#Accomplishments of the Duke's Daughter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blossom-hwa · 4 months ago

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written in the stars | bridgerton!txt

as I've now written three full stories in this universe, I thought I should put them all into a series masterlist - please enjoy :)

TXT Masterlist

. . . . .

if you'll have me | choi yeonjun

~ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Yeonjun Choi, Duke of Hastings, is in want of a wife. Boxed in from all directions by the overbearing mamas of the ton, he begins his arduous search this season for not fortune, not love, but merely the perfect woman to succeed his mother's place. None of the daughters of high society manage to catch his eye, however, or fit his overwhelming list of standards—at least until he meets Miss Y/N L/N, the queen's diamond of the season, newly arrived in town from abroad and said to be one of the most accomplished women to grace the ton in a generation. You, the eldest daughter and only child of the L/N family, just want stability. With your father dead and the estate passed to a cousin, leaving only your dowry and a small pittance from the inheritance left intact, you begin your search for a husband with money enough to keep you and your mother afloat. It seems like a miracle when, after being crowned the queen's diamond, the Duke of Hastings himself asks for your hand—but as you learn of his complete indifference to the concept of love, you begin to doubt yourself. Perhaps money is not enough to keep your hand—maybe you desired a true love match more than you thought. Trapped in a marriage of convenience that everyone believes is a love story, you and Yeonjun find yourselves forced to reevaluate what you want out of this match. Between balls and promenades, dances and poetry, you begin to view each other beyond the pithy conversations allowed in the courting stages, learning to see one another not just as business partners, but perhaps friends as well. And as you begin to reconcile your needs and wants, your goals and desires, maybe, just maybe— The ton's belief that you are a love match can find some truth, too.

a very fine line, indeed | choi beomgyu

In a society where it only takes a year for a young woman in search of a husband to be considered out of season, it is no wonder that by your third year out, you are desperate to marry. Known as one of the beauties of the ton, such a task should not be difficult for you—but with an absent father, no dowry, and a reputation centered around your inability to keep your mouth shut around one certain Beomgyu Choi, your prospects are more limited than you’d like. While you cannot recover your family or your wealth, however, the one thing you can try to control is your reputation. So when the third season rolls around, you resolve to keep your distance from Beomgyu Choi, your childhood enemy, and the man you hate most in the world. Enter Beomgyu Choi, second son of the Kensington Viscountcy, one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton. His older brother, cousin, and good friend have all recently married, leaving the mamas to salivate at his doorstep for the chance of marrying one of their daughters to him. When Beomgyu walks in on a particularly traumatizing moment between you and one of the most unsavory men in the ton and learns of your desperation to marry, despite your history of enmity, he proposes you a devious deal—to pretend to court you. It seems like a winning situation for both of you—more gentlemen will take notice of you, enhancing your prospects, and he will have the ton’s mamas off his back—and so, despite your misgivings, you agree. With you hell bent on marriage and Beomgyu completely indifferent to the concept, even independent of your hatred for each other, it seems unlikely that any sort of true affection will bloom. But as you begrudgingly put aside your differences to spend more and more time in one another’s company, and as you grow to know each other beyond your ill-conceived preconceptions from childhood, you begin to realize that perhaps you two have more in common than you had once thought. And as your faked acquaintanceship becomes more truth than fiction, a friendship beginning to bloom most unexpectedly— Perhaps you no longer need to convince the ton of the veracity of your courtship, because anyone with eyes can see that it is true.

melody of the heart | kang taehyun

~ part 1 | part 2

When your father calls you home from the continent to join the London season, for the first time in your life, you nearly throw a fit. You are not just the daughter of a viscount—you’ve made a name for yourself in England and abroad with your prodigious talent at the piano, having since childhood performed for royal courts far and wide. You have traveled far and beyond most other ladies of your rank, and to have your career halted all for the sake of marriage to a man who will likely force you to quit your craft is unthinkable. But all your life you have lived without raising a hand to your father, and so when the letter comes, you return home for the season, hoping and praying to make it through without stirring the waters. Enter Taehyun Kang, Earl of Addiston—recently titled, in search of a wife, and as tired of the season already as you are. During a chance meeting at the season’s third ball you grow to know each other, and as time passes you grow to like each other, a mutual respect forming when you learn the depths of one another’s passions in the arts. In Taehyun you find a respite from the men who would clip your wings for the sake of finding a perfect wife. In you Taehyun finds a kindred spirit who would respect him for himself, and not the lands in his name. Together you navigate the grueling social activities of the London matchmaking project as acquaintances, then as friends, and maybe, just maybe— As lovers, too.

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stellayuta · 3 days ago

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The Promiscuous Viscount - Gojo Satoru

A jujutsu kaisen x Bridgerton story

content: mdni 18+, depictions of intercourse, swearing, adultery, multiple partners, angst (lots of it), political marriage trope

word cnt: 3.6k

For the first time in the storied decades of the 'social seasons,' no title had ever felt more destined for him, the most eligible bachelor in the ton. Dearest readers, this season's incomparable diamond was no fair lady but a gentleman of legendary charm. Enter the illustrious Viscount of the famed Gojo family—Satoru Gojo. At twenty-eight, he stood as though sculpted by the gods themselves, with tresses of silky moonlight and eyes that eclipsed even the queen’s most opulent sapphires. When Her Majesty proclaimed him this year’s most eligible, the announcement was met with both astonishment and unanimous approval.

Yet, the perfect equilibrium of things was thwarted when Lord Satoru chose his bride. Whispers filled the grand halls, naming the daughters of Duke Zenin, Viscount Ieiri, and Earl Iori as the likeliest contenders for his favor. These were women of impeccable rank and beauty, often seen basking in his fleeting attention. None could have foreseen the twist of fate when Lord Satoru—known for his roguish courtships��turned his gaze away from noble lineage and crowned you, Y/N L/N, an untitled lady, as his heart's sovereign. With no rank to your name and little knowledge of aristocratic customs, you stood as an unlikely contender in this glittering world of prestige. Yet, your unwavering belief in the possibility of lasting love and your determination to face the enigmatic Viscount was incomparable too.

You stared at the antique grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Time was marching towards 9 PM at a snail's pace. Your new husband's living quarters were by itself larger than your entire shack back in the countryside. This room was made with fine upholstery, and its walls and floors were made of hardy, imported material you had never seen before. A gigantic bed was centered off and leaned against the eastern wall, with its four posters draped in midnight blue fabric.

Prior to the wedding, you were just a guest of the town. The Kugisaki family — the baron and his headstrong yet kind-hearted daughter weren't the most prestigious of families but still, they were nobility. They lived further away from the heart of town and right on the edge of the countryside. You had grown up with their daughter, Nobara, dreaming of finding the perfect man and accomplishing all your dreams along with that. Though Nobara had a stricter checklist, you simply wanted someone who would love you with all their heart. Nobara had promised you that she would take you along when it was time for her debut in the social season. And she kept her promise and the rest is history.

You hugged your knees closer to your chest as you watched the minute hand creep past twelve. It was 9:10 PM. Lord Satoru was late to his own wedding night. The covers that you currently sat on were made of icy blue satin — like your husband's eyes. You had seen your husband up close only once - during the wedding. He was ravishing beyond belief. You had stopped dead in your tracks while walking up to the altar, earning whispers and sneers from the guests. Lord Satoru maintained a cool look. Beside him, you looked much more simpler, much more common. You borrowed one of Nobara’s white dresses — the best fit you could find — a proper wedding gown was completely out of budget afterall. The ceremonies were per custom and the kiss was quick and formal and shorter than you wanted it to be — a simple peck. Maybe — the Lord was saving all the affection for this eve, you thought optimistically.

The maids and governesses were on high alert post the wedding. They certainly weren’t expecting the bride to be non-aristocratic. They weren’t expecting to teach someone everything from scratch. Anyhow, half a dozen of them stole you post the ceremonies and covered the basics of dining, honorifics, etiquette and what to and what not to expect from my wedding night. They told you it would be enough to survive the night. They told you not to ask the Lord too many questions and try to be genial and compliant. They told you to wait on the bed patiently and not make the first move. You must not make eye contact until the lord speaks first. Then, they undid your braid, brushed your hair straight, unrobed you of your white dress and put you in something pale pink and light, removed the makeup, added makeup, plucked you like a bird being prepared for a feast. But that’s what one does for the sake of love…

You had begun to nod off from the day’s exertion when the door finally opened with a creak. You immediately jolted up and looked around, each hair on your body stood up straight and adrenaline coursed through your body. The snowy haired man entered the room with the quietness of a cat’s footsteps. His blue eyes gleamed like an otherworldly phenomenon even in the dark. He had dressed down into freer, bedtime clothes too. Subconsciously, your knees wanted to come closer to your chest at the sight of him. He neared you with an apprehensive look on his face, nothing you could quite read at an instant. You made your first mistake then, making eye contact and initiating conversation.

“L-Lord Satoru, I— Please take a seat!” Heat crept up into your cheeks. Who are you to order him around his own house?

He looked slightly puzzled but eventually a small smile made its way up his face.

“All of this must be new and jarring to you. I apologize.” He says, his voice steady yet soft.

“Not at all! Why would you apologize!” this time you clamp your hands onto your mouth. In comparison to him you sound so much more brazen.

“The man should apologize first, always. Key to a healthy marriage.” He states, taking a seat beside you on the bed, facing you and using a hand to sway a lock of your hair out of your face. Your breath sways along with his movements. You immediately lower your gaze and scrunch the fabric of your night dress under your balled up fists.

“Nervous?” he asks, leaning in. He is barely a few inches away from you now. Up this close, his eyes look like the ocean — with sparkling and never ending waves. It looks beautiful. Ethereal. Your lips part at the sight. His do too. His white hair is so long and full that it nearly covers his eyes. You have the urge to push it out of the way but you resist the urge.

You want to hold his handsome face and reprimand him. For not kissing you enough during the wedding ceremony. Right now, your heart’s beating too fast, your brain is working too fast and you could do something very stupid.

“What’s wrong? Did I lose you there?” He blurts out, breaking your trance.

The moment stretches like a taut string between you, fragile and electric. His breath brushes against your cheek, warm and steady, and you realize just how close he is. Your gaze flickers back to his, and for a heartbeat, you wonder if he’s thinking the same thing you are.

“Nervous?” he asks again, but this time, his voice is lower, softer, like he’s testing the waters.

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You’re too distracted by the way his thumb, rough but gentle, brushes against your cheek, trailing down to your jaw. The contact sends a shiver through you, heat pooling low in your stomach. His fingers linger for just a moment before retreating, leaving your skin tingling in their wake.

“Your eyes…” you manage to whisper, barely audible even to yourself.

He tilts his head, curiosity flickering in his oceanic gaze. “What about them?”

“They’re…” You hesitate, feeling the heat rise to your face again, but the words spill out anyway. “Beautiful.”

His smile widens, a boyish charm softening the sharp edges of his face. “You’re bold,” he murmurs, the words carrying a hint of amusement, but there’s something else there too—something darker, heavier. “I like that.”

Your heart thuds painfully in your chest as he leans closer, his lips now just a breath away from yours. For a moment, you think he might kiss you, and you don’t know if you want to stop him. His hand comes up again, this time brushing against your collarbone, and the simple touch feels like fire.

“You’re trembling,” he notes, his voice a rasp that sends a jolt through you.

“I’m not,” you lie, the words shaky and unconvincing.

“Liar,” he whispers, his lips curling into a smirk that’s both teasing and predatory. His fingers trace a featherlight path up your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and you suck in a sharp breath. “Do you always wear your heart on your sleeve, Viscountess?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. The way he’s looking at you, like he’s trying to memorize every detail of your face, steals every coherent thought from your mind. You’re aware of how close you are, of the way the air between you feels charged, like a storm waiting to break.

And then he pulls back, just slightly, enough to give you space to breathe, though the heat of his proximity lingers. His gaze softens, and he reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice so tender it makes your chest ache. “I’m overwhelming you, aren’t I?”

You shake your head quickly, your hands clutching the fabric of your nightdress even tighter. “No… It’s just—” You stop, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to even begin to articulate the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you.

He chuckles softly, the sound low and intimate, and for a moment, you think you see something vulnerable flicker in his eyes. But then he stands, breaking the spell, and you’re left feeling oddly disappointed.

“Things must be confusing for you —” He sighs and you almost want to whine. “Not to worry, leave it up to me!” he grins at you, fist-bumping his chest. “This viscount is a tactful man. He would not touch the lady until she’s ready!”

Huh?

Before you can protest though, he turns to leave.

“W-wait, that’s not what I—”

“Get some sleep tonight, you must be tired. It’s been a long, chaotic day after all. Let it soak in now that you are the viscountess!” and with that declaration, he shuts the giant oak door behind him.

For a minute, you try to process what just happened. Your husband came in, assumed you weren’t ready to have a wedding night and just left! Where did he go? This is his room after all.

You make yourself get out of his bed and rush to the door and into the hallway to bring him back.

Well, at least he should sleep in his own bed. Where did he go? You think. There’s so much you want to talk about, so much you want to know about him.

You check out each door in the hallway lined endlessly with doors. The flicker of candlelights casts long shadows, making the air feel heavier. After the tenth door, when you are about to give up, you hear voices.

A short walk ahead is an ajar door, emitting the yellow glow of a candlelight. You walk toward it, skeptical as the voices become clearer.

“What took you so long!” It's a woman’s voice.

“I thought you are quicker at resolving sticky situations at this, Lord Gojo. Looks like that isn’t the case.” You hear another woman giggle followed by the abrupt sound of lingering smooch.

“Oh my!”

“You talk a lot…” this time, it’s a man’s voice. Satoru’s steady voice, which isn’t soft anymore, it’s a bit condescending now. With your heart thrumming against your chest, you take a peek through the gap and your mouth pops wide open. Before you can scream, you slap your hand onto your lips.

Two familiar looking women are lounging lazily on the bed, naked and sweaty. Lord Satoru stands before them, hands on his hips, eyeing them shamelessly.

You try to get a better look at the women’s faces and sure enough, they are the daughters of the Iori and Ieiri families. What are they doing here? In that state?

“Mmm’ Toru, come already.” Iori whines, extending her arms as her breasts flop about comically. “I can’t believe you’re wedded to that nobody just to give your family a compliant bride. That’s so stupiiiid!”

“Come, come.” Ieiri lights up a cigar. “Uta here’s been waiting desperately and eating my ears off. Let’s get this started.” She moves her hair off her chest and gingerly sits beside Iori.

“You nasty girls.” Lord Satoru snickers, taking both their faces in each of his large hands. He begins to derobe himself before you close your eyes shut tight and break into a run.

You don’t want to see any of this. You don’t want to hear any of it. You just want to go far, far away.

You run blindly down the hallway, your footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls. Your chest tightens, a bitter cocktail of anger, shame, and humiliation swirling inside you. Of course, it was all a game to him. A political maneuver. A compliant bride. The words sting, sharper than they should.

Why did you believe, even for a moment, that someone like him could see you as more than a pawn? A viscount picking a nobody — it was never about love or even mutual respect. Your legs burn as you push yourself faster, desperate to outrun the image etched into your mind: his laughter, their mocking gazes, the way he had touched them so freely.

So he was buying time for them, telling you to wait until you were ready.

Lies.

You burst into the first room you see, far away from that rotten place. It seems like a dusty storage — filled with old furniture and cabinets. You slump down into one of the creaky chairs and throw your face into your hands.

What now? What happens now? It hasn’t even been a day.

What about your dreams? What are you going to tell your family? Nobara?

A sharp knock at the door jolts you from your spiraling thoughts. You freeze, gripping the armrests of the chair like a lifeline. Who could it be? No one should know you’re here—not in this forgotten corner of the estate.

Another knock, softer this time, yet no less unnerving. “May I come in?” a voice calls out. It’s low, smooth, and completely unfamiliar.

You don’t answer immediately, your heart pounding in your ears. The voice doesn’t belong to anyone in the household staff, nor could it be one of the viscount’s guests. And yet, it’s calm, deliberate, and impossibly steady, as if it knew you’d respond eventually.

“Who are you?” you finally manage, your voice sharp despite the tremor in it.

A pause. Then the voice replies, “Yuta.”

That doesn’t help. You rack your brain for any connection to the name, but nothing comes to mind. The name is ordinary, the tone unsettlingly confident. A shiver runs down your spine. What business could someone like this have with you?

Before you can decide whether to tell them to go away, the door creaks open slightly. Instinctively, you press back into the chair, your breath catching.

The man who steps inside is cloaked in shadow, his face dimly lit by the faint moonlight streaming through a small window. He’s tall and unassuming, dressed in simple but well-made clothes that bear no insignia, no hint of rank or allegiance. There’s no reason he should be here—no reason he could be here.

“How did you get in?” you demand, your voice more forceful than you feel. You rise to your feet, keeping the chair between you and him. “This estate is guarded.”

“I have my ways,” he says cryptically. His eyes, calm and hollow, meet yours. “I mean no harm.”

“Why are you here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady. “What do you want?”

“To speak,” he replies simply, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He doesn’t come closer, instead leaning against the wall as if to give you space. “And to offer a warning.”

“A warning?” Your stomach twists. “About what?”

“About your husband,” he says, the words sharp but measured. “And about what kind of man he truly is.”

His words cut through the air like a blade. Your chest tightens, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to respond. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snap, though the tremor in your voice betrays your uncertainty. “You’re trespassing. Get out.”

“Could you say that after that erotic scene you just saw?” He presses and leans in.

“Do you wish to go back and see it through to the end?”

“What the hell?!” you jerk away from him.

“Apologies,” he says, raising his hands slightly, almost mockingly. “Perhaps my words were harsh. But they were honest.”

You grip the edge of the chair to steady yourself, your anger bubbling beneath the surface. “Honest?” you scoff. “You don’t even know me, or my husband. You have no right—”

“I know enough,” he cuts in smoothly, his voice low but firm. “I know what kind of man he is. I know what kind of man hides behind charm and power.” His gaze sharpens, pinning you in place. “And I know what you saw tonight wasn’t the first time, nor will it be the last.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Listen carefully and don’t overreact.” he says as a precaution. What could he possibly say—

“Leave this estate and that man. Come with me as the duchess.”

The next morning you wake up with the worst headache imaginable. Daybreak is just on the horizon and the birds have started chirping their songs. Your eyes hurt and your cheeks are still stained with tracks of tears. The icy blue satin has snaked its way around your legs and waist, imprisoning you to the bed. What a metaphor.

You somehow prop yourself up and take a look around the room. Maybe what you saw was a bad dream. Maybe none of it happened and it was all nerves. You hallucinated the worst because of your disbelief at marrying Lord Satoru.

Your memory feels so blurry and the headache is so strong, it is painful to even think.

Right then, the door to the attached bath opens and out walks a figure with snowy hair dripping with water.

The sight jolts you upright, your heart pounding in your chest. He steps into the soft light filtering through the curtains, revealing Lord Satoru in nothing but loose, low-slung trousers. Droplets of water slide down his toned chest, glistening in the pale morning glow, and for a moment, you can’t look away.

“Morning,” he says casually, running a hand through his damp hair, sending more droplets cascading down his neck. His voice is warm and unhurried, as if the chaos of the previous night hadn’t happened at all.

You blink rapidly, the haze of sleep and confusion battling the vividness of this moment. Was this real? Was he real?

“Y-you’re…” you stammer, clutching the edge of the blanket as if it might shield you from the sheer intensity of his presence.

“Alive and well, if that’s what you’re wondering.” His grin is easy, teasing, but his eyes sharpen as they meet yours. “Though I can’t say the same for you. You look like you’ve been wrestling demons all night.”

You look away, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “I’m fine,” you lie, your voice brittle.

“Viscountess—” Satoru purrs, bending down to meet your eyes, he shakes his head playfully to shower droplets of water onto you, making you hide your face in your palms.

“Rule number one as the lady-head of this house.” He says, sticking up one long finger and poking your nose with it. “You tell me everything that’s bothering you. I’m the number one person you can trust!”

He smiles gleefully and it makes you want to frown. Why does he want to convince you so bad. It hurts. He could come clean and you would have no power to do anything.

He does seem to notice your inner conflict and raises your chin to meet his blue eyes.

“Is something bothering you?” His question is straightforward but his glare seems to be burning holes into your being.

Yes. You were fucking two women behind my back. Committing adultery. That’s what’s bothering me. You think.

And then almost as if he could read your mind, he swoops down and places his soft lips onto yours. You come as close to cardiac arrest as possible. Eyes wide open like saucers, you cling onto his bare shoulders, begging for air. This only makes him melt into the kiss deeper, he encircles your waist and pulls you closer to him, snaking his way up your back and onto your shoulders, trying to pull your flimsy sleeves off.

You manage to barely escape from the kiss, with your lower lip still stuck between his teeth. He looks up at you, feral, from underneath his white, misty lashes.

“L-L-Lord Sa-Satoru. What are—”

“First of all, no lords and sirs. It’s just Satoru to you.” he states, finally letting go of your lip that recoils back into its place, bruised and swollen.

“B-but, Lord Sa—”

Before you can finish, he’s now onto your neck, kissing, biting and licking at the flesh. He climbs onto the bed, lifting you slightly and placing you on his lap for better position, both of your thighs circling his waist. Any reasonable stream of thoughts is drowned out by his onslaught.

“Satoru, what’s gotten into you?” you ask finally before he can go south from your cleavage.

“Isn’t that what it is?” He cocks his head to the side and you do too. “... you felt bad that we didn’t have a wedding night. So we’re having one now!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” you try pushing him away. “My governess could come in any minute.”

“They know better than to burst in when the viscount is in the room, my dear.” He states, stealing another peck from your lips, attempting to catch your lower lip again before you purse them for good.

For a second there, no words are exchanged and the two of you just stare at each other.

Is there a possibility that whatever happened yesterday was just a dream?

There’s this weird scratch you feel on your back that you can’t seem to get rid off or tolerate anymore.

“Excuse me —” you say, getting off of him and heading to the bath.

When you lift up your skirt a crumpled piece of paper pops out.

You lift it up and inspect it, opening it up and smoothing it out against the marble counter.

“Don't trust him. My offer still stands.

— Y”

You swallow hard.

It was no dream.

to be continued......

a/n: like reblog and comment to show some love and support!

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warwickroyals · 5 months ago

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↬ Warwick Wives (2/7) | royal wives during the reigns of Louis III & James I, 1817 - 1857

Both Louis III and James I were unpopular, their reigns were characterised mostly by the royal family's struggle to produce a male heir. In the mid-nineteenth century, the middle-aged, promiscuous and ill-tempered sons of Louis II, vied for the throne. They scrambled to marry and have children. This power struggle divided their young wives, who over the years became jealous, power-hungry, and cunning.

E L I Z A B E T H was the daughter of a wealthy American merchant, the first of House Warwick's many American brides. She married Hereditary Prince Frederick, the only child of King Louis III, in 1826. Criticized as morganatic, the marriage was harmonious but deeply unpopular. Elizabeth was tiny but fierce, with Frederick calling her his "Pocket Artemis" due to her spirited personality and uncharacteristic love of hunting. During her time as Hereditary Princess, Elizabeth was a strong voice for social reforms, although her activism was pointedly ignored by the staunchly conservative king and royal dukes. Elizabeth and Frederick had no children at the time of his early death, sparking a succession crisis. Elizabeth remained close to her in-laws, but later remarried and had four children, the eldest of which was named Frederick.

C A R O L I N E married fifty-three-year-old James, Duke of Lennox when she was twenty-six. The marriage was chiefly a political one, in light of Prince Frederick's death and King Louis III's unhappy marriage with Queen Mary Caroline the Duke was increasingly likely to succeed to the throne. James despised his younger brothers, the Dukes of Glenciarn, Bessarion, Westminster, and Keele, and saw them as a threat to his inheritance. When a healthy son, the future Louis IV, was born in 1840, James was relieved.

Caroline herself was miserable. Her marriage to James had also produced several children who were stillborn or died in infancy. With her health permanently weakened, Caroline was isolated at Lennox House, where she lived with Louis separately from her husband. German by birth, she spoke broken English (although many historians believe this was an act to appear unassuming) and had a hard time adjusting to life in Sunderland. When she became Queen, her situation improved, but she attracted the ire of the Duchess of Glencairn by snubbing her son. Their rivalry would haunt Caroline for the rest of her life. While she was an affectionate mother to Louis, Caroline was intentionally cruel to James's numerous illegitimate children. She promptly banished them from court after James died in 1857.

Caroline has the great accomplishment of being the first woman to serve as a regent. During Louis IV's minority, she governed with a surprising level of competence; but she was unable to control Louis, who had grown temperamental and spoilt.

I M O G E N was stern and grim, with a sharp, unsmiling face. Despite this, in 1837 she left her home in England for the man she loved—the kindhearted Prince Henry, an amateur playwright and the third son of King Louis II. Imogen was passionately in love with her husband and she took pride in her two children. The couple's youngest, George, was the first male-line grandson of Louis II since Hereditary Prince Frederick's death, and Imogen was convinced he would be king someday.

Imogen was crushed by Henry's early death in 1840; after which she became paranoid, controlling, and antagonistic. For the next eighteen years, Imogen clung to George, fearing that his uncles would murder him to secure their own claims. When King Louis IV was enthroned in 1857, with Imogen's arch-enemy Queen Caroline serving as regent, Imogen returned to London, dragging her reluctant teenage children with her. By the time George became king in 1860, Imogen was estranged from him. The pair only reconciled after George became a father in 1862.

E L I Z A B E T H was another German princess who married a son of King Louis II. Prince Reginald's horrific reputation preseeded him, and the seventeen-year-old Elizabeth trembled on her way up to the altar. Reginald was a career soldier who lived a Spartan lifestyle and the rumours surrounding him ranged from off-putting to abhorrent. Luckily for Elizabeth, these rumours were mostly conjecture, and Reginald treated his wife with a "passing indifference". Reginald's military career was sporadic, and he left Elizabeth alone at his city estate for increasingly long stretches of time.

Elizabeth ran a carefree but lonely household. She was often seen picking flowers around the mansion's perimeter and trying to befriend the serving girls and vagabond women who passed through the estate, often giving away her possessions to win their friendship. In her later years, Elizabeth was aggravated by her late husband's debts. While Queen Alexandra, dismissed Elizabeth as peu de chose (not much), King George I was saddened when Elizabeth died.

J A N E had a habit of chewing on caraway seeds. She was pleasant, but known to pry. She came from a family of Sunderlandian aristocracy, a descendant of the Prussian entourage that followed King Louis I and Queen Whilmenina into Sunderland in the 1780s. Her family name Smith was adopted after King Louis II anglicized his own name from the German Hohenzollern to Warwick—an attempt to distance himself from Prussia. Jane married King Louis II's youngest surviving son, Prince Robert, who was fifteen years her senior. Robert was polarizing and widely despised for his controversial stint in the House of Lords. Despite this, the marriage was a happy one and Robert doted on his wife. Jane was the favourite aunt of King Louis IV but his successor, George I, had little love for her and his mother distrusted her.

M A R T H A was a large and domineering woman. Despite marrying the fifth son of King Louis II, she had a bravado that outpaced her station. Unlike her sisters-in-law, Martha remained a prominent member of the royal family during the reign of her nephew, King George I. Known to be an extravagant hostess, Dear Aunt Westminster drank and ate in excess, and habitually burned through her generous pension. She also quarrelled with Queen Alexandra, who thought her impertinent. Family drama quashed Martha's high ambitions in the later half of the 19th century. Her elder son was disinherited after marrying his mistress and her second entered a loveless political union that produced one daughter, Anne. Martha died at the age of ninety-five in 1911, making her one of the longest-lived members of the royal family. Just two years after her death, her granddaughter Anne married the future King George II.

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