." Crossing her arms over her chest, she continued, "Though, I do enjoy proving people wrong."

As the mood in the library shifted, Belle felt her cheeks grow warmer again. Other than the dull ticking of the grandfather clock, all she could hear was her own heartbeat in her ears as time seemed to slow around them.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm very good at keeping secrets." She grinned, gazing up at him from below feathered lashes, hoping he couldn't hear the erratic beating of her heart.

Noticing the growing color in his cheeks, Belle felt a wave of relief wash over her. She knew there was a fair chance that she was overthinking it, seeing patterns where none existed, but she liked to think that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same sort of draw as she did.

"Sourced from your depraved imagination or not, I think that sounds quite enjoyable. Perhaps fate will be on our side and we'll encounter a freak rainstorm during our outings. Or," Belle scrunched her nose as she lowered her voice conspiratorially. "We could always just turn on the sprinklers and call it rain. A garden shed is tantamount to a shack, is it not?"

She knew she ought to bring the night to a close, to make her way back to the party before anyone came looking for her. The drunk couple had been a warning, perhaps. As exciting as it all was, being here was still a risk. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to depart yet.

"Now you've made me curious," her words trailed off as she became emboldened by a spark of bravery. Taking a step towards him, Belle slowly reached out and grazed her fingers against his. Although she yearned to take his hand into her own, she kept her movements gentle and slow, leading her metaphorical steed to the water. "Do you plan all your stories ahead of time, or do you allow some stories to unfold as they happen?"

Benjamin peered her way with a challenging simper, only to immediately lose the smug expression once she spoke of being an heir-producing trinket.

"And is that truly how you view marriage?" he asked, startled. "You think you'll only become some...adornment, rather than a woman free to choose?"

It was a faulty question, he knew. Most women were not fortunate when it came to the marriage mart, but Benjamin knew in his heart that any woman he chose would not merely be a "trinket," as she'd so despairingly claimed. The only problem was, at present, he wasn't in any true position to be giving himself away...

"This library adventure was merely a happy coincidence," she informed him. "Besides, believe it or not, I actually find your company quite enjoyable. Especially compared to the other people in attendance."

Benjamin chuckled, relieved to fall into lighter topics. "Ah. So, it's unusual and questionable to find my presence enjoyable, is it? Though saying I'm pleasant in comparison to the others isn't really saying much...it's almost like comparing drying paint to growing grass. Though I am curious which you'd be more arrested by."

Belle offered a faux pout. "Easy now, Mister Bolton. I said I felt inferior, not that you were superior. There's a very clear distinction."

"Is there?" he challenged, leaning against the bookcase with a grin. "As an alleged 'trinket,' isn't it your job to stroke my pride? I could certainly return the favor..."

Flushing once he realized how...well...untoward that sounded, he moved to backpedal, but Belle was already saying, "I think as long as the receiver of your affections is aware, that's all that matters. What the world thinks is irrelevant in the end. As long as the person I love knows that I love them, and I know that they love me in return, any displays of such affection is merely supplemental."

Benjamin was silent for a long while. Could she truly mean...? Did she actually wish for him to confess...?

"I'm not, of course, entirely opposed to showing my affection in other ways, though."

Train of thought effectively derailed, he gaped at her, nearly stumbling as his weight clipped a loosened book. Quick to catch the tome, he just as clumsily placed it back upon the shelf before righting his stance, flushing a bright red as he deflected, "Affections are...complicated, but yes...I quite agree. Honesty is always the best route, no matter how painful."

He assuredly couldn't talk on this matter. When was the last time he'd been truthful? It certainly wasn't with the young woman standing before him, and heart sinking at the thought, Benjamin forced a smile as her gaze grew decidedly coquettish.

Pulse quickening, he watched as she promised, "Picnics could be arranged quite easily, weather permitting. Secret letters could be managed as well, but I do worry that discussion of it beforehand might ruin the desired effect of the secrecy."

"I won't tell if you won't," Benjamin was quick to reassure, the pink in his cheeks still quite stark.

Belle also approved of his countryside horseback rides, though her curiosity got the better of her as she entreated, "Although, I must admit, now I am awfully curious about what books involve hiding from the rain in a shack. Tell me, are there any scandalous romance novels about secret rendezvouses in libraries? Or friends kissing under mistletoe?"

He laughed, the heat in his cheeks nearly unbearable by this point. "I actually...w-well, I'm afraid that first bit is from my own depraved imagination," he confessed, wincing beneath her gaze. "I'm not saying I'm that untoward, but...it seems like the perfect setting for getting to know someone -- being trapped by a storm, but also able to be bare, vulnerable, and with someone you care about."

Avoiding her gaze, Benjamin grinned as he added, "As for secret rendezvouses and friendly mistletoe kisses, I'm afraid I'm the author of those, as well. But...I have yet to determine their endings." Here, his eyes flicked in between her face and the floor, his hands flexing at his sides.

[quinnverse]

“I suppose I wasn’t technically invited, no. I was more or less instructed to attend by someone who did receive an invitation. My new guardian has all but threatened me to make an appearance tonight. An attempt to rid himself of my presence, no doubt."

Henry couldn't understand why the new Lord Stannage couldn't just leave her be. She was fine living on the estate, managing it herself. She didn't even desire the title or wealth that came with it; she merely wanted to be left alone. But after the previous Lord's death, Henry knew it was only a matter of time until the next of kin received their new inheritance and Henry would be kicked out.

Thankfully, William Dunford had been kind enough not to kick her out, per se, but he had made it clear that he intended to sponsor her in the London season, hoping she'd find someone else to bother. And the longer she spent around the hustle and bustle of London society, the more Henry yearned to return to the countryside. The air in the city was foul in comparison and all the excitement was too much for her to tolerate. She missed her lazy mornings, waking up to the rooster's crow and living at her own pace.

She would be lucky to find a husband at all, let alone one that would tolerate her solitary nature. Any gentleman in the city would undoubtedly want an accomplished young bride, one to escort them to fancy dinner parties and smile for the masses--two things Henrietta Barrett had little interest in doing.

“Truthfully, I considered feigning an illness, or twisting my ankle to escape such a situation, but it seems that acting is not my forte." Her lips pursed into a disappointed frown. Her maid had seen through her rouse and, seemingly loyal to the new Lord Stannage rather than Henry herself, the maid had urged her to attend.

It might prove beneficial, m'lady. Henry doubted it. Or, it might surprise you. That much she could believe but, in her experience, surprises were rarely well-recieved.

His offer caught her off guard and she stared at him, mouth agape and eyebrows knitted together as she tried to comprehend what benefit such a thing might hold for either of them.

“You…would teach me? To dance?” Despite the furrow of her brow, Henry couldn’t hide the amused expression on her face. Was he teasing her, or did he truly intend to waste his precious time teasing a stranger to waltz? It seemed ridiculous to accept such an offer, especially when Henry had no intention of repeating this night. If Lord Dunford wanted her to attend another soirée, he would have to drag her kicking and screaming.

Even so, the invitation was heartwarming and she was tempted to accept on mere principle alone.

“I shall... consider your offer. As for tonight, I think it might be best for me to stay away from polite society.” She spoke the words with a twinge of spite. “And, unless you’re truly yearning for your toes to be squashed, it’d likely be in your best interest to retract such an offer before I’m inclined to accept it.”

“The great auk..." She repeated, trying to jog her memory of any such creature from her education. "Forgive my ignorance—I’m afraid my bestiary knowledge is limited to livestock—but what exactly is an auk? Is it at all like an elk? I know humans find much enjoyment in hunting those, for some reason."

If it were anyone else in the room, Henry might've walked away by now. Boring small talk was the bane of her existence and there was only so much one could discuss about the weather before she longed to crawl out of her own skin. But the present company was surprisingly engaging and, to her own disbelief, she was quite entertained by the notion of exotic explorations.

In another life, she thought, she might've been a traveler. A sailor or adventurer. Even the life of a pirate or smuggler seemed a better fate than the one that surely awaited her in England.

“Well, if it would help stave off a missing limb, I’m sure my sheep would be happy to oblige. Isosceles is due for a shave soon anyway. Perhaps I’ll send a care package your way before you depart for the tundra.” The sliver of a smile crossed her face, her eyes glistening with amusement. Out of all the pompous men in the room, she had somehow managed to find conversation with a gentleman who was just as pleasant as he was odd. “In return, should you find any new and exciting species of animal, I do hope you’ll consider naming one after me. For my potential future generosity, of course.”

He found her comment interesting; not that he disagreed, but because to him it was a challenge to unearth the meanings behind human interactions. If he couldn’t be out in the field, he could at least be studying behavior. A small consolation, not nearly enough to keep him in London full-time. “Confusing, yes, but also fascinating— so long as the stakes aren’t too high. Unfortunately those days for me have passed.” He must not merely observe this season. He might find interesting encounters along the way in spite of the odds, but as the son of an inveterate gambler, he wasn’t counting on it. 

Her laugh wasn’t full throated and he suspected he knew why. Even without a corset, his own dress was hardly what he would have worn to wander the moors or pursue the great auk for the sake of science. It must be uncomfortable, only to see her confirm it with words. “I like that it’s the color of new growth,” he commented. “Fashion is overrated, but comfort is another question entirely, and the two rarely seem to go together.” The rest of Henry’s revelation was just as interesting. Most spent some time preparing for an appearance. “Did you not receive an invitation? Or you were hoping to put it off, perhaps, and someone insisted.” It must be more prevalent for women, but it certainly had happened to him as well. His father had made the situation perfectly clear and his wants were to be set to one side.

She was right to trust him with this scrap of incriminating information. He had been well-taught and even enjoyed it as a vehicle for conversation more dynamic than simply standing around; but in all that mattered, it seemed very small in the scheme of things. A tinny repeat of that laugh, insincerity concealing something else, made him wish he could see her outside of this manufactured setting. Even just among the painfully manicured gardens; there were still things to admire about it, and fresh air.

“I am equally at home here as on the dance floor. That is, I can put up a convincing performance, but the truth of it is often on a leash.” She had risked something with her words, he would give her the same courtesy in kind. And yet, where he could, dancing did relieve awkwardness to a degree, and so he decided on a double-pronged approach. “In that case I expect the answer will be ‘no,’ but I would gladly admit my error if you would like to dance. And if you would like to learn, I could teach you. With a chaperone, of course.” Neither Henry nor society at large could afford to make assumptions, and Lord Debling understood that.

He indulged in a reassuring smile, perhaps a note of paternalism to it but intended with kindness. “No, I’m quite serious. The arctic itself is not exactly my goal but it’s an effective summary for those that aren’t interested. I’ll be seeking out the great auk, whose numbers have been dwindling from human hunting among other factors, and along the way, we’ll see whether we can’t discover the Northwest Passage.”

Any awkward pause that followed dissipated with Henry's questions. In pleased surprise he broke into a laugh before restraining himself. "I'm sorry— frostbite is indeed no joking matter, it was just... something in the way you put it. I do worry about it, which is why I will take as much wool with me as possible. Perhaps your sheep would like to contribute?" he asked with a smile still echoing humor.

[quinnverse]

“A happy home isn’t necessarily the way I would describe it. And there were plenty of times I nearly leapt from said tower. Metaphorically, of course." Her smile waned a sliver as she averted her gaze. Amelia knew she ought to be grateful for the advantages she'd been offered in her life. There were many young girls who would die to be in her position, yet it didn't stop her from feeling trapped. She ought to be happy and joyous, but most of the time Amelia felt like a caged bird forced to sing.

“Mr. Horowitz is an odd duck by many accounts, but I assume you've never heard Lord Colbourne sneeze. The man sounds like a French horn. And the type of horn that would well suit a musicale of this caliber, if you know what I mean."

Stealing a glance behind them, Amelia wondered how far into the performance the musicians had gotten. Had a single song passed since they escaped, or had cacophony grown since their departure? She had little interest in returning to the audience, especially when the company and temperature outside was far more enticing. A few more minutes, she told herself. A few more moments of feigning normalcy before she had to return to her own seventh circle of Hell.

“Tease me, if you must, but it doesn’t change the truth. I am not ashamed to acknowledge someone’s outward beauty. As a person who was raised to view a person’s worth by their appearance, I believe you are rather dashing. Your wit and charm merely add to it. Though, to some, it may be a little off putting. Then again, I've never been properly courted, so I'm not entirely sure what the average gentlewoman looks for in a suitor. I, myself, was engaged before I was even born.”

Amelia didn’t dare to meet his gaze, certain that she would see a glimpse of shock or disgust in his eyes—or worse, pity. Amelia knew there was plenty of things to pity her for, but ensuring the betterment of her family couldn’t be one of them.

“Before I had a name, I had a fiancé. Before I was an actual person, I was a future duchess. I was never given the chance to be Amelia, and some days I fear I will never be given the chance."

“Hmm, well,” Her expression brightened as a list of name ran through her mind. “Off of the top of my head, and from the little I know about you, I could think of a few ladies that might be a good match. Lady Hawksworth is kind and demure, a perfect complement for a pastor’s son, I’d say. She’s passionate about charity work and is a rare beauty, but she is a widow, which could make courting her either easier or harder, depending on the gentleman. But, if the gentry isn’t entirely to your taste, my good friend Grace might be an excellent match for you. She is patient and kind, and obnoxiously selfless. I think you two may have a lot in common.”

Amelia’s smile faltered for a moment at the thought of her friend. Grace was perfect and always had been since they were children. If it hadn’t been for her late father’s death, Grace Eversleigh would surely be a crowned jewel even amongst high society. But, as the daughter of a squire and a woman with no real claims, Grace found herself in the employ of the Duchess of Wyndham—a spot Amelia wouldn’t wish upon her greatest enemy.

Augusta Cavendish was a mean, old witch with a knack for sticking her nose into places it didn’t belong. Out of all the things she might inherit upon her marriage to Thomas Cavendish, his grandmother was not one she was looking forward to. The only respite was that Grace seemed to take the brunt of the duchess’s wrath. If Grace were to find a proper husband, she might be able to leave her post as the duchess’s companion and, in turn, Thomas might turn his attention towards his fiancée instead.

“I do think any of the Smythe-Smith ladies would be suitable as well, but that would most likely require attending more musicales in the future, so it might not be as enticing an endeavor.”

Amused and slightly annoyed by the reality of her situation, Amelia let out a soft snort and shook her head.

“My ‘betrothed’ hardly looks in my direction unless his grandmother commands him. I can’t even claim that we’re an ill-matched pair; we don’t know anything about one about her and he is determined to keep it that way. He, undoubtedly, sees his engagement to me as a chore, and we aren’t even married yet. Besides, I believe his affections are reserved for another.”

Amelia tried not to encourage the sour taste of jealousy in her mouth, but it was hard not to envy the way her fiancé looked at her friend. Grace made Thomas laugh in ways Amelia hadn’t even thought him capable of. Thomas sought Grace out for advice and conversation while he seemed to actively avoid crossing paths with the woman he was to marry. It would’ve been easier if he hated her, if his distaste for her company was as obvious as his grandmother’s dislike for Amelia. But it was the Duke’s indifference that hurt Amelia the most.

And such indifference only stung more when Grace seemed to attract all the attention.

“But tell me: What kind of woman do you imagine yourself with, Mister Tallmadge? As a lady of the ton, it’s my job to know everyone. So, if there’s anyone you had your eye on… I could always put in a good word for you. I know it could be considered meddling, but…” She shrugged, biting back a playful grin. “All’s fair in love and war, right?”

Benjamin chuckled. "Indeed? Well, wait until they realize we're scarcely two feet apart. I imagine that will be enough to rock the society pages for a full week."

Amelia's laughter was almost disdainful, though he knew that her scorn was directed towards the ton, rather than his (unfunny) sense of humor. “No broken bones, no," she allowed, "but we also were hardly allowed to play outside. Father didn’t want anything happening that might dissuade future suitors from taking an interest in us."

Benjamin hummed. "Sounds like one of the seventh circles of hell...with all due respect, of course." With a shrug, he added, "Then again, you are the one of us who is currently betrothed, so perhaps the secret to happiness is to be kept locked away like a princess in a tower."

"By one and ten, I believe I had already threatened to run away at leave a dozen times," Amelia agreed.

"To flee from such a happy home? I can scarcely believe it," he teased. Listening to her speak of the party, his smile slowly grew more genuine as Amelia barely suppressed a bubbly giggle. "With all due respect, that was a rather poorly planned idea... Mr. Horowitz's sneezes alone could've rocked those glasses onto their side. I've only been here for under a year, yet already, I've fallen prey to him shooting a gusting wind at my face -- multiple times, might I add."

Perplexed, Amelia turned to more fully assess him. Though once he realized she was adamantly pursuing the idea of a Tallmadge-Bridgerton marriage, Benjamin felt the color rising in his cheeks. "Although I wish to tease you for acknowledging that I am handsome and charming, I'm afraid your idea has me so tongue-tied that I can scarcely react..."

Amelia shrugged. “Still, you did not answer my question. Though, take note that I do acknowledge your deflection as an answer in itself."

"I am not deflecting," Benjamin said with adamant...well...deflection. "I find the Bridgerton girls charming, yes, but I can't live here forever... My heart is still in America, for better or for worse."

An impish twinkle came to Amelia's eyes, and she crossed her arms over her chest. She challenged him to being a willing matchmaker, and again, Benjamin laughed, unsure if he should be flattered or terrified.

"Really?" he asked, eyeing her with a sly tilt to his mouth. "All right, then I'll bite: if you're truly such an 'esteemed matchmaker,' who would you pick for me? Maybe somewhere down the line, I can return the favor. Ah..." Remembering himself, he corrected, "But in another manner, obviously, since I doubt your betrothed would think much of such an arrangement."

[quinnverse]

𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 📚  𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞.

[quinnverse]

open to: m/f/nb ! muse: emma dunster

She’d been lingering near her cousin all night, chattering away about the newest bachelors that had debuted this season. Emma was surprised by how hopeful her cousin seemed and she hoped that Belle would find a way to round out the season successfully. Emma, on the other hand, wasn’t so expectant. She didn’t care about marriage. She had no interest in shackling herself to anything other than her work and the family business. Even so, it didn’t stop her family from insisting she accept dances with any gentlemen who asked and engaging in polite conversation. Such a thing was hard to do, however, when her cousin had been whisked away to the dance floor and Emma was left alone on the side of the dance floor, wondering how easy it would be to slip away and hide from potential suitors.

[quinnverse]

open to: m/f/nb ! muse: amelia willoughby plot: amelia has been engaged to a duke since before she was born, but she doesn't know him and she doesn't think he's going to marry her any time soon so she's lonely and needs friends :( notes: this starter w. alt fc here

She ought to be happy about her station. She was engaged to a duke. She would one day be the Duchess of Wyndham, a title many ladies her age would die for. But being married to the duke meant she would be married to a man she didn’t know—and a man that didn’t care to know her, it seemed. But it was a lonely existence. Watching the other young ladies flirt and chat with eligible bachelors, crafting lives for themselves while Amelia sat by idly, waiting for her fiancé to work up the courage to finally marry her. At time she wondered what it might be like to be out on the dance floor, being courted by a man that held actual interest in her, but such fantasies only led to gloom so she tried to ignore them.

As the night drew out, Amelia grew restless and she resigned herself to retire early. It wasn’t as though she were required to be here; only unmarried ladies found purpose at events like these. But as she moved towards the double doors that led to the foyer, Amelia let out a sigh of relief. Portraying a happy debutante was exhausting, especially when she was supposed to be pretending that she was perfectly content with her life. Before she could allow her thoughts to spiral any further downward, she heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway, presumably another straggler that needed an escape from the party inside.

[quinnverse]

"It's a good line, whatever the case. But, yes, I do. Though, I don't know if it believes in me most of the time."

~Open to all~ Muse: Anne of Green Gables

•”This is going to sound like a line, but… Do you believe in fate?”

[quinnverse]

open to: m/f/nb ( not limited to mutuals ) ! muse: miranda cheever plot: two people (miranda & y/m) reach for the same thing at the same time & miranda claims she touched it first

“Excuse me, pardon me. Excuse me,” Miranda shoved her way through the crowd, unceremoniously and rather unladylike, but manners weren’t the most important thing right now. Not when what she really needed was right in front of her and within reach. And not when she knew only a limited selection existed.

As she stretched out her arm to the hold of the last journal on the shelf, her had met another and she froze. “Excuse me, but I believe I touched it first. If you'll kindly remove your hands from my journal, I'd be much obliged."