#Almack's

[j-august]

Antonia Fraser, Lady Caroline Lamb

[peri-hellion]

Were I to write a lit dissertation all over again (which I would never do) it would be on the 21st century regency resurgence in media/literature and the way that late stage capitalism has created a system where social media-related fame has become one of the few tools of socioeconomic mobility and so all of the regency-related plot tropes (relationships of convenience, comedy of manners, navigating sensitive social ecosystems) suddenly have new and timely relevance.

[rebouks]

What used to be...

[samayla]

Whoops... I tripped and wrote a 4,000-word ball scene in Utterly Impractical this morning...

[wellpresseddaisy]

The Potion Master's Guide to the Magical Ton pt.1

Narcissa suppressed the urge to bite her lip and forced her face into a smooth visage, even though no one else sat in her boudoir with her. She would not give Mother even one forty-sixth of an inch to get her claws in the next time they met. She heard what Mother said to Bella at the last Lattimore-Comstock card party about her complexion. No, she would not frown or bite her lips or do anything that would allow Mother to find either wrinkle or imperfection, which made the letter in her hands all the more irksome. Who on this earth did Frank Longbottom mean? Lucius, while certainly exceeding pretty, hadn’t been considered ‘little’ for a great many years. Possibly never, if Maman Amelie’s complaints over birthing him were to be believed. Narcissa patted the soft swell of her abdomen and hoped her child would be quite a bit smaller than Papa at birth.

Lucius also hadn’t made a curtsey at Almack’s, so that let him quite out. Purebloods only ever complained when they found one of their number who’d curtseyed unchaperoned in London, specifically. She’d no idea why London made them get their backs up when meeting in a country lane did not, but there lay the hypocrisy of Society. Social conventions must be honored, but only where everyone could see. But why would Frank think it her problem? She and Lucius had guardianship of precisely 0 young men who’d curtsied.

Could he mean Severus? Surely Longbottom knew Severus was not actually under their purview? He was the only one Narcissa knew who might get into anything termed a row with anyone, although he generally had good reason. Docile, Severus was not. Lucius had, after one full day of Severus at his most waspish, likened his personality to a bear trap in a moment of frustration. As much as Narcissa adored their young friend, Lucius had a point.

She rose from her escritoire and went in search of Lucius. Perhaps he could make heads or tails of any of this? She thought he’d been rather close with Longbottom, once. Perhaps he would still understand how the man’s mind worked? She ran him to ground in his study, frowning over a pile of ledgers.

He’d taken off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. Merlin and Morgana. She took in the sight for a moment, appreciating the soft, golden light of a Summer afternoon shining off his hair and highlighting the breadth of his shoulders under crisp, white linen. She could be half dead, she decided, and she’d still get up off her bed to see her husband in shirtsleeves and waistcoat, especially when he’d removed his cravat and his shirt fell open at the throat. He had such a lovely throat.

“Trouble, darling?” she asked. She could ogle him later.

“My beloathed Pater biffed off to France just as the ten-year audit is beginning and left me holding the bag,” Lucius grumbled.

“Of course he did, dear one. What do you think he’s dodging this time, beyond the  responsibility?” Narcissa joined him behind the desk and enjoyed running her hands over his broad shoulders.

One made one’s fun where one could, of course.

“I’ve no idea. He’s left running the estate to me for the past few years. It could be his investment account, I suppose. He doesn’t much like me seeing what he’s doing there.” Lucius sighed and raked his hands through his hair.

“Hmm. Yes, most likely. Would you have a moment? I received the most intriguing letter from Frank Longbottom in the morning’s post. I can’t make out precisely what he means.”

“Why would Frank—” Lucius reached for the letter.

“That was my question, as well.”

“Oh Merlin, he’s trotted out all his titles. He really must have been in a snit while writing. My dear Mrs. Malfoy—” Lucius read.

My dear Mrs. Malfoy,

It is with great displeasure that I felt I must write to apprise you of the shocking lack of  conduct of one under your guardianship.

“He hasn’t changed a whit,” Lucius commented. “Still as officious as ever. He wasn’t this bad at school, though.”

This morning, I went into London. It was there I found your ward, unchaperoned and in the midst of a row with the proprietor of a shop. I will not assault your tender eyes with an account of the invective or the opprobrius epithets

“I wonder how many times it took him to spell opprobrius?” Narcissa asked. “If I remember correctly, he was always in disgrace with professors over his spelling.”

“So was half of both of our classes.”

“There is that, I suppose. Parents should take much better care over early education.”

“Shall I continue?”

“Please. You do ‘insulted stuffed shirt’ so well.”

Lucius snorted and continued.

the opprobrius epithets hurled at the poor shop keep. I, of course, stepped in and remonstrated sharply with your ward. He behaved much the same to me. While I do not wish to cause trouble, I would recommend a sharp word with him regarding his conduct. I would further recommend, when you or your husband are unavailable, that he be assigned a chaperone who will brook no nonsense.

I cannot believe one who is under your tender care would so forget his conduct as to behave in such a thoroughly disgraceful manner. Thankfully, I know you and your husband will see to it that it never happens again. I hope you will not think it amiss that I took him under my own authority and saw him through the nearest Floo to your home. I did not feel that he, in that state, ought to be allowed to go any further astray.

I do hope that your husband will impress upon him the dangers a pretty little lad might face unchaperoned and unprotected in London. Do tell him, from me, that I think six would suffice. Eight if he’s quarrelsome and willful.

Ever in your service,

Francis Longbottom

“I’m not reading the full collection of titles. It’s positively indecent putting them all in.” Lucius scoffed at the closure. “Ever in your service? Salazar’s wand he’s become insufferable. And it shows he doesn’t know me at all. I would never subject anyone to six of the best. Beastly. I’ve always been able to get my message across in other ways.”

“I blame his mother,” Narcissa commented idly. “She behaves as if every word from his mouth is straight from Merlin. I have an idea of who he might mean, but surely not. He has to know it can’t be.”

“Just, for one moment, consider that Frank Longbottom is famous for having no sense of humor at all. Further consider that absolutely exhausted little joke the Slytherins made, and still make, about Severus being our first.”

“No,” Narcissa breathed in horrified delight. She hated being correct on some occasions. “He wouldn’t be so mutton-headed.”

“Frank is capable of a great deal of mutton-headery, I’m afraid. You know he voted for the guardianship bill that came up last Wizengamot seasion. I can do the whole speech if you’d like.”

“As much as I would love to hear it, darling, I think we’ll have to save that for later. Where’s Severus? If that happened this morning…oh, the poor dear. He must be fuming. Mipsy!”

A quiet pop heralded the arrival of an extremely tidy elf.

“Mistress called?”

“Could you locate Mr. Snape and ask him to attend us in the study?” Narcissa asked.

“Mipsy will find Master Severus.” She popped out again.

“Does he know they call him Master Severus?”

“Hmm? Oh, I’ve no idea. He hasn’t smashed a decanter over it, so he may not know precisely what it means.” Lucius looked up from his ledgers. “Do you think I should play the angry prefect with him?”

“Don’t be cruel, darling. He’s going to be confused enough being called to the study as it is.”

“And he always responded better to that face you made — the ‘I’m not angry only terribly disappointed’ one.”

“We’ll be as normal as we can be about Frank Longbottom crashing in where he isn’t wanted,” Narcissa decided.

“Did you hear that he ordered his wife to stop working the minute he heard she was expecting?” Lucius asked. “In front of all her colleagues at St. Mungo’s?”

“And he isn’t searching Lancashire for his bits? Mrs. Longbottom has more patience than I could ever muster.”

“Between the husband and the Dowager, I’m surprised she’s ever allowed to express an opinion.”

“Er, you wished to see me?” Severus sidled into the room, holding a stack of cards and looking shifty.

“Yes, dear heart. Oh, please don’t look so nervous. Come and sit.” Narcissa crossed to Severus and pulled him further into the room. She easn’t entirely sure the Study would help calm him at all. When Severus got in a state nothing would, really.

The sofa was a deep and squashy one, perfect for afternoon naps while avoiding work. Narcissa perched on the edge of a chair while Lucius pulled Severus down to sit on the sofa with him.

“I received a perfectly ridiculous letter just now,” she began.

“Bloody Longbottom!” Severus interrupted, flushing. “The apothecary promised faithfully to provide the finest quality ingredients, and at the time I specified. He had nothing ready when I got there and then, then he tried to sell me inferior belladonna. I specifically told him I needed the premium quality and I don’t know what I’m going to tell Master Cavallieri when I go back. This was meant to be part of my Master Work. On top of that, bloody Frank Longbottom scruffed me in bloody public and told me to mind my manners like the nice lad he knew I was!”

Narcissa blinked. “And you didn’t bite him? ”

“I think I was too shocked at being scruffed,” Severus admitted.

“Did he say anything else?” Lucius asked gently.

“He apologized for my reprehensible conduct.” Severus looked angry enough to spit tacks. “And then he dragged me out of the shop and to the nearest Floo, since he couldn’t allow me to run about loose and unsupervised as I was clearly overwrought. Overwrought! I have never been overwrought a day in my life!”

Narcissa could argue with that, but kept her counsel. No sense in twitting Severus when he’d been so embarrassed already.

“I hope you got him with something truly awful,” Lucius soothed.

“Er…” Severus bit his lip. “It was immensely petty of me, I know, but…flatulence.”

He muttered the last so low that it took Narcissa a moment to fully understand. She snorted.

“Excellently done,” Lucius said. “He’s grown into an appalling windbag, I fear. Now, would you like to continue to be angry or would you like a solution?”

“Why don’t we take this to the family sitting room and have some tea?” Narcissa rose as she spoke, moving toward the door.

“Wondeful idea, my love. Outrage does make one so parched.” Lucius chivvied Severus after her.

[ltwilliammowett]

The Fishing Fleet

Marrying off a daughter to a successful naval officer could be good business for many families. Aspiring naval officers could make it to captain, and then hopefully the promotion system would take its course as the person rose through the ranks of the Admiralty. Being married to a successful officer meant a lot of prestige. As with most things in life, it was all about money, and an officer's salary, which included prize money, could mean a regular income and perhaps a higher (or general) title of nobility.

Highest Life in London - Tom & Jerry 'sporting a toe' among the Corinthians at Almacks in the West by IR & G Cruikshank in Tom and Jerry: Life in London by P Egan (1869 first pub 1821) (x)

On the other hand, it was of course also good business for the lord, because he would also benefit from a good relationship and a hefty dowry - because this could also promote his career, if his wife had good contacts.

With that in mind, the collective name for a bevy of young ladies looking for a suitable and well-off husband is the fishing fleet, because they are all looking for a husband.

[rose-of-strangers]

I wanted to share some more lore stuff for me and my partner's fantasy world. We made a design change to one of our races called Almacks. They now have a sail fin-like tail to help with temperature regulation, and they have some rules when it comes to the colors they can have.

The temperatures around the mother during birth dictate the color the baby will be, ranging all colors from darker colors for cold and warmer colors for hot.

Also made a chart of height and age for all the races in the world (the height is their average height and the age is the max age that race can live to)

[amphibious-thing]

OFMD Stede Bonnet as a Macaroni: Wealth, Gender and Sexuality in the 18th Century Fashion World

Historical Inaccuracy in Our Flag Means Death? Never!

Historical inaccuracy! I hear you cry. A Macaroni in 1717!?! It is true macaroni fashion was really a late-18th century fashion trend, seemingly reaching its peak in the 1770s. However Our Flag Means Death is nothing if not historically inaccurate. Stede’s costumes seem to take inspiration from across the 18th century rather than worrying about what would have actually been worn in 1717.

Early 18th century suits tended to have round necklines, loose-fitting sleeves with wide cuffs, long waistcoats that stoped just above the knee, and coats with full skirts just a little longer that the waistcoat.

[Left: Matthew Prior, oil on canvas, c. 1713-1714, by Alexis-Simon Belle, photo credit: St John's College, University of Cambridge, via Art UK.

Middle: Matthew Hutton of Newnham, Hertfordshire, oil on canvas, c. 1715, by Johannes Verelst, photo credit: National Trust Images, via Art UK.

Right: William Leathes, Ambassador Brussels, oil on canvas, c. 1710-1711, by Herman van der Myn, photo credit: Colchester and Ipswich Museums Service: Ipswich Borough Council Collection, via Art UK.]

As the century continued we get standing collars and turned down collars but round necklines were still around as well, sleeves got tighter with smaller cuffs, the waistcoats got shorter and the coats lost their skirts.

[Left: Thomas ‘Sense’ Browne, oil on canvas, c. 1775, by Nathaniel Dance-Holland, photo credit: Yale Center for British Art, via Art UK.

Middle: Sir Brooke Boothby, oil on canvas, c. 1781, by Joseph Wright of Derby, photo credit: Tate, via Art UK.

Right: David Allan, oil on canvas, c. 1770, by David Allan, photo credit: Royal Scottish Academy/National Galleries of Scotland (Antonia Reeve), via Art UK.]

Stede’s collars are inconstant some are rounded but others are turned down and Ed’s purple suit has a standing collar. Many of Stede’s coats have wide cuffs, but most have little skirt to them. His teal suit from the pilot has a bit of a skirt but its paired with a short waistcoat.

Most of Stede’s waistcoats are short with the exception of his suits from both the wedding portrait with Mary and the the family portrait. Both suits are very straight giving him a boxy appearance and are pretty different from most of the suits we see him in.

All in all I don’t think they were aiming for historically realistic clothes but with the collars, short waistcoats, and lack of skirts I get more of a late-18th century vibe.

So what was a Macaroni?

A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue (1785), defined macaroni as follows:

An Italian paste made of flour and eggs; also a fop, which name arose from a club, called the maccaroni club, instituted by some of the most; dressy travelled gentlemen about town, who led the fashions, whence a man foppishly dressed, was supposed a member of that club, and by contraction stiled a maccaroni.

The macaroni club was said to have comprised of young men who had gained a taste for French and Italian textiles on their Grand Tour (a traditional trip taken tough Europe by upper class men when they came of age). The earliest reference to the club is from a letter from Horace Walpole to Lord Hertford on the 6th Feb 1764:

at the Maccaroni Club (which is composed of all the travelled young men who wear long curls and spying-glasses),

In his book Pretty Gentleman: Macaroni Men and the Eighteenth-Century Fashion World Peter McNeil suggest the club was actually Almack’s. Almack’s was a private club at 50 Pall Mall that was attended by prominent Whigs including Sheridan, Fox and the Price of Wales. (p52) While the name may have originated from the men at Almack’s it was soon used to describe any man who followed the associated fashion trends.

So what were these trends?

Hair

“Still lower let us fall for once, and pop

Our heads into a modern Barber’s shop;

What the result? or what we behold there?

A set of Macaronies weaving hair.”

~ The Macaroni by Robert Hitchcock

Probably the most iconic aspect of macaroni fashion was the hair. “It was the macaroni attention to wigs that caused most consternation” explains Peter McNeil. The macaroni hair “matched the towering heights of the female coiffure, with a tall toupee cresting at the centre front. The wig generally had a long tail at the neck (’queue’), which when folded double was called the ‘cadogan’, all of which required regular dressing with pomade and powder, sometimes in the colours of pink, green or red.” (p45)

The height of the macaroni hair was a point of particular fascination in macaroni caricature exaggerating it beyond what the macaroni were probably actually wearing. Compare below Tom’s hair in the satirical print What is this my son Tom to the self portrait of Richard Cosway, who was satirised by Mary Darly as “The Miniature Macaroni” (a reference both to his height and his career as a miniature painter).

[Left: What is this my son Tom, print, c. 1774, published by Sayer & Bennett, via The British Museum.

Right: Self-Portrait, Ivory, c. 1770–75, by Richard Cosway, via The Met.]

The way Stede usually wears is hair is not particularly macaroni nor particularly 18th century for that matter. The exception to this is his wig from The Best Revenge Is Dressing Well though even this doesn’t have the iconic macaroni hight.

Interestingly both Stede and Ed are wearing flowers in their hair. While there are certainly depictions of women with flowers in there hair I’m not aware of this being a trend in mens fashion at all. However macaroni were known for wearing large nosegays.

While the tall hair was certainly iconic not all macaroni wore their hair tall. Joseph Banks, who was satirised as “The Fly Catching Macaroni” by Matthew Darly, is depicted in his portrait with a fairly typical 18th century hairstyle. Its not the hair alone that makes a macaroni, it was just one aspect of the fashion.

[Sir Joseph Banks, oil on canvas, c. 1771-1773, by Sir Joshua Reynolds, via Wikimedia.]

Suit

“If I went to Almack’s and decked out my wrinkles in pink and green like Lord Harrington, I might still be in vogue.” ~ Horace Walpole to Lord Hertford, 25 Nov 1764

Menswear of the period consisted of the same basic elements; shirt, stockings, breeches, waistcoat and coat. What differentiated the macaroni from others was the fabric, cut, colour and trimmings of the suit. “At a time when English dress generally consisted of more sober cuts and the use of monochrome broadcloth,” explains Peter McNeil “macaronism emphasised the effects associated with French, Spanish and Italian textiles and trimmings”. Popular amongst macaroni were brocaded and embroidered silks and velvets, sometimes further embellished with metallic sequins, simulated gemstones and raised metallic threads. Popular colours included pastels, pea-green, pink, red and deep orange. (McNeil, p30-32)

Far from wearing “monochrome broadcloth” Stede likes a “fine fabric” and dresses in a range of colours, we see him in teal, pink, purple, green, white, red, peach &c.

Tightly cut French style suits known as habit à la française were popular with macaroni. (McNeil, p14) Stede’s suits vary somewhat in cut but some are very French. The peach suit Stede wears in We Gull Way Back particularly has a very macaroni feel to me. Compare it to the English suit (left) and the French suit (right).

From the back you can see the English suit has more of a skirt to it.

Both Stede’s suit and the French suit are somewhat plain but have been paired with a floral embroidered waistcoat, while the English suit has a matching plain black waistcoat.

[Left: English suit, wool, silk, c. 1755–65, via The Met, number: 2009.300.916a, b.

Right: French suit, Silk plain weave (faille), c. 1785, via LACMA, number: M.2007.211.47a-b.]

Fabric covered button’s were common in the 18th century, you can see them on both the French and English coats above. In contrast Stede wears a lot of metal buttons. Steel buttons were popular amongst macaroni, a trend that was satirised in Steel Buttons/Coup de Bouton.

[Steel Buttons/Coup de Bouton, print, c. 1777, by William Humphrey, via The British Museum.]

Pumps and Parasols

“Maccaronies who trip in pumps and with Parasols over their heads” ~ Mrs Montagu

High heels had been popular amongst men during the 17th century. The Royal Collection Trust explains:

In the first half of the 17th century, high heeled shoes for men took the form of heeled riding or Cavalier boots as worn by Charles I. As the wearing of heels filtered into the lower ranks of society, the aristocracy responded by dramatically increasing the height of their shoes. High heels were impractical for undertaking manual labour or walking long distances, and therefore announced the privileged status of the wearer.

(Royal Collection Trust, High Heels Fit for a King)

In 17th century France Louis XIV popularised red-heels by turning them into a symbol of political privilege, which in turn spread the fashion to England. But with the sobering of menswear in England around the turn of the century the high heel and the red-heels went out of fashion. (see Bata Shoe Museum Toronto, Standing TALL: The Curious History of Men in Heels)

The high heel had a bit of a resurgence in the 1770s with macaroni fashion. The Natural History of a Macaroni snipes that the macaroni’s “natural hight is somewhat inferior to he ordinary size of men, through by the artificial hight of their heels, they in general reach that standard”. (Walker’s Hibernian Magazine, July 1777, p458)

Red-heels were reintroduced to England by young men returning from their Grand Tours. A young Charles James Fox (satirised by Mathew Darly as “the Original Macaroni”) wore such French style red-heeled shoes. The Monthly Magazine recalls a young Fox as a “celebrated “beau garçon” with “his chapeau bras, his red-heeled shoes, and his blue hair-powder.” (Oct 1806) and The Life of the Right Honorable, Charles James Fox recalls him in his “suit of Paris-cut velvet, most fancifully embroidered, and bedecked with a large bouquet; a head-dress cemented into every variety of shape; a little silk hat, curiously ornamented; and a pair of French shoes, with red-heels;” (p18) And in Recollections of the Life of the Late Right Honorable Charles James Fox B.C. Walpole recalls him as “one of the greatest beaus in England,” who “indulged in all the fashionable elegance of attire, and vied, in point of red heels and Paris-cut velvet with the most dashing young men of the age. Indeed there are many still living who recollect Beau Fox strutting up and down St. Jame’s-street, in a suit of French embroidery, a little silk hat, red-heeled shoes, and a bouquet nearly large enough for a may-pole.” (p24)

Compare the French style red-heeled shoes of Louis XIV to Stede’s red-heeled shoes.

[Left: detail of Louis XIV, oil on canvas, c. 1701, by Hyacinthe Rigaud, via Wikimedia.]

However most macaroni were depicted wearing the more standard late 18th century low-heeled bucked shoes. Where they distinguished themselves was the size and decoration of the buckles. “Such buckles could be set with pate (lead glass) or ‘Bristol stones’ (chips of quartz), or diamonds if you were very rich.” Explains peter McNeil, “The new macaroni fashion was for huge silver or plated Artois shoe buckles which the Mourning Post claimed weighed three to eleven ounces.” (p90)

While certainly not as iconic has his heels Stede also wears these sorts of shoes. Compare below the shoes from a macaroni caricature to Ed wearing Stede’s shoes (I couldn’t get a good shot of Stede wearing them).

[Left: detail of How d'ye like me, print, c. 1772, published by: Carington Bowles, via The British Museum.]

“A great many jewelled accessories accompanied the macaroni look”, writes Peter McNeil, “They included hanger swords, very long canes, clubs, spying glasses and snuff-boxes.” (p68) Tragically we don’t see Stede with a fashionable dress sword or a cane but we do see him with another accessory popular amongst macaroni; a parasol.

Popular in France parasols/umbrellas were adopted by the macaroni. They were popular amongst both men and woman in France but in England they had a feminine connotation. (McNeil, p129) In the 1780s as umbrellas became more popular amongst men there was a cultural pushback to the perceived gender transgression. On the 16th of August 1780 the Morning Post complains of of the “canopy of umbrellas” bemoaning that “the effeminacy of the men, inclines them to adopt this necessary appendage of female convenience”. On the the 4th Oct, 1784, the Morning Chronicle published a letter complaining of “that vile foppish practice of sheltering under a umbrella”. The author of this tirade writes that while “the ladies should be allowed to secure their beauty and persons from the heat of the sun, or the inclemency of the weather,” because “it is natural, and has a striking effect”, that “to see a great lubberly cit, bounce from his shop, with a coat, hat, and wig that are not together worth one groat,” sheltering “from the influence of the solar beam” was “intolerable.” However:

The macaroni being of the doubtful gender, may in part claim a feminine right; his dress is too delicate to bear an heavy shower, perhaps his person is so too; but a coach, if a clean one is to be found would serve his purpose much better, as there would be less likelihood of his being washed away into the kennel, which he deserves to be kicked into for his d-----d affectation.

Wealth

Born from rich young men returning from their tours with a taste for French and Italian textiles macaroni fashion was expensive. Certainly a working class man would not be able to afford Stede’s wardrobe. Both the sheer amount of clothes he has as well has the fabrics those clothes are made of are indications of wealth. However to say that Stede’s wardrobe is only an indication of wealth would be missing part of picture.

Most rich upper class English men (including colonial) wore plain monochrome suits. Even amongst the gentry macaroni fashion was not the norm. Compare bellow George Washington (left) who was a wealthy planation owner, but notably not a macaroni, to Richard Cosway (right) who was a famous macaroni.

[Left: George Washington, oil on canvas, c. 1796, by Gilbert Stuart, via Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts.

Right: Detail of The Academicians of the Royal Academy, oil on canvas, c. 1771-72, by Johan Zoffany, via The Royal Collection Trust.]

In spite of the expense macaroni fashion was not exclusive to the upper classes. “Macaroni dress was not restricted to members of the aristocracy and gentry,” writes McNeil, “but included men of the artisan, artist, and upper servant classes, who wore versions of this visually lavish clothing with a distinctive cut and shorter jackets. Wealthier shopkeepers and entrepreneurs also sometimes wore such lavish clothing, particularly those associated with the luxury trades, such as mercers and upholsterers -” (p14)

It was possible to copy certain aspects of macaroni fashion on a cheeper budget. The hairstyle in particular was achievable without braking the bank. And there were ways to replicate the effects of certain expensive fashion trends for cheeper prices. For example patterns could be printed rather than embroidered.

[Left: printed waistcoat, cotton, c. 1770–90, via The Met, number: 35.142.

Right: embroidered waistcoat, silk, c. 1780–89, via The Met, number: 2009.300.2908.]

The Town and Country Magazine complains “we now have Macaronies of every denomination, from the colonel of the Train’s-Bands down to the errand-boy.” (McNeil, p169) The Morining Post mocks macaronies that couldn't financially keep up with the trends:

The macaronies of a certain class are under peculiar circumstances of distress, occasioned by the fashion, now so prevalent, of wearing enormous shoe-buckles; and we are well assured that the manufactory of plated ware was never known to be in so flourishing a situation.

(14 Jan, 1777)

In 18th century England, class was about more than just how much money you had. It was about pedigree. “English society was particularly alert to those whom it felt were using clothes to achieve a social status they did not merit” explains McNeil. Richard Cosway was a famous macaroni from modest background. Born to a Devonshire headmaster he was sent to London to study painting at 12. He became a very successful miniature painter and grew rich from the patronage of the Prince of Wales (later George IV) and Whig circles. In Nollekens and his Times J.T. Smith writes of Cosway:

He rose from one of the dirtiest boys, to one of the smartest of men. Indeed so ridiculously foppish did he become that Mat Darly, the famous caricature print-seller, introduced an etching of him in his window in the Strand, as ‘The Macaroni Miniature Painter’

(McNeil, p105-14)

But it was not only the Darlys that satirised Cosway Hannah Humphrey mocks Cosway as a social climber in A Smuggling Machine or a Convenient Cos(au)way for a Man in Miniature which depicts him standing under the petticoats of his much taller wife Maria. In the background there is a picture of Cosway climbing a ladder that rests upon a woman (she is believed to either be Angelica Kauffman or the Duchess of Devonshire). Below this reads:

Lowliness is Young Ambitions Ladder, Whereto the climber upward turns his Face But when he once attains the upmost round He then unto the Ladder turns his back, Looks unto the clouds - scornin [sic] the base degrees By which he did assend. Shak. Jul. Caesar.

[A Smuggling Machine or a Convenient Cos(au)way for a Man in Miniature, print, c. 1782, by Hannah Humphrey, via The British Museum.]

Another famous macaroni not born into the aristocracy was Julius Soubise. Brought to England from the West Indies as a slave he was taken in by Catherine Hyde, the Duchess of Queensbury. She gave him a leisured childhood, in which he was taught to play and compose for the violin, was taught to fence by Domenico Angelo, and learned oration from David Garrick. “Macaroni caricatures of Soubise parodied a foppish upstart whose outfits and entertainments, financed by the Duchess, affronted both racial and social expectations of an African male.” Writes Petter McNeil, Soubise was satirised as “a Mungo Macaroni” an “offensive term meaning a rude or forward black man.” (p118)

[Left: A Mungo Macaroni, print, c. 1772, by Matthew Darly, via The British Museum.

Right: The D------ of [...]-- playing at foils with her favorite lap dog Mungo after expending near £10000 to make him a----------*, print, c. 1773, by William Austin, via Yale Center for British Art.]

The expense of Stede’s wardrobe is a key part of the narrative. Stede has nice fancy luxurious things. Ed wants nice fancy luxurious things. Ed was born a poor brown boy and while he may be rich now he can never truly change his class. He could be as rich as Richard Cosway or Julius Soubise but to the gentry he will always be that poor brown boy.

Gender

As we have already seen in the tirade against men using umbrellas the macaroni was perceived as being of “the doubtful gender”. (The Morning Chronicle, 4 Oct, 1784)

The Natural History of a Macaroni writes that there “has within these few years past arrived from France and Italy a very strange animal, of the doubtful gender, in shape somewhat between a man and monkey,” that dresses “neither in the habit of a man or woman, but peculiar to itself”. The author states that “they are in no respect useful in this country”:

that the minister of the war department would give orders to have them enlisted for the service of America: we do not mean to put them on actual duty there. Alas! they are as harmless in the field, as they are in the chamber, but they may stand as faggots to cover the loss of real men.

(Walker’s Hibernian Magazine, July 1777, p458-9)

A “faggot” being “A man who is temporarily hired as a dummy soldier to make up the required number at a muster of troops, or on the roll of a company or regiment.” (see OED)

[The Masculine Gender & The Feminine Gender, etching with touches of watercolour, c. 1787, Attributed to Henry Kingsbury, via The Met.]

The macaroni wasn’t just considered effeminate because of the way they dressed but also because of their interests and the way walked and talked. Famous for playing fops and macaroni, the actor David Garrick did a lot to establish the character of the macaroni in the public mind. In his poem The Fribbleriad Garrick mocks the men who were offended by his performances asserting, perhaps accurately, that they were offended because it was them he mocked. He portrays a group of angry effeminate men meeting in order to seek revenge on him for his portrayal of them:

May we no more such misery know! Since Garrick made OUR SEX a shew; And gave us up to such rude laughter, That few, ’twas said, could hold their water: For He, that player, so mock’d our motions, Our dress, amusements, fancies, notions, So lisp’d our words, and minc’d our steps,

The macaroni had become more than simply an effeminate man, he had become a new sex. Something not quite man or woman. Something in-between. A new description of a macaroni asks the question:

Is it a man? ‘Tis hard to say - A woman then

          - A moment pray -

So doubtful is the thing, that no man

Can say if ‘tis a man or woman:

Unknown as yet by sex or feature,

It moves - a mere amphibious creature.

(McNeil p169)

Sexuality

Much like today in the 18th century effeminacy was associated with homosexuality. Men who had sex with other men were known as mollies. A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue (1785), defined a molly as “A Miss Molly; an effeminate fellow, a sodomite”. In the History of the London Clubs (1709), Ned Ward characterises mollies as follows:

There are a particular Gang of Wretches in Town, who call themselves Mollies, & are so far degenerated from all Masculine Deportment or Manly exercises that they rather fancy themselves Women, imitating all the little Vanities that Custom has reconcil’d to the Female sex, affecting to speak, walk, tattle, curtsy, cry, scold, & mimick all manner of Effeminacy.

“By the 1760′s,” explains Peter McNeil, “too much attention to fashion on the part of a man was read as evidence if a lack of interest in women”. (p152) 

Macaroni were often portrayed as incapable or simply uninterested in sexual relations with women. This attitude is expressed by Mr. Bate in the following dialogue from The Vauxhall Affray; Or, the Macaronies Defeated:

Mr. Fitz-Gerall: I always though a fine woman was only made to be looked at.

Mr. Bate: Just sentiments of a macaroni. You judge of the fair sex as you do your own doubtful gender, which aims only to be looked at and admired.

Mr. Fitz-Gerall: I have as great a love for a fine woman as any man.

Mr. Bate: Psha! Lepus tute es et pulpamentum quæris?

Mr. Fitz-Gerall: What do you say, Parson?

Mr. Bate: I cry you mercy, Sir, I am talking Heathen Greek to you; in plain English I say, A macaroni you, and love a woman?

Mr. Fitz-Gerall: I love the ladies, for the ladies love me.

Mr Bate: Yes, as their panteen, their play-thing, their harmless bauble, to treat as you do them, merely to look at

While lack on interest in woman does not necessarily mean attraction to men, Matthew Darly takes the implication there in his 1771 set of macaroni caricatures which induces a print entitled Ganymede, a reference to Zeus’ male lover of the same name. Ganymede is believed to be a parody of Samuel Drybutter who had been arrested for attempted sodomy in January 1770. Darly also includes the character Ganymede in Ganymede & Jack-Catch. Jack-Catch is a reference to the infamous English executioner John Ketch. In the print Jack-Catch says, “Dammee Sammy you’r a sweat pretty creature & I long to have you at the end of my String.” Ganymede replies, “You don’t love me Jacky”. Jack-Catch is holding a noose with one hand and stroking Ganymede’s chin with the other. Jack-Catch is soberly dressed in typical 18th century menswear, while Ganymede’s dress is distinguished by his lace ruffles and styled wig. The print is not only suggesting that macaroni are sodomites but making a joke of the execution of them. The punishment for a sodomy at this time in England being death by hanging.

[Left: Ganymede, print, c. 1771, Matthew Darly, via The Met.

Right: Ganymede & Jack Catch, print, c. 1771, Matthew Darly, via The British Museum]

An anonymous letter to the Public Ledger (5 Aug, 1772) says blatantly what others had already implied. “The country is over-run with Catamites, with monsters of Captain Jones’s taste, or, to speak in a language witch all may understand, with MACCARONIES”. The writer warns macaroni who have “escaped detection” as sodomites and “therefore cannot fairly be charged” that they have not avoided suspicion:

Suspicion is got abroad-the carriage-the deportment-the dress-the effeminate squeak of the voice-the familiar loll upon each others shoulders-the gripe of the hand-the grinning in each others faces, to shew the whiteness of the teeth-in short, the manner altogether, and the figure so different from that of Manhood, these things conspire to create suspicion; Suspicion gives birth to watchful observation; and, from a strict observance of the Maccaroni Tribe, we very naturally conclude that to them we are indebted for the frequency of a crime which Modesty forbids me to name. Take warning, therefore, ye smirking group of Tiddy-dols: However secret you may be in your amours, yet in the end you cannot escape detection;

Bows on His Shoes

18th century shoes were typically buckled, laces and ribbons were simply unfashionable. As mentioned previously macaroni were distinguished by the size and decoration of the buckles. So are Stede’s bows simply ahistorical? Well there are references to 18th century men wearing laces and ribbons.

Towards the end of the 18th century laces started to come into fashion. Appeal from the Buckle Trade of London and Westminster, to the Royal Conductors of Fashion (1792) complained that despite how “tender and effeminate the appearance of Shoe Strings” the “custom of wearing them has prevailed.”

Perhaps the most intriguing reference is that of Commissioner Pierre Louis Foucault’s papers where he details the surveillance, investigation and entrapment of "pederasts” in Paris. It is important to note that the word “pederasty” was used synonymously with “sodomy” in the 18th century and did not denote age simply sex. An Universal Etymological English Dictionary (1726) defines “A pederast” as “a Buggerer” and “Pederasty” as “Buggery”.

Foucault and the men working with him identified particular clothing worn by men seeking sex with other men that he called the “pederastical uniform”. In Foucault’s papers men are described as being “attired in such a way as to be recognized by everyone as a pederast”, “clothed with all the distinctive marks of pederasty”, or simply “dressed like a pederast”. This “uniform” generally included “some combination of frock coat, large tie, round hat, small chignon, and bows on the shoes.” Jeffrey Merrick in his article on Foucault speculates that these men dressed this way to signal to each other. However when questioned by police they would understandably deny such a purpose, one man when questioned about his outfit responded that everyone “dresses as he sees fit”. (Jeffrey Merrick, Commissioner Foucault, Inspector Noël, and the “Pederasts” of Paris,1780-3)

Conclusion

I’m not saying Stede is intended to be a macaroni. If that were the case they would have given him the iconic macaroni hairstyle. However the costuming team has clearly pulled from fashion trends that were associated with effeminacy and homosexuality. While OFMD is evidently wholly unconcerned with creating period accurate costumes the costumes are still clearly inspired by historical fashions. Perhaps the curtains really are just blue but maybe Stede wears bows on his shoes because he’s gay.

[sailforvalinor]

Joker and Ace: Jester's Privilege

Chapter 2

“Remind me,” the girl whispered as the music struck up and he led her onto the floor, “what dance is this again?”

He glanced down at her, mildly alarmed. “It’s a waltz, Miss,” he said, more bluntly than he intended. “Don’t you have a dance card?” Did she even know how to dance? Some of his sisters’ speculations about who she might be sprung into his head unbidden. 

She gave him a wry look. “A waltz?” she repeated, ignoring the question. “In a ballroom in Bath in 183-? That doesn’t seem exactly…proper.”

Theodore didn’t see what the year had to do with anything--but at least she sounded like she knew what she was talking about. “My father’s balls attempt to mimic Almack’s in every manner. But if you’d rather wait for the quadrille…?”

The girl smiled dazzlingly. “Oh no, of course not,” she said, then, with a quick glance about her at the other dancers taking the floor, assumed the beginning position for the waltz with startling ease.

He bowed, she curtsied, and Theodore took her right hand in his left and placed his right on her shoulder blade almost mechanically, having done this so many times he barely had to think about it. She was quite a bit shorter than him, he realized--the top of her head barely came to his shoulder, and from that vantage point, he noticed that her hair seemed to almost sparkle, as if she’d dusted her hair with tiny diamonds. How on earth she’d managed that he had no idea, but the thought of how envious his sisters would be at the sight of it made him crack a slight smile.

The strings struck up, and Theodore was struck with them with the strange look the girl had given him when he’d first approached her. “Do I…know you from somewhere, Miss?” he asked carefully.

She couldn’t read the expression that came over her face. “I don’t believe so.”

The waltz began, and much to Theodore’s surprise, the girl moved through the intricacies of the dance effortlessly--it was like dancing with a cloud on his arm. She knew exactly what she was doing, but still let him lead. He’d rarely danced with a better partner, and so distracted was he by this that it took him a moment to realize that, though he usually regarded it as a necessary nicety of polite society, he was actually enjoying dancing for once. 

If he were being honest, it made him feel a bit uneasy.

“So,” the girl said at length, “Mr. Theodore Ace--for I believe that’s who you are, though you didn’t introduce yourself--I must ask, do you often ask girls you haven’t been introduced to to dance?”

“I don’t generally make a practice of it, no,” he said as they glided past the punch bowl, guests staring at them in shock as they clutched punch glasses and fans. 

“Why ask me then? Were you so enchanted by my beauty that you couldn’t help yourself? Or--” she suddenly looked at him very shrewdly “--are you dancing with me because you deemed it the best way to scandalize your sisters?”

So stunned was he by not just the substance of the question, but by the fact that something so shrewd and direct had been said in such a soft, gentle voice such as hers that it uncharacteristically left him floundering for a response. “Uh--”

“--don’t feel the need to answer that,” she cut with an amused smile on her face before he could come up with something clever to say. “I’ll take your intentions at face value, if you’d like--although, don’t look now, but that’s rather difficult when I can feel your sisters’ eyes burning holes into the back of my head.”

Disobeying her, he allowed himself a quick glance up at the balcony--and sure enough, Angeline’s face was flushed red with anger, Emmeline’s white with shock, and the both of them whispered to Ida furiously. However, Ida’s face was expressionless, almost placid--something that should have made him uneasy, but at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“Hmmm,” the girl said thoughtfully, “doesn’t listen to instructions, clearly hates his family, given that he’s perfectly willing to embarrass them in this manner, but still dependent on them for the moment, quiet, a little bitter, dances like a dream, a bit unapproachable, probably reads Eliot--wait, no no, that’s too soon,” she cut herself off. “Tennyson?”

“Um, yes,” he answered, startled. How did she know that? “What exactly are you doing?”

She giggled. “Trying to make out your character, of course.” That phrase sounded vaguely familiar, though Theodore couldn’t put his finger on why. “As one does in ballrooms.”

“Well, I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage there, Miss,” he said, trying to regain some control over--well, whatever this was. “What’s your name?”

“Oooh, you’re asking me this now?” she asked, the smile on her face almost broadening into an unladylike grin, but not quite. “Hmmm. Well, I will tell you--just not now. Later.”

It was all he could do not to gawk. “What? You won’t tell me?”

“No, I said later I’d tell you,” she said in a lower tone as another couple spun past them, clearly trying not to stare. 

“Are you acting mysterious for your own amusement, or are you truly hiding something?” The thought briefly crossed his mind that she might be making some attempt at infiltration into his father’s circle, but he dismissed it almost immediately--no one making such an attempt would show their hand so plainly.

She laughed. “Yes and yes.” She craned her neck over his shoulder for a moment to peer at some of the other dancers. “Oh dear, do you think I’m a little overdressed?”

“Then may I ask what exactly you’re doing here?”

“I’m dancing. With you. That’s generally why girls go to balls--not to dance with you specifically, of course, just to dance. Although,” she said, looking around the room, “I suspect from many of the looks I’m getting that that certainly applies to many of the ladies in this room.” She smiled up at him. “Aren’t you popular?”

“If you’d just wanted to dance, you could have gone to any of the assembly rooms instead of stealing into a private ball,” he said, really more curiously than accusingly. 

She shrugged fractionally. “Perhaps I heard that this ball was the thing.”

The girl caught the disbelieving look he shot at her. “Ooh, alright, I suppose I can give you a bit more than that. I’m--well, how to put it--” she lowered her voice to nearly a whisper, causing him to have to lean close “--I’m casing the joint.”

“You’re casing the what?”

“You strike me as quite clever, Mr. Ace, if you don’t mind the presumption,” she said. “I’ll leave that up to you to parse. I’m sure you can manage.”

Theodore certainly didn’t feel clever--he’d never felt less so in his life. Every time he felt he’d felt he’d found some semblance of footing with this girl, it crumbled beneath his feet faster than he could blink. He really shouldn’t have been letting it needle him as much as he did--after all, he had accomplished his object in dancing with her, his sisters were undoubtedly beyond livid--but despite his desires and better judgment, he found himself too intrigued by this girl to stop asking questions. 

“In your object of ‘casing the joint,’ as you call it, you decided it was wise to leave your escort at home?” he asked. 

The smile on her face that so far had not wavered flickered suddenly. “I’m afraid there was none to leave.”

A sudden cold fear for her gripped him at those words, remembering what sorts of people spun about them in this ballroom, watched them from the edges of the room, from the balconies. He remembered the impassive look in Ida’s eyes as she stared down at them, and fought the urge to glance up at her again. He became aware that the waltz was swiftly coming to an end, and as he led her through the last motions of the dance, he pulled her slightly closer than was strictly necessary. “Listen,” he said in a low voice, “I don’t know what you think this ball is. I don’t know what your purpose was in coming here. You might know what you’ve walked into, you might not. But I’d feel morally responsible if I didn’t tell you that you’ve walked straight into a viper’s nest in coming here, Miss--everyone in this room could bring you harm in almost any way you could imagine, even more so if they knew of your circumstances. And you’ve ensured that you’ve attracted the attention of everyone in attendance--even more so by dancing with me, I’m afraid.”

He couldn’t tell if the girl was taking the gravity in his tone seriously. She studied his face carefully. “‘Everyone in this room,’” she repeated. “Are you an exception to that rule, Theodore Ace?”

The music swelled and came to an end, partners separating and facing each other. “I should think so,” he said as he took his bow, more steel in his tone than he had anticipated.

“Good,” the girl said as she rose from her curtsy. Her radiant smile returned. “That’s exactly what I wanted to know.”

He offered her his hand, and he led her off the floor, now ignoring the stares and whispers as they passed by. 

“Also, thank you for the warning,” the girl said softly. She seemed to have a knack of speaking at the perfect volume so as not to be easily overheard, he noticed. “It was quite honorable of you.”

Her hand slipped out of his as they came to the edge of the room. “If you appreciate it,” he began, “perhaps you could--”

He turned to her, but she had vanished.

“Hmm.” He looked around to see if she had slipped into the crowd somewhere, but he couldn’t find her. Shrugging, he strode off towards the exit, ignoring other guests’ attempts to speak to him, hoping the girl would heed his advice--and wondering how soon he would inevitably regret dancing with her.

<- Chapter 1 / Chapter 3 ->

[rom-e-o]

In a Crowd of Thousands (Ebenezer/OC) ~ Part 1

It’s finally time for a masquerade-themed story.

Rating is PG-13. There is suggestive sexual content, adult language and alcohol/tobacco usage.

Let’s begin!

<><><><>

Esteemed syndicates and staff,

You are cordially invited to attend a masquerade ball hosted by Lloyd’s of London to celebrate the arrival of the summer equinox.

The theme for the evening is: Meierblis

Join us for this May-Blaze ceremony to partake in an evening of dancing, and rejoice as we light fires to frighten away the last of the winter chill and welcome the warmth of spring.

Please don costumes in accordance with the theme of the evening. In addition, all individuals not currently bonded by the right of Holy Matrimony are required to arrive alone, to maintain the notion of anonymity. 

Please RSVP for the following:

Almack's King Street, St James's, London

April 30, 6-11p

The ballroom was decorated and dressed to the nines, the wide chamber lit with vanilla candles and the massive marble pillars flecked with gold and strung with more ribbons than a wealthy woman’s garter belt. The masquerade décor that Lloyd’s of London had commissioned to have the ballroom decorated with was as fantastical as it was all-encompassing. It matched the existing display of romantic oil paintings, Rococo-inspired furniture and cherubic paintings that spanned the domed ceiling of the space’s impressive rotunda so well, that the inexperienced eye might not even suspect the space was decorated for an event.

The only thing more adorned than the grand hall were the guests that began to file in, the pace as steady as a stream of salmon moving upriver. A parade of swishing shirts, feathered frocks and sequin-encrusted capes snaked its way into up the grand entry staircase and through a towering atrium. Just beyond a pair of massive doors with crystal doorknobs was the grand ballroom, which was steadily filling with chattering dancers and frantic attendees running around with trays of champagne and mints.

Among the crowds of individuals dressed in color combinations that would make even the most stunning cosmic galaxies turn and gawk, Ebenezer Scrooge stood as tall and rigid as an obelisk.

The older gentleman was donned in a simple uniform of black velvet, a red sash across his chest and gold accents. His mask was fashioned of simply black velvet, the color only highlighting the steely blue hue of his eyes. In a sea of color, he was tall, dark and handsome. With the added contrast of his silver hair against his dark costume, many sets of curious eyes fell upon him as throngs of people passed.

Ebenezer checked his pocket watch for the time. A quarter ‘til seven, its face read.

He sighed as slipped the instrument back into his pocket. The evening had barely begun, and he already felt antsy. He wondered briefly if he could sneak out but decided against it.

After all, he had been invited to the event and was representing his company. It would be bad manners to leave to leave unannounced, not to mention so early.

Besides, he couldn’t just leave Bob and his clerk slash fiancée, Constance, to fend for themselves.

When he’d first opened the wax-sealed invitation that had summoned him to the event, he had been optimistic if not a bit intimidated by the prospect of attending a ball. By principle alone, Ebenezer saw himself as a tad too introverted for grand events or dances. Then, there was the matter of the excess of the whole display.

Before and after his visit from the Three Spirits, he never found appeal in visual displays of wealth. Despite his miserly tendencies from years ago, he’d hoarded the funds instead of spending any money on opulence. Even now, most of the money he made went to charities and various other efforts to better the lives of individuals around London.

As such, such a candid display of wealth for a party was…concerning. It made him itch.

In fact, this entire festivity of indulgence was one that he thought the Ghost of Christmas Present would fit right into, he thought with a light chuckle. Wherever that jolly fellow was, he was missing a hell of a perfect party. He was fine with missing out on the company of his winged fairy friends, however.

Knowing that he couldn’t leave, he decided to continue to keep his eyes peeled for his associates.

Bob and Ethel, officially married, had been allowed to come together. However, much to his annoyance, the invitation had insisted that all women (even engaged ones – he’d checked) were to arrive alone, per party rules. He’d disliked the idea of leaving in a different carriage than her, but she had insisted over and over that she would be fine.

“I was a socialite, remember?” she told him with a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll find you. I promise.”

Now, in a crowd of thousands, it was like searching for a needle in a haystack. Or a dandelion, more accurately.

Before he could wallow for too long, his gaze snagged on a couple walking with unusual exuberance. Or, to be more accurate, the woman was bounding forward, absorbing the sights with frantic swings of the head. The gentleman she led followed as swiftly as he could on his thin legs. It was a tall fellow, and his red hair stood out vibrantly against the green suit jacket he’d donned. Even when being pulled along, his face bore a nervous yet incredibly familiar smile. It reminded him of…

“Bob? I say, Bob Cratchit, is that you?”

To his relief, two mismatched eyes quickly flicked to his. Unless there were two redheaded lads with heterochromia and cowlicks in London, it seemed he’d found his man.

“Ebenezer?” he asked, then sank into a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank goodness! Ethel, over here, darling!”

After muttering something to the woman on his arm, Bob Cratchit scurried over to the alcove that Ebenezer had tucked himself into.

“It’s good to see a friendly face,” Ebenezer said, reaching out to shake the man’s hand. “Well, half of one, anyway.”

“Haha, funny, sir,” Bob rushed to say, itching the back of his neck self-consciously. The gesture caused the mask upon his face to budge slightly. “T-This is quite a spectacle, is it not? I feel invisible and as if I’m under a stage light all at the same time!”

Right, Scrooge realized. This was likely the first time his former clerk had attended a gathering like this.

“Ethel, dear, you look radiant.”

“Thank you, Ebenezer! As do you. Very dashing!”

“You flatter me,” he supplied kindly, tucking his hands behind his back. “I’m simply relieved to hear my uneasiness isn’t showing. This is all very…ornate, isn’t it?”

Ethel, dressed in a frock of blue velvet that was embroidered with yellow and white daisies, beamed behind her mask. “I think it’s exciting!”

“Y-Yes, that’s a good word for it, dearest,” Bob said, smiling nervously and chuckling. However, Scrooge could tell from the quick side-glance that the poor redhead felt as awkward as he did.

“I say, where is Constance?” Ethel asked.

“I haven’t spotted her yet,” Scrooge said with a sigh, turning his head back to the crowd. He squinted, suddenly wishing he’d brought his glasses. All these faces were starting to look the same.

“Poor lady, all alone in this madness,” Ethel teased.

“It wasn’t my choice, believe me,” Scrooge huffed, “I’d much have her right here.”

“Why in the world did ladies need to arrive separately, anyway?” she asked. “That is, all the single ones?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Ebenezer offered, sighing again as he glanced around the atrium. His head flicked back and forth like a busy pigeon’s in a park square. “And she’s not single. She’s engaged. To me. However, apparently, that doesn’t count.”

“Which you obviously aren’t bitter about.”

“Obviously.”

“Ah, so this party is following the ‘single until married’ idea, huh?” Bob mused aloud. “A unique concept.”

“A stupid concept,” he grumbled.

“Oh, perhaps they have a little game in mind!” Ethel posed, which earned a worried glance from the older man. “Something to make the evening more interesting. A night to remember, if you will.”

The notion made Ebenezer’s eyes go wide behind his mask. “You don’t think—"

The thought of another man taking his fiancée into his arms was…far from pleasant. Regular waltzing was one thing, but if their plan was to truly pair up ‘single’ women for more intimate dances, that was something that made his blood start to heat up. In fact, he felt a vein pulse in his forehead at the thoughts of another man’s hands on her hips, her breasts pressed against another man’s chest, another pair of lips inches away from her own..

Seeing his wife was on the cusp of alarming the man, Bob swooped in quickly to put a pause on any additional conspiracies the two could concoct.

“Whatever the reason,” Bob started, seeking to calm his wife and his business partner simultaneously, “I’m sure she’s fine. After all, she hosted huge parties in New York for twenty years!”

“That’s true,” he admitted, his pallor returning to normal after a brief flush of anger.

“She was a socialite, host, ambassador, model…if anything, an event like this is her forte, sir!”

A light chuckle left Ebenezer’s lips.

“I know all that,” he said with a light smile. “No, I’m not worried about her fending for herself, believe me. Like you said, while this is a battlefield for me, this must be a candy store for her.”

“Oh?”

“No, I…simply miss her company,” Ebenezer admitted, casting his partner a sideways glance. “That’s all.”

<><><><> 

Across the gilded atrium, in another guarded alcove that provided little respite from crowds, a portly fellow in feathers made chatter with a strawberry-blonde woman.

“Well, you certainly ar’ the loveliest flower I’ve e’er seen, my lady!” his voice drawled, his accent distinctly English, but his cadence and pronunciation not matching a London dialect. It seemed likely he’d been invited to the occasion from out of town, and had traveled in to rub elbows and mingle.

“Normally I don’t fancy flowers, especially them frilly ones, but for one as lovely as yo’self, I am willin’ to make an exception.”

His eyes licked up and down her form, taking in her shapely figure and dress. The cream-colored gown was embroidered with cascading blue flowers and petals. Her mask, simple cream satin, concealed the annoyed furrow of her brow.

“Oh, you’re much too kind, sir,” Constance DoGoode said with a smile that betrayed her true discomfort at the situation. “Truly, you are a flatterer! I wish I could talk longer, but I must be on my way. Now, if you’ll excuse—.”

Seeing an opening under one of his arms, she attempted to dive under it a make a quick escape. However, he swayed his body like a pendulum to cut her off.

“Aw, runnin’ off so soon?” he asked, the grin below his beaked mask devilish and knowing.

“I’m afraid so,” Constance said, attempting to laugh off his behavior. “You see, I’m meeting my associates here. I’m sure they’re looking for me.”

“Oh, forget them!” the stranger drawled as he reached out to cup her bare shoulder. She jerked lightly at the contact, but with the atrium wall behind her, the woman didn’t have additional space to seek solace in. “It’s a party, not a business meeting! Light’n up, girl!”

Constance lifted her hands and sat them upon her hips. He wasn’t going to relent as easily as others did, she realized.

“I’m meeting my fiancé as well,” she added, punctuating the sentence with a grin. “I’m engaged.”

“Ah, not hitched yet, then? Sounds like you’re still free range, lass.”

“I’m happily engaged,” she added, adding extra emphasis in hopes of chipping through his thick skull.

“All the same, really,” he said, “How about it? One last hurrah before you’re stuck beddin’ the same bloke fer the rest o’ your days?”

With a sigh and shake of the head, she peered into the middle-distance for a moment, as if trying to manifest something. Then, with the swiftness of a changing zephyr, her eyes lit up in realization. After then, she straightened her posture and smiled back at him.

“Well, since you asked so nicely, I suppose I could share a few moments,” Constance said, making a show of lowering her eyes to the ground and sheepishly moving her hands behind her back. “After all, I’m here for work, and I’m sure my associates wouldn’t mind if I took some time to enhance, um … business relations.”

Her coquettish demeanor and response pleased him, and his hand dropped from her shoulder to find the notch of her svelte waist. Then, he inched lower and squeezed her bum. “Very good. I’m glad you see things my way.”

Fighting the urge to cringe, Constance beamed innocently. “Oh yes. In fact, a man like you seems like just the variety of company I wanted for this evening.”

“Is that right?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, “I can tell just by chatting with you that you are a man with business sense! Well, how familiar are you with the London stock markets right now?”

For the first time, his confidence swayed. “Um, I’m not…”

“What am I saying, of course you’re versed!” she said, slapping his chest playfully. “Apologies. Now, let me break it down for you. Lately, area competition has been increased for individuals looking for banking resources.”

“Erm…banking?”

“Yes, and offices are being tempted to bend underwriting standards to make more aggressive, higher loan-to-value loans. Now, as we all know, moneylenders typically charge higher interest rates than banks. So, what’s your perspective on this issue?”

“M-Mine?”

“Yes, yours, you goose!” she said, enjoying how perplexed he looked. “You said you wanted to talk business, yes?”

Blinking like a freshwater fish on a line, the man lifted an arm to scratch the back of his neck self-consciously. “Ugh, I don’t really …”

Constance seized her opportunity and dashed under his arm, escaping the narrow area he had trapped her in. With a swish of the skirts, she was off, her heels clicking against the polished tiles as she weaved between other guests.

“Sorry!” she yelled back, “I’d recommend Lloyds Illustrated Paper for some light reading!”

“Hey!” he yelled over the heads of others, who all turned to look at him inquisitively.

Meanwhile, Constance scurried from the atrium, hail and gown flowing behind her.

Once she was a safe distance away, the woman flattened herself against the wall and peeked around one of the massive marble pillars that lined the space. After a quick sweep, she let out a sigh.

“Whew! That was close.”

Whether it was New York or London, it seemed perverted partygoers were an unfortunate commonality. She could only hope the rest of the evening would be more pleasant.

Of course, once she found Ebenezer, that was almost guaranteed.

She paused for a moment to glance down at the engagement ring on her finger. A solitaire-cut diamond on a simple gold back glittered back at her. It was stately and elegant; absolutely perfect and beautiful.

A smile lit up her face.

“I can’t wait to see you,” she mumbled to herself, bringing her hand to her chest and squeezing it tightly over her heart. “Ebenezer.”

Just the thought of meeting her handsome fiancé on the masquerade dance floor filled her with renewed energy.

Picking up her skirts again, she slowly descended the stairs to the south side of the ballroom, moving in sync with throngs of other costumed dancers toward the dance floor.

<><><> 

On the north side of the ballroom, Ebenezer, Bob and Ethel eventually made their way into the ballroom, squeezing past a concerning number of partygoers who had already consumed too many glasses of champagne and were falling over themselves by the entryway.

“The sun hasn’t even set!” Bob remarked in astonishment, one arm wrapped protectively around Ethel as they walked. “Guests are already sloshed!”

“Heavens, how interesting,” Ethel remarked with a light laugh. “Well, if they plan to spend the entire evening here, I fear they won’t make it. Why, I think they’ll be passed out within the next hour.”

“Or half hour,” Ebenezer corrected as a drunken man in a gesture costume, complete with a jingle-bell trimmed collar, swerved into him.

With a gasp of surprise, he grabbed the man by the shoulders and straightened him as best her could. “Ah, goodness! Mind how you go, sir. I say, are you—?”

Giggling, the man staggered away before Scrooge could even finish his concerned inquiry. Mere moments later, he slipped into the arms of a woman in a peacock-inspired gown, Unlike Ebenezer, she was much less forgiving of the man practically falling atop her, and smacked him hard enough across the face to make him spin into the marble floor.

The trio winced in unison at the sound of impact. After a moment of silence, the other dancers and guests stepped over his body, laying limp and supine on the floor. Upon closer examination, his chest was moving up and down. Another beat later, the sound of snoring was barely audible above the rumble of party guests and small talk.

Ethel was the first to break the silence with a concerned clearing of the throat. “S-Should we maybe, um…”

The inquiry was cut short by a cacophony of trumpets that played a welcoming melody that boomed through the corridor. The sound caused all the guests to jump in unison before their masked faces split into wide grins and erupted into thunderous applause.

The sound was a summons from the ball’s hosts for everyone to gather around a mid-tier balcony that overlooked the ballroom, which occupied the lowest floor of the building.

Opting to follow the crowd, the trio slotted themselves in an open spot near the edge of a balcony, seeking solace between two large pillars that provided some relief from the crowds filling the space.

The actual dance floor glittered with golden marble tiles, and the edges were lined with tables of champagne and amuse-bouche type appetizers. With another blow of the trumpets, a small parade of gentlemen in ornate suits and matched masks strolled from a large arched doorway leading to a deeper part of the ballroom.

Even from afar, Ebenezer could recognize the men.

“I know them,” he said with a nudge and point. “That’s Mr. Drosselmeyer on the left, one of the longest underwriters with Lloyds. He’s a good man, he taught me the ropes alongside Jacob. The man in the middle is Howard Haversham II, a shipowner and major investor. He might be the richest man in all of England.”

“T-Truly?”

“Yes, but he’s exceptionally timid. That is, he keeps his wealth quiet. I’m quite surprised he’s appearing publicly.”

“Ah,” Bob said, obviously taking mental note of the identities his business partner pointed out. “I see. Oh, and what of the gentleman on the right?”

“I’m…huh. Hm.”

“What’s wrong? Are you not sure?”

Scrooge squinted, trying to make out the less distinct features of the last gentleman. The other two, he knew so well that he could identify them from a mile away. However, this last gentleman was one that he recognized from…somewhere. That much he could be certain of. He was of broader frame with silver-streaked chestnut-colored hair, and a grin that looked so natural on his visage that an artist could have sculpted it specifically for his frame.

“He looks so familiar,” Scrooge mumbled to himself. “Where in the world do I know his face from?”

“Have you spoken to him before?” Bob posed. “Maybe thinking about where you met him will help you remember.”

It was a good suggestion. As his mind retraced its steps to try and remember all the social events he’s attended and all the clients he’d met with, he found his memories drifting further and further back.

Then, the man extended a hand to a woman who emerged from the crowd. Her hair was crafted into an immaculate updo, her curls light and perfect. As she flashed a lovely, ruby-red smile up at the man, realization rushed him with the ferocity of an early-morning tide.

He hadn’t met the man, but he’d seen him. He’d seen him in a vision.

A vision from the future.

“Isabel’s husband.”

“Isabel?” Bob repeated, partially surprised by the informal use of another woman’s first name. “W-Who is that, sir?”

His mouth went slightly dry as he struggled to speak.

“She was, um…”

The trumpets blared again, Mr. Drosselmeyer stepped forward and cleared his throat.

“Esteemed guests, welcome to Lloyds of London’s first-ever masquerade gala!”

The room erupted in applause, which was silenced by a simple raise of the hand. Drosselmeyer wasn’t a particularly physically imposing man, but something about his presence unanimously demanded respect.  

“For this monumental occasion, we have invited investors and notable business owners from across the country, and beyond,” he added. “Tonight, we are honored to have guests from India, China, the United States, Japan, Algeria, Scotland and Puerto Rico. The diversity in this room represents a promising, blooming economy that is varied and prosperous.

“We all hail from different lands with different languages. However, for tonight, we are united in anticipation for the spring season, and banishing the icy cold that has stilled our railroads, iced our streets and collapsed our buildings. Tonight, let us eat, drink and be merry and light bonfires to celebrate the blessing of the spring equinox!”

Another round of applause came as Drosselmeyer stepped back and Haversham stepped forward.

“Ladies and gentleman, I’m honored and grateful to be before you this evening,” the man said, his bow impressively deep for a man of his somewhat advanced age. “I began my business as a meager tradesmen, and now, I am surrounded by some of the most brilliant minds in the world.”

“Oh, his is mild-mannered!” Ethel whispered to Bob.

“While I am beyond honored to be invited to this tremendous occasion, I will admit that I also harbor a bias,” he revealed, hand moving to his heart. Then, his body pivoted to face the man on the right…the same one who Isabel had gone to. “My son, Captain Barnaby Haversham, has returned from a one-year mission to chart a new ship route through the treacherous and ice-filled Canadian waters. The maps produced as a result of this voyage will not only advance and expedite trading opportunities for our fine London entrepreneurs, but for those across the world!”

The man dipped his head kindly at his father’s sweet words.

Haversham continued, “He is joined here this evening by his son, William; daughters Emilia and Olivia; and his wife, Isabel Wright, nee Fezziwig, of Cornhill!”

She smiled and dropped into a curtesy, her one free hand lifting the hem of her skirt. The other three children swayed from the crowd. Two young women, both brunettes like their father, bowed with the same amazing grace of their mother. The son, a man who looked just shy of thirty, flashed a handsome grin before bowing.

A distinct sound of swooning came from the audience.

“Well, I guess if you’re the wealthiest man in London, you can bring unlimited guests,” Ethel commented, completely oblivious to Bob and Ebenezer’s ongoing conversation. “It helps when your son is an absolute looker! My oh my!”

“E-Ethel!”

“What? You have eyes. You know I’m right!”

“T-That’s not…”

A nearby guests shushed the couple as Haversham continued his speech.

“Tonight, as we celebrate our prosperous success as a nation, I implore you to spare a thought for men like my son, who make jobs like ours possible through hard work, perseverance, and bravery in the face of the unknown!”

Haversham led the crowd in another round of fabulous applause, which many raised their champagne flutes in recognition of.

Obviously flustered, Barnaby looked to his wife with a flushed grin. He seemed to mouth the words, ‘This is too much...’ to her.

With the same poise and grace she’d displayed decades before, Isabel nodded and gripped his arm reassuringly. Then, she took a ceremonial step back and joined in the applause.

With that, the trumpeters all began to filter down into the ballroom through a set of twin staircases at both ends of the ballroom. There, some drifted onto a small orchestral platform to commence playing a spirited symphony of notes that would be right at home at the start of a romantic opera.

At that same moment, William was immediately surrounded by a gaggle of young woman, each one masked but unchaperoned.

Ethel made a small sound of realization. “Ohhh. I see.”

“What?” Bob inquired.

“Well, I just realized,” she said, pointing to the crowd of woman accumulating around the man. “I…think I know why it was requested that all unmarried women come without a chaperone, dearie. Look over there.”

Bob followed his wife’s finger until his eyes also landed on the sight below them. Sure enough, rather than looking as bashful as his father had during his introduction, William was all smiles and wasted no time in kissing the hands of all the women who giggled over him.

“Oh,” Bob said, shoulders sagging in disappointment. “I think you may be right.”

Yet, as Bob and Ethel continued to watch, they saw his attention suddenly shift from the gaggle of ladies around him to something, or someone, on the other side of the room.

Following his line of sight, it only took a few seconds for them to spy exactly who had caught the man’s attention.

William’s eyes had fallen on a distinct woman in a cream and blue dress. Her rose gold hair fluttered unbound down her back, and her bare freckled shoulders made her stand out even further.

“Sir, look,” Bob said, elbowing his partner and pointing.

Scrooge, who’d been staring at Isabel since her entrance, snapped out of his daydream and followed Bob’s command. The instant he did, relief flooded his visage, and he instantly looked ten years longer.

“Constance!” Ebenezer called through the crowds.

Upon hearing her name called, the woman looked upwards. When their eyes met, her blue eyes fit up like twin supernovas.

“Ebenezer, there you are!”

Quickly, she picked up her skirt and dashed toward him eagerly, her smile wide and radiant.

All the while, William’s eyes lingered on her every move.

Even when Ebenezer wrapped his arms about her and placed a kiss upon her lips, his gaze did not waver.

In fact, it only seemed to make his eyes spark with further intrigue…as did his mother’s.

[drunktuesdays]

Hmmmm ☰ ALPHA4ALPHA regency AU?

oh my godddddddddd. that absolutely lights up my brain but it would be SO hard. i'm literally squinting because you absolutely could not do any of the normal regency tropes. there's literally no way i ever see eddie in a cravat and worried about almacks.

i think--god this would be HARD--you'd have to do something where like, eddie works in a gaming hell and also participates in ameteur boxing matches in basements and barns and anywhere anyone can set them up. and maybe he meets daniel there, and daniel immediately goes after him, even though they're both alphas. and eddie don't give a shit--his blood's up from the fight and this kid needs someone to grab him by the neck and teach him how to act, so he takes daniel to a side room and absolutely rails him. it's good, better than anything eddie's had in ages, but he doesn't expect anything to come out of it. why would he? he's absolutely never expecting to go to work the next day and see daniel garcia in a small pack of gentlemen about to sit down at one of the tables to play cards. and garcia immediately sees him too, and stands up without a word to his friends and comes right over. eddie tries brushing him off, but the kid just keeps coming at him over and over, until eddie has to drag him into the alley out back and shove him to his knees. it's not his fault, the kid is asking for it!!!

and then it's like, the kid is just fucking everywhere. the next time eddie's got a fight lined up, somehow the kid is in the crowd, smouldering at eddie, distracting him from what should be a quick little bout. it makes eddie so crazy, he ends up going after the kid for a change and gets his knot into garcia a lot quicker than it's polite to, but garcia don't care, he's moaning for it like he wants it. like he's wanted it the whole time. fucking crazy.

and then eddie hears that garcia's meant to be engaged to that yuta kid, that the banns are going to be posted any day now. which makes him feel sick and mean and furious. and he lashes out and chases the kid away for real this time, which doesn't make him feel any better. neither does getting banned from boxing until he can "get his shit together" because no one fucking likes it when eddie comes in hot and murderous. so he spends his time split between working the tables at the gaming hells, pretending he's not watching the door for garcia, and sitting in the alehouse, getting blisteringly drunk and pretending he don't care, never has.

[mutantmayhemart]

Manhattan night concept paintings

by Nikita Chan, Kellan Jett, and Tiffany Lam Almack

[wellpresseddaisy]

@greens-your-color

Percy has long been a favorite of mine too. He's peevish and pompous and officious, but he'll also run into a lake fully dressed to get his brother. Headcanon-wise, I always thought he was the one who would wind up most parentified. Not so much with babies, but once the twins, Ron, and Ginny were all pre-school age or above.

Bill was at school by the time Percy was 5, the twins were 3, and Ron was an infant. When Percy was 7 and the twins 5, Charlie was at school with Bill. That's the point, when Ron was about 3, that I can see Molly asking Percy to keep an eye on his little brother. With the twins keeping her distracted, I can see that morphing into Percy being responsible for Ron. I doubt she would have asked anyone not Arthur to keep an eye on the twins for more than about 30 seconds. :)

So Percy is fierce in his protection of his whole family, but especially Ron, who he taught to tie his shoes and hold a fork and figure out reading and maths. I feel like we see that brother when Harry asks him for advice on electives.

(And I'm not trying to vilify Molly here — I think she just got a bit overwhelmed at times and didn't think through leaning on Percy so much. Also there's some birth order psychology stuff that I got very into in high school that's mostly as useful as astrology except for the parts about patterns. Percy kind of restarts the pattern with where he is—he becomes an oldest child, essentially.)

(and now I need to go sit under my desk because you said something really nice about my Ron and Hermione characterization)

If any family is going to be ridiculous enough to have a potentially mythical hairbrush, it's the Weasleys. :) None of the children have ever even seen it, but Molly insists it exists. Somewhere. She got Great Grand Aunt Viola's dressing set when she passed away and she knows she has that dratted brush somewhere.

And Snape...yeah Ron knows people exactly like him and has seen the outside of more traditional relationships. And Hermione, despite not even knowing that sort of thing existed, has always had Snape's number. Truly, though, no one is as vicious as a pair of teenagers. :) This also plays into the 'when Ron makes a joke it comes true' trope.

(and yes, things keep dovetailing with the sub-AUs in ways I didn't quite expect)

I can answer some of these! :)

Severus, as a much younger man, looked at Social Obligations and decided someone else could handle them. Since he'd made a curtsey at Almack's, he could enter into a contract that essentially gave his social life/responsibility for his social conduct into the hands of Narcissa and Lucius. They were already doing it unofficially, so it made some sense to formalize that relationship. All invitations, etc. get routed through the Malfoys so he doesn't have to deal with it. They have an agreement that he only has to appear at 3 large events (2 Malfoy-sponsored and 1 not) and 2 Almack's evenings per calendar year. Anything more and, as Lucius says, he starts chewing the doorknobs.

Tristram Yardley is a rogue and a bounder who thoroughly deserved what he got. After behaving terribly to a very young Severus (he may have had Wickham-esque schemes in mind), he mysteriously disappeared. The next spring everyone commented on how lush Narcissa's roses, herbaceous borders, and herb knot garden were.

For what happened to have Severus so wound up...some of it will have to wait for the appropriate part, but Thomas Gaunt had a very Some Enchanted Evening Moment with Severus, only instead of seeing him across a crowded room, he saw Severus going absolutely bananas at Harry Potter and went "Yes, this is The One for me. I so love a challenge" so Severus is feeling thoroughly off-balance for many reasons. Also Lucius is not exactly happy that he crashed someone else's afternoon tea in the garden to thoroughly lose his temper.

"Is he always like that?" Gaunt gestured to Professor Snape and Harry shouting at one another.

"Oh, not really," Ron answered slowly. "I reckon he and Harry bring it out in each other. Like two cats who don't want to share the same space."

[chocolatepot]

Genderbend Regency AU of "Fun and Games" for WIP Wednesday!

Across from the sofa were placed two matching armchairs, lovely pieces in red velvet; Anne sat in one, and soon after, Mary came to sit beside her, leaving Ed with nowhere else but the other end of the sofa, which she took without a look to Stede. That did not signify, however, because the great pleasure Stede derived simply from occupying the same piece of furniture as the woman she loved was overpowering enough. She so lost herself in the sensation of being near to Ed that she quite missed the majority of the anecdote Anne and Mary were relating, and was hardly prepared when they asked how their two guests had become acquainted. Stede took the opportunity to lay out the story, which she still found very appealing. “It was at an assembly at Almack’s, one of the famous crushes, you know.” She was not an accepted member, but had bribed someone for a voucher and passed herself off as that lady at the door. “I had just been given the cut direct by Princess Esterhazy, and Ed rescued me by pretending that we had known each other for years.” She had attempted to persuade the princess that they had already been introduced, a shocking liberty and a dreadful scheme she lacked the nous to carry off; Ed’s intervention had prevented her from being summarily ejected and socially ruined. “And then we struck up a friendship, and spent the rest of the season as inseparable.” “Except that I intended to use you for your money, and drop you as soon as you had no more value.” Ed did not turn her head, even as she addressed Stede, and Stede was determined to cause her to do so. “But she decided that I was worth more than my coin, and kindly stayed with me for the rest of the season.” “Very kindly,” Ed replied, but with, Stede thought, a little less bitterness.

[rose-of-strangers]

More Ocs to share

This is Byio and Silea, they are Almacks from when the world was new. Trying to navigate the prickly relations between Drachenspawn and Almacks hoping to stop the cycle of violence and revenge the two races have.