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uglypastels · 10 months ago

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Ridlington Park | I | Eddie Munson regency!au

Author's Note: It has been a long, long time, but I am back with another obnoxious AU. I hope you enjoy as we embark on this new adventure in Regency England. This story has been in the works for almost 2 years and is still far from finished, but I am having too much fun with this and have way too many ideas on where to take it, so suggestions are very much appreciated.

Word Count: 10k

Do be warned, Dear Reader, for this story in its entirety may contain:

female!reader. slow burn. forbidden romance. jealousy. pining. smut. alcohol consumption. swearing. OC family. horses. talks of arranged marriage. historical facts as well as trivial inaccuracies.

Due to the adult nature of the story, this author also kindly but sternly requires underage readers to pursue other works.

The Ridlington Park Collection | Correspondence | Join the Taglist

Chapter One: A Game of Perseverance

“I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them.”

– Jane Austen, Letter to her sister Cassandra, 1798

Three stories high, full of balconied windows, the house stood tall and overlooked the entire street. Ridlington Park, they called it, and situated at the centre of life–that is, London–the front door of the building was enveloped in flowers matching the seasons all year long. Currently, it was bright peonies that caught the onlooker’s eye. The perfectly trimmed bushes and trees were planted symmetrically, leading up to the front doors, giving visitors the right impression of what they could await once they stepped inside.

The residing family had spent a good fortune and effort ensuring the house represented them perfectly: clean, fortunate, and grand, but all done so in the utmost respectable and modest fashion as they were never the ones to boast. The walls had a light, warm tone reminiscent of early mornings in Spring, and the interior was decorated with portraits, new and old, beautiful oil sceneries of lands near and far, and busts and vases.

The evening was slowly approaching, the sun setting over the windows of the drawing room, enwrapping everything in a golden glow. The family sat silently around the room, giving each other the peace and quiet required for an uneventful afternoon followed by a slow night of fortunate sleep. The only sound appreciated was the pianoforte siding against the window, gracefully played by Mother. Four children sat around the separate corners of their world, enjoying the music while focusing on their own activities. Like most nights, these consisted of either reading or needlework, engaging in small conversations with one another occasionally.

As typical as any evening at Ridlington Park, it was highly unusual for the rest of London– a city which runs on scandals and gossip. Outside, the streets were bustling with lords and ladies of the Ton making their way back home from the markets, gardens and their fellows’ tea parties, gossiping about the latest impropriety to have occurred. After all, such topics, no more than nonsense really, were simply inescapable. And no matter how hard they tried to ignore it all, one way or another, it would always find its way up to the Byrnwick family. Most of the time, you, Gentle Reader, could hold yourself accountable for introducing the rumours proudly, much to your brother’s annoyance, who did his best to turn the pages of his novel as loud as possible as you talked with your mother from across the room.

‘Have you heard what happened at Lady Faulkner’s ball?’

‘Yes, sordid, really.’ Your mother sighed, turning around. ‘I am sure her family is in quite the uproar.’

‘Please,’ Christopher, your brother, shut his book down in frustration, clearly incapable of making any progress amidst the conversation. ‘If she had not wanted to get caught, she should have maybe ought to think twice about being out with a man in the middle of the gardens for everyone to see.’

You glared up at him. ‘Well, it is absurd that a woman cannot even stand in a public space with a man without bringing disgrace onto her entire family.’

‘Believe me; she did much more than just standing.’ Christopher scoffed, quickly receiving a cold stare from your mother.

‘Still, it is unjust.’ You ignored his insinuations. ‘Think of how men are free to go out at any time of day or night with whomever they please.’ You stabbed your needle through the cloth a bit harsher than intended.

‘My, you sure seem to be giving all this much thought. Have you any plans we should know about, sister?’ Your brother smirked.

‘Christopher!’ Your mother scowled. ‘That is quite enough.’

‘I was only joking, Mother,’ Christopher sighed, ‘we all know she is not going anywhere anytime soon.’

You were ready to retort angrily, or at least throw your needle at him, when the doors to the drawing room opened, catching everyone’s attention by storm. Five pairs of identical eyes directly aimed at the door frame, only softening when recognising the intruders. A welcoming of surprised gasps greeted the Lord and his eldest, Nicholas, as they entered the room. Not one foot in the room, and all activities were being put to a halt as the rest of the family gathered around the men—a loving reunion after a months-long journey from the Americas.

It was a surprising return, for father and son had yet to write of their plans in recent times. The last letter was received at Ridlington Park over three weeks ago, stating that the weather was amiable, if not a bit too humid, and that the family missed each other deeply. The lack of correspondence, therefore, was also an immediate subject.

‘But why did you not write, dear?’ asked Mother, after embracing her son. Nicholas was too occupied by his youngest sibling to answer; airways tightened in the arms of his 11-year-old sister, Marjorie. His father responded instead:

‘How could we write at sea, my love? The message would not have gotten here any faster than we did,’ the lord chuckled to his wife. He was correct, too, of course. His eyes seemed to surpass the gaze of his present family members in search of the one missing piece. ‘Where is Annabelle? I thought she would be home by now.’

‘She is home, with her husband,’ you explained carefully. Your father blinked slowly, coming to terms with this fact he had tried to avoid for so long. Annabelle had married last season and was very well off, to a Duke, no less, but it was still a big adjustment for the family seeing her gone and out of the house. Even with her frequent visits, it was strange to have one head less at the dinner table; one less chair occupied each evening, one less song played on the pianoforte.

‘Ah, well then,’ Father cleared his throat, ‘then we are complete.’ He looked at his wife and five children. One day, there would be even fewer of them. They will all be leaving the nest one by one. For some, marriage was long overdue, and as a man of high society, he could not wish his children a suitor or a lady soon enough, but as a father, he dreaded the day that the following proposals would take place.

Marjorie, becoming impatient and not as sentimental about her family’s reunion, tugged at Nicholas’ sleeve. ‘Come, you must tell us everything about your journey!’ She kept pulling until the eldest brother had no choice but to follow her and sit on the couch. Soon, everyone else joined on the chaises.

‘I am afraid there is very little to tell,’ Nicholas said, taking a chocolate biscuit off the tray beside the sofa. ‘It was all rather dull.’

‘Do not be ridiculous, brother,’ Fitzwilliam, the second-youngest and still hungry for adventure and the world outside of the Ton, looked at his older brother with high expectations. ‘I do not believe you and Father had been gone this long and did not experience anything worthy of a tale.’

You listened on as your siblings bickered, arguing over the value of a story, and its worth of being told and heard. Finally, after listening to it for about a quarter of an hour, you had to agree with Nicholas; it was all rather dull. No wonder neither he nor father did not bother to mention anything but the weather in their correspondence. Their days quickly grew into a pattern one is used to in travel and business. A pattern you might have understood if you cared to pay attention.

This attention only returned to the room when you heard your name being spoken. The conversation had shifted from the events that had been missed overseas to the town's happenings. Just as dull and irrelevant, some might say, the most interesting thus far was the staff changes at the house, and even these held very little consequence to you, but to this, some may disagree wholeheartedly.

‘So, the season has begun, has it not, sister?’ Nicholas asked.

‘Some weeks ago, yes.’ You did your best pretending not to feel an effect from this, occupying yourself with your needlework that was turning out far below the usual standard. ‘But do not worry; you have not missed much. In fact, I think things will finally begin to get a bit interesting with you back home.’ Nicholas had always had a taste for dramatics and had been known for having a very… loving nature. In the past years, you must have witnessed him falling in love at least a dozen times, preparing a proposal to half of these women, going through with it twice now, with one nearly making it to the alter if not for the bride getting caught in quite a compromising position with a footman.

For the next few weeks, Nicholas was known as the heartbroken gentleman, and you would have felt bad for him… if it was not for the fact that women from all over town came around to console him, day after day, of course not knowing that when his bride-to-be had been making arrangements with other men, your brother had been too busy charming ladies himself. It took a month for him to proclaim his love to another woman again.

‘I do not know what you mean,’ Nicholas deflected your comment, quickly looking over to your mother and second oldest brother, Christopher, ‘any fitting suitors I should be aware of?’ As the eldest brother, Nicholas made it his duty to ensure his sisters found good husbands. That meant status and wealth but, above anything else, a good and genteel nature. You remembered how picky he was when Annabelle had been searching for a husband, even more so than your parents. Still, it was something you appreciated about your brother. His protectiveness showed the little heart he still held for you and the rest of your family, as much as he tried to hide it away.

Your mother bit her cheek, holding in the many thoughts and opinions she must have kept for herself. So did Christopher, who shared a very knowledgeable look of many words with Nicholas, one he understood clearly but you could not decipher just yet. However, you assumed the general message had been sent and received.

‘If you had seen the choices, brother, you would understand my predicament and situation all too well, believe me.’ Pretending to seem unbothered by the encrypted messages being sent around the room, you preoccupied yourself once more with the needlework.

‘I believe it is what you believe, sister,’ Nicholas turned back to your mother, ‘do you have a list of names? I shall go through them in the morning, see if it really is as bad as we are being told.’

You had wanted to reply, most likely in a dishonourable way, but you held your tongue and fell back in your seat, letting the rest of your family plan out the rest of your life, just like they had always done.

Unbelievable, Nicholas was home for all of five minutes, and he was already making lists. And knowing him, which you would like to think you did, it was merely a formality for your sake. He would already have a dozen names at the top of his head, ready to send out invitations to men for an audience with you.

Therefore, you were not surprised when, only a few days later, at the breakfast table, Nicholas told you about all the guests Ridlngton Park would soon be welcoming.

‘There is Mr Elton, and Mr Brookes will be coming over for tea; I also heard Lord Frankworth is interested in a visit, so is Mr Campbell, and—’ he kept on giving you names, with all of them entering one ear and immediately leaving through your other. You could not care less who wanted to see you, not after spending the last month trying your hardest to escape all of their attempts at promenading, lunching, and chatting of sheer nonsense.

‘I must ask you to be ready for your first audience before 10; a dress is already prepared in your room.’ Of course, there was a dress. All you could do was smile as you bit into a forkful of egg.

‘Oh, and there is one gentleman I would particularly like you to meet,’ your father chimed in, almost as if with an afterthought that he recollected at the last minute. You looked up at him apprehensively. ‘I had made a nice acquaintance of his father on our travel. What was his name– Harrolds, no…’ ‘Harrington, father. It was Mr Harrington.’ Nicholas corrected before looking over to you as he shared more. ‘He is a tradesman, quite successful. His only son had joined us on the ship back to England.’ The emphasis on his lineage was made with an apparent inclination. There were no more heirs, meaning the son would inherit the man’s entire wealth. ‘Certainly seems like a reasonable young man, clever too. The two of you will have lots to speak of.’

Well, I certainly cannot wait to meet him,’ you forced out a smile before quickly getting on with your meal despite losing all your appetite. At that moment, your stomach felt like a hollow pit, eating away at you, ironically.

‘You know, if you gave this all a chance, you might find yourself to actually enjoy it in the end,’ your mother commented with a tight lip.

‘I am sure I shall enjoy it then, as it means that it has all, in fact, ended.’ You sighed deeply, ‘I simply do not understand why this is a must in my life? Why must I marry this instant?’

‘Do not worry, dear. You are still young; you still have plenty of time, ' your father said, missing your point entirely and making you roll your eyes. ‘But your mother is right, too, a more agreeable attitude towards this will make things much easier.’

‘For whom, exactly? Is it for me to enjoy myself, or for everyone else as you will not have to endure me any longer?’

‘Can you really blame us?’ Nicholas mumbled, receiving a kick in the shin in return. He spent the rest of the discussion rubbing the targetted spot on his leg with a pained crease between his brows. You, besides gaining the small victory of maiming your brother, found yourself yet again on the losing side of another family dispute. Like all its predecessors, this battle ended with you pushing back your chair with a harsh scrape of the panelled floor and slugging back to your room where a dress awaited.

It was beautiful; you could not deny that. Elegant and straightforward, it accented all your finest assets for interested suitors. It was comfortable: not too heavy or too textured in its pattern, it was made of soft material that slipped right on, with the fit of a well-tailored glove. Your hair was pulled up and out of your face, leaving nothing to hide behind.

‘You look lovely, miss,’ your maid said with a kind smile as she put the final pin in your hair.

‘Thank you, Claire.’ You muttered, noticing the saddened sympathy enveloping her features as she knew like no other how much you detested everything about what you were about to go through. ‘Have you got any advice? On how to endure it all?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ she shrugged, brushing something off your shoulder. ‘I suppose you could try making them uninterested in you, so they will want to leave sooner.’

‘That thought has crossed my mind,’ you admitted, ‘but I also do not want to put my entire family to shame.’

‘Of course, miss.’ Claire nodded. As she finished working on your presentation, you pondered over your possibilities. Indeed, presenting yourself as improper had been your first idea, and its appeal remained, but you were too afraid of the repercussions. If the gentlemen were to think of you as a lady without any manners, all it would do was put your upbringing up for question, something your parents did not deserve whatsoever.

You also considered spreading gossip about the men coming to introduce themselves, which would scare your mother off them immediately, ensuring they were never to return by your parents’ preference. But it felt cruel to make up such lies. You were sure that in other circumstances, these were perfectly fine men. At this particular moment, you just happened to despise them and everything they stood for.

Perhaps the most appealing option was to simply not attend the audience. To run away and never to return… at least until the afternoon, once all the men had lost all their patience. But that would only cause you more trouble.

The ideas rolled around your head for the rest of the day, even once the suitors sat opposite you in the room. It was all incredibly dull, if not just mortifyingly humiliating, with your mother sitting only across the room, occupying herself with a book, or so it seemed because she most definitely was listening to the conversations attempted on your part.

‘So,’ as most of the dialogues began, the Lord whose name you already forgot spoke, clearing his throat, ‘I hear you read.’

‘Yes, ' you said, blinking to avoid staring too blankly at the wall behind the man, ignoring the balding patch atop his head.

‘Grand,’ he smiled, somehow satisfied with your response already.

‘Do you… ride?’ you asked, hoping that at the least your mother heard your attempts at making a connection and would release you from this torment soon enough on the principle of your good sportsmanship.

‘No, God no, horses are far too beastly for my liking, unless we are speaking of the track, of course.’ The man scoffed, ‘However, I prefer more dignified activities, such as hunting.’

‘Of course, you do,’ you smiled, but the expression never reached your eyes. ‘What about chess? Do you play?’

‘I do not have the patience to commit to such silly games.’

Patience, you thought, or intelligence? And how ironic of him to speak of perseverance. You watched him take another small sandwich from the tea tray provided on a side table, which you were taught to ignore so as not to be observed as “gluttonous”. After all, no one wanted to marry a lady that ate all day.

Considering that, you grabbed a plate and a piece of cake from the top of the tray and bit into it. The soft sponge melted on your tongue. In the meantime, you were asked a question, but you could not possibly answer with a mouthful of cake, could you? Once you had finished, you considered grabbing a second portion, but you could feel the judgmental look of your mother digging into the back of your head.

You put the plate back down and your hands on your lap.

‘I’m sorry, my lord, could you repeat the question, please. I fear I may have lost myself for a moment.’ And so, it continued. Thankfully, the man excused himself not long after, thanking you and your mama for the time, just for his seat to be replaced with someone else almost immediately. This time, the gentleman was significantly younger, with thick hair atop his head and charming eyes, but the second he spoke, you knew this would not reach much further than the comfort of this room. At the least, you did not see this relationship going any further than any of the other acquaintances you had made that day.

By lunchtime, you felt your eyes burning with fatigue, possibly caused by a constant suppression of tears. How much more could you possibly take of this torture?

‘Mr Elton was quite a charmer, was he not?’ Your mother commented as she sipped her tea.

You suppressed your initial thought, rephrasing it to cause less offence, ‘He is too stubborn and self-centred. He barely let me speak a single word, too occupied by his own achievements to expect me to have any.’

‘Well, Lord Frankworth seemed to care very much for what you had to say.’

‘Only because he barely managed to string any thoughts together himself,’ you sighed.

Your mother tightened her grip on the teacup before smiling. ‘Soon enough, we will find you a perfectly fine young man, dear. You just have to remain open-minded.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Speaking of, your next suitor should be here shortly.’

You did everything in your power not to groan at the announcement and instead nodded politely. ‘Who is it?’

‘Mr Harrington, the one your father was so keen on you meeting.’

‘Ah,’ yes, the American. The only thing that gave you some slight hope in the situation was that Mr Harrington had already spent plenty of time in the company of your father and brother Nicholas and had seemingly gained their blessing. But nothing could help you gain the energy to entertain yet another man with polite conversation. The sun had been beaming into the room since the early morning, only growing warmer and warmer, making the hairs at the small of your neck stick.

‘Will you just excuse me for a moment, mother.’ You got up.

‘Is something wrong?’ She looked suspicious but with a glint of worry in her eye.

‘I am quite fine, just require some fresh air, I think,’ which was not entirely a lie.

‘Alright then, just make haste, child.’ Mr Harrington was on his way, after all. ‘We do not want to keep the man waiting.’

‘Of course not,’ you smiled, heading towards the door. When the large panels closed behind you, you picked up your skirt and ran toward the gardens. Your footsteps echoed through the corridors, and you caught several members of the house staff glancing your way with inquisitive looks.

Ever since you could remember, the grounds around Ridlington Park had a fantastical power about them. It had been the turf on which you would spend countless childhood summer days playing games with your siblings, whether the competitive or imaginary type. But no matter what the six of you could think of, your favourite game would always remain Hide and Go Seek. The gardens were a perfect place for it, with endless nooks and crannies one could disappear into. It was nearly a giant maze, and you had mastered it from a very young age. Whilst most got lost between the shrubbery and flowers, you knew exactly where you had found yourself.

There were plenty of hiding spots you enjoyed over the years, some that to this day remain a mystery to the rest of your family, but nonetheless, it was the stables you adored the most. It was a safe haven for you on many days, to the point that you had nearly become invisible to the staff working there.

The stables were located in the far east corner of the grounds, and the walk towards it already cost more time than you had if you had ever planned on returning that quickly. Undeniably, there was a pinch of shame and guilt nipping at your heart towards the strange Mr Harrington, but that soon dissolved when you heard the neighing of Barley Sugar, a golden-brown mare you proudly called yours. A gift and result of a successful business trade made by your father years ago, the horse technically belonged to all of the Byrnwick children, as much as any of the other horses under the family’s possession, but the bond between you and that particular horse just turned out to be that much stronger.

This was visible as soon as you entered the stable. Barley Sugar went wild at your presence, happily swinging her head from side to side.

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ you grinned, petting the horse, who leaned into your touch immediately. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’

But your plans were quickly interrupted by a voice. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’

❀❀❀

An average sea voyage from the Americas to England should take approximately 16 days, considering the weather corresponds with the sails of the ship. During this journey, passengers would most likely endure days upon days of heavy and tall waves bashing across the ship’s sides, and that is to be expected in favourable conditions.

As Lord Byrnwick and his eldest had boarded the ship headed to London, the sky had been bright blue, and it did not change far beyond that. There was, of course, a risk for the two of them to sail across the world as they did, them being head of the family and its heir. A journey such as this one can go awry in many ways, and if it were not for the dangers of seafaring, there were the Anglo-American tensions to consider. After all, the previous year's war was still fresh in everyone’s mind, and one could not be careful enough when entertaining both sides. Luckily for the Byrnwicks, they were not of the superstitious kind, and good fortune had always seemed to be in the family’s favour up until the very moment they stepped on the boat to return home, many years beyond that.

Ever the convivial one, the most considerable success of the trip, according to Lord Byrnwick, was not the business or diplomatic aspects of their ventures but the social. The man immensely enjoyed meeting other like-minded spirits from across the pond, and there had been plenty of fine nights at gentleman’s clubs spent over fine spirits and betting games, discussing all sorts of topics and exchanging information on all subjects. Promises were made to keep in touch whilst arrangements were made for more future meetings. It was only the polite thing to do.

But aside from acquaintances and business partners, an addition to the household had also been made. Of some sort, that is, for it seemed that the two had found a new groom in America.

Now, Gentle Reader, do not conclude of the worst, as the groom we speak of is not the sort one is meant to meet at an altar but the kind who spends his days tending the horses and carriages. The young man, Mr Munson, had been doing precisely that when the Byrnwick heir stumbled upon his conveyance services in town, in dire need of transport for his regular means, which had already been occupied by his father for the day. It was an encounter by utter chance but certainly one with greater consequences.

Several days later, coincidentally, a letter from London had arrived. Five pages long, each written by a member of the family recounting their most notable memories of the week. The children spoke of the ton's gossip and anecdotes of what occurred at home. Mother, however, took it upon herself to write of more important matters regarding the household. Many topics had to be discussed, but in the middle of her letter, there was mention of the unfortunate passing of the family’s barn manager, Mr Falstipp. It was an unexpected death, leaving the entire house in shock as the man had been working for the family for longer than the children had been alive. But it also resulted in the question of what was to be done now?

It was likely only because the interaction had been so fresh in his mind that Nicholas suggested finding a replacement for Mr Falstipp here in America. This was an unusual offer, as his father commented, especially since they would not leave for home until another few days, but that was to be resolved by having the footmen take care of the horses for the time being. Besides, Nicholas was sure his siblings would be more than happy to help with the chores.

The next day, he returned to the public stables and immediately noted how much cleaner they seemed than any other in town. The horses also looked exceptionally well taken care of and content.

Mr Munson had just been feeding a colt when Nicholas eagerly announced, ‘Mr Munson, may I offer you a proposition?’

This, to no surprise, startled the other man for various reasons. ‘Sir?’

‘This must be a peculiar request, but you see, as of recently, my family has found itself in need of a new stablehand and from what I have seen you do, you, sir, would be the perfect candidate.’ Nicholas had the smile of a man losing his sanity, but his words could not be more genuine.

‘Your family—’ Munson blinked, ‘you mean in London.’

‘Yes, and I understand that this might be a problem, but trust me when I say that you will most certainly find England to your liking, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’

‘As you wish,’ Nicholas agreed.

Eddie pondered over the offer for a short moment. It would have taken him no time to decide if it was not for what he was to leave behind, but he knew that his current employer would be able to find his replacement in no time, as jobs in town were hard to come by.

But what must have been even more challenging to obtain was a ticket out of the wasteland he called home. For years, he had dreamt of an escape, never imagining it to be possible, and suddenly, here comes this stranger offering it to him on a silver platter.

It would be terrifying to move so far away, he knew that, with many risks, but the further away he could manage to go from where he was now, the better.

Eventually, after a minute of silence that left Nicholas restless and on the verge of embarrassment, Eddie smiled: ‘It would be my pleasure to work for you, sir.’ And he had meant that wholeheartedly. While it had only been a short few interactions that he had had with the man, the young Mr Byrnwick had already shown Eddie far more kindness than any of his prior employers, or any other man in his life, for a fact. Most importantly, the man knew nothing about Eddie’s past, which must have been the biggest selling point in the life-changing choice.

‘Marvelous. You will not regret this, Eddie.’ Nicholas leaned in to shake his hand, only to realise that Eddie was still carrying the giant bucket of feed. ‘Well, we shall finalise everything on the boat, shall we?’ And so they did.

A week later, Eddie found himself still in shock at his circumstances. He could not believe he was really to be leaving for England until the moment he set foot on the boat, and even once the sails had set and the American coast was nothing but a grim line on the horizon, the fact did not seem to settle in his mind just yet.

Over the next 16 days, he had encountered the Byrnwicks only a handful of times. First, to meet Lord Byrnwick who, as head of the household, wanted a final say on the matter. A bit late, thought Eddie, as the boat had long departed the harbour by then, but his ticket had already been paid for, and thus, he had little else to complain about. He had quickly made peace with the idea that he could make his new life across the ocean work no matter the circumstances. He had done it before, so what is one more homeless night under a new sky?

But the lord seemed all too happy to have found his staff replacement. Overall, the man was nothing like Eddie had expected a gentleman of English high society to be. From his previous experiences, the type often was rather conceited and arrogant, with a transparent opinion of anyone below their class. His new employer and his son, while undoubtedly lordly, had a modest nature about them. Quickly, Eddie had also gathered that the spontaneity with which Nicholas Byrnwick had called upon him for a job opportunity was not uncharacteristic of him, as the young man was rather energetic in his step and impulsive in his actions.

But no matter how unassuming the men were, they did belong to a different rank of man and, therefore, stayed on the boat to the upper decks, engaging with the rest of their kind.

The travel moved on slowly, but in the end, it was also a mere blink of an eye moment, and before he had realised it, Eddie had reached the shores of England. It was another day or two of travel to be done by horse. A carriage had been acquired for Nicholas and his father, but Eddie and the rest of the staff that travelled with the family for their adventure rode on horseback. No matter how much Eddie enjoyed the form of transportation, it was a tiring experience after several hours, but it also allowed him to meet the people he was to work with and, through that, those he would work for.

‘So, what is the rest of the family like,’ he asked Mr Trowbridge, the lord’s valet. If there was anyone who could tell Eddie something, it would be this man.

‘Well,’ Mr Trowbridge had a particularly nasal tone about his voice that especially came forward at the beginning of his sentences, ‘I do not believe there is much to tell. They are as any other family, really.’

‘My good man, you can hardly expect me to believe there is nothing worth telling about these people,’ Eddie laughed. ‘If it puts your mind at ease, I am only asking for the simplest facts—nothing to interest my fancy.’

The valet pondered over this for a moment. ‘Very well. You have, of course, met the Viscount and his eldest.’ He took a moment for Eddie to respond with a nod in agreement. He then took another moment to consider his following words. The longer he took, the more keen Eddie felt to suggest what to speak of.

‘What about Lady Byrnwick?’

‘Lady Byrnwick is most amiable and has a very caring character, but you will not find her in the stables often unless she is searching for her children.’

‘Not fond of horses, is she?’

‘Rather the outside—-’ Trowbridge cleared his hair vigorously. ‘In the sense that the sun and pollen often leave her poorly. But the children…’ he punctuated his half-sentence with a heavy sigh.

‘They are a handful?’ Eddie assumed. To this, Trowbridge searched for another description but found himself lacking the vocabulary, leading to a confirmation.

‘I have worked for this family for nearly three decades, and I will assure you that each member is as proper a member of society as the next. While boisterous, they have been taught to be independent individuals.’ The valet's tone made Eddie consider how much of their good decorum was in gratitude for the man’s own intervention and guidance.

‘At 27 years, Nicholas is the eldest, and the responsibilities of this role are one of the few aspects of his life which he takes seriously, I cannot put any doubt behind that.’ Indeed, whilst extremely impetuous, the heir’s son also understood the duties of his position and towards his family.

‘Then there is Christopher. The boy has immense athletic abilities but not much beyond that. For a young man of his age of five and twenty, one would assume he would be able to compose himself with a bit more propriety, but it is very difficult for him. He is adventurous and rarely can sit still for an extended period of time, including his mouth. It is suggested that people be careful of what they say around the man.

‘The eldest daughter, Annabelle, married just before we had departed for America, thus is now the lady of her own house.’ Something in his tone suggested he was sad to see the young woman leave home. This possibly has to do with the fact that Miss Annabelle (Now known as Duchess Annabelle Ramsbury) was the most dutiful and respectful of the six children. ‘The marriage had been long overdue as she had just turned 22 on the day of the ceremony, but a love match was found nonetheless.’ The valet guffawed with pride. It was clear to Eddie that, while considering them a nuisance, the man cared deeply for the family he served.

‘I must admit, Trowbridge,’ Eddie chuckled in this horse’s trot pattern over the uneven paths. ‘When you began speaking of the family, I had imagined the children to be… well, children.’

‘How old are you, Munson?’ Trowbridge asked, somewhat bluntly.

‘Twenty, sir.’ Perhaps closer to his next birthday than the last.

‘Ah, just the age of the second daughter then,’ he nodded in agreement. ‘She may perhaps be the most… rebellious of the kin. It is all in good spirit, as you must imagine, and I am sure the interest in such nonsense will dwindle as she matures. She is also the most fond of the family horses; thus, you will see her quite often, I expect. But as her sibling, she has mastered the care for the animals as well as the equipment.’

As he spoke of your skills, something about Trowbridge's expression communicated particular dismay to Eddie. ‘Is that bad? For a young woman to know how to carry herself around a horse?’ He, for one, certainly did not see a problem in it. On the contrary, it was an instrumental skill to develop for anyone.

‘It is not exactly lady-like, is it?’ Trowbridge spoke as if that was the only relevant argument on the matter. Eddie had learned from a very young age that some opinions were better left unsaid, and seeing him as the senior in age and position, Eddie thought it unwise to argue with the valet on his first official day of employment. He instead simply nodded in understanding. Instead, he opted to continue the civil interrogation—

‘What of the youngest two? What are they like?’

‘Fitzwilliam is a dapper fellow. He is but seventeen, but very accomplished, though I cannot say he knows how to put his acquired skills to good use. He has ambitions that cannot be denied; it is just a question of whether these ambitions can ever be met.

‘And lastly, we have Miss Marjorie. A darling girl, I assure you,’ Trowbridge stated. I can only suggest not letting her size fool you, Munson. She has managed to wrap her family around her little fingers the moment she learned to mumble a word, leaving her to cause quite the ruckus for the past eleven years.’

‘I do not see how that involves me, Sir,’ Eddie said. By this time, the sun had begun to set over the fields they passed, and soon, the company would break for their overnight travels at a nearby inn.

‘It had come to my attention over the years that Mr Falstipp–the previous groom, that is— had been quite lenient on the children and their usage of the horses. This has caused a number of incidents that I would rather not see a repetition of.’

‘Understood.’

‘I am unaware of your er– American customs,’ the valet began his lecture, ‘but you must also know that here, ladies are not to ride unaccompanied—something that has been protested in the family to no avail, but it is simply the procedure. There must always be a chaperone nearby to supervise, whether that is a senior member of the family or an entrusted member of the household.’

‘I do not expect to have gained that trust just yet,’ Eddie said earnestly.

‘But let us hope you will.’ The smile Trowbridge gave Eddie was kind at first glance, but the movement of his eyes that inspected him told an entirely different story. He knew he still had much to learn about navigating himself around the kinds of people that were the Byrnwicks, even those who worked for them. The moment he set foot on English soil, he knew it would be challenging to fit in if he ever planned to do so.

The truth is that he did not plan such a change. For you see, Dear Reader, Mr Eddie Munson was also a radical. He did not believe in adapting to society, which was visible in his entire being. One can also imagine the struggle he had to endure when given a uniform to wear. Frankly, the ensemble did not differ much from how the man dressed himself before, but the simple fact that he was told to wear this particular set of clothing upset him severely.

On the first day after his arrival at Ridlington Park, he had managed to justify himself out of dressing in the required clothing by claiming that the trousers were a smidgen too tight. Without another size available, he was told to wear the clothes on his back until the new, fitted attire arrived.

But the clothes did not even begin to reach the problem of the horses he was meant to care for.

Turned out, while he had been given all sorts of warnings against the family, what Eddie should have been preparing for was the beasts that homed the stables. The stubborn animals would not let him touch them, and any attempts were met with angry stares and stomping of the hooves.

‘Easy, there,’ Eddie spoke as softly as he could, taking small steps in any direction that would not enrage the stallion whom he was currently attempting to feed. White Liquorice, a white Arabian, was undoubtedly an animal worthy of a viscount, and from the moment he had stepped into the Ridlington Park stables, Eddie knew that the Kentucky Saddlers and Quarter Horses he grew up with were no match for these and he would quickly have to learn to get on with them if he was to stay here.

Yes, the first days were hard, but not even one week later, he had gotten used to the rhythm of operations. It helped that, working as the barn manager, he was the one in charge and mostly left alone. Mr Trowbridge had visited him to ensure he was adjusting to the new working conditions, which was kind, but besides that, Eddie rarely saw anyone but footmen requesting the carriage to be prepared for the family.

That is until one afternoon when he heard the doors open and someone walking inside. He had been around the corner of the stables, cleaning some grooming tools.

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ he heard the intruder speak. It was soft and gentle, most likely referring to one of the horses. Immediately, Eddie was reminded of one of the conversations shared with Lord Byrnwick’s valet. He swiftly got up from his seat and immediately found the culprit.

He watched you pet one of the horses—Barley Sugar, was it—-petting her in a way he had not yet managed to do confidently. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’ These words triggered him to jump into action.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’ He stepped forward, but his words startled you, causing you to turn around. As you did so, your foot got caught in an old set of bridles Eddie had still planned on detangling and putting away. The surprise coming with the unexpected presence of someone else, combined with the awkward position of your foot, led you to fall over with a shriek.

Eddie cursed under his breath as he watched you huff on the ground. ‘Let me help you,’ he extended his hand to you, ‘and my apologies, it was not my intent to—’

‘Who are you?’ you said in a tone that could only be deemed skittish, if not directly fearful, but not enough to deny his offer to help you stand. Your reaction was validated as you had never met the man standing before you. You eyed him up and down, and the more details you noticed, the more you were sure that you had just stumbled upon a robbery, nay, a kidnapping.

The man's presentation spoke for itself, truly. His long hair was dark and unkept, well over his shoulders. His clothes were nothing like the workers around your house were meant to dress like, making him stick out like a very sore thumb. The trousers were old and worn, and the shirt was loose over his upper body, revealing—oh god, was that a tattoo?

It was clear this is how you were to die.

‘Are you here to steal my horses?’ you blurted out before you could think.

‘What?’ He blinked. ‘No, please, listen—’ but you did no such thing. Instead, you did the only thing a lady in distress could do.

You screamed bloody murder.

‘Help! Anyone! Help—’ you would have kept on going, shouting over his attempt at reason until he finally shut you up by placing his hand over your mouth, his other hand sturdily over your upper arm. The two of you stood there for a moment, chests both heaving in all forms of panic, listening for footsteps or any other presence, but the only sound was the soft breathing of the animals around you.

‘I will let go now, miss,’ Eddie said slowly. Both your eyes were wide from the uncultivated situation that had just occurred. ‘And I will explain everything to you, just, please—and I beg you— do not scream.’ You nodded your head beneath his palm in agreement. Eddie counted to three as he stepped back and finally let go of you. Despite him never blocking your airways, you inhaled deeply.

‘There is absolutely no reason to panic, ma’am.’ His accent was distant, one you had never had the pleasure of hearing before. His eyes, large and dark, locked you in, almost making you lose count of the lingering feeling of his hands on your body. He had given you a moment before he continued speaking, ensuring that you would not resume your screaming or make a run for it.

‘What is your reason of being here?’ You inquired.

‘I work here. Have been, for the past week. I think it was your brother, in fact, that gave me the position. We met on his travels.’

Now, come to think of it, you remembered your family's conversation on the day your father and brother returned. There had been talk of new staff—a young man they had brought along with them from America as an official replacement for the late Mr Falstipp. But that did not explain his attire.

‘You could be fired for breaking the dress code alone, you know. Not to mention for the, uhm, actions you had just performed.’ You commented.

‘Well, you can always report me, miss.’ Eddie, against all his better judgement, smiled.

‘Maybe I should.’ Your heart was still pounding, and you felt so disoriented that even a simple smile made your head spin. ‘What is your name?’

‘Eddie.’

‘Well, Mr Eddie—’ you began, just to be quickly interrupted.

‘No, just Eddie.’ Eddie shook his head.

‘What do you mean? Do you have no family name?’ You had heard of men bringing in street urchins to work for them, but surely, this man was too old for such charity. And you could not imagine your brother to perform such acts of kindness anyway.

‘I do.’ His smile only widened in amusement at the conversation. ‘Eddie Munson.’

‘My, is it usual in America to introduce oneself like that?’ Never had you heard of a man introducing himself by only his first name, let alone a byname.

‘It is usual to me,’ he quipped, ‘And it is more common than not introducing yourself at all.’ The way in which he looked up at you from under his lashes felt accusatory, but you could not find it within you to be upset at the critique, so you gave him your name instead.

‘Pleasure to meet you, Miss Byrnwick.’ He gave you a small, polite bow that reminded you more of how children play Lord and Lady rather than a gentlemanly act. Next thing you knew, a smile was pulling at the corner of your lips, and a small giggle was ready to escape.

For some reason, you hesitated to say your following words: ‘It is a pleasure, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’ While always respecting the titles of others, Eddie never saw himself as one to follow such formalities.

‘That is most improper.’ You held back the urge to scoff.

‘But I insist.’ There was something in the corner of his eye that you managed to catch a glimpse of—this spark that no sunlight or fire could match. It was pure mischief, a spirit of chaos. But still, to call a man you barely knew by his first name was simply not right. Your family may jest as they please about your rebelling attitude to primitive customs, but you had to admit that some things ought to be done in a proper manner. And this was certainly not it.

However, Mr Munson saw it in another light but did not find enough of an interest in the subject enough to argue it further. Rather, he cleared his throat briefly and observed you for a moment.

How silly you must look in your fancy dress! Your hair was done up to match, and your shoes were most likely covered in mud. There was also no doubt that he had overheard you talking to your horse about running away. You had good faith that he could connect the pieces to form the complete picture.

A bird flew past a window, making you glance past Eddie’s shoulder in haste.

‘I hope I am not keeping you from any other plans, miss?’ He finally asked. Could you be so bold as to admit that he was saving you from other commitments by conversing with you?

‘No, of course, not Mr Munson,’ you persisted. ‘I am simply cautious.’ Come to think of it, your screams must have been heard all around the grounds. If those who heard, in turn, had an ounce of common sense amongst them, they would have called for someone in the house. If that was the case, your mother would be here momentarily, and then it was back to the house for you. All you could do now was hide.

‘May I ask what are you being cautious of?’ Eddie followed you with his eyes as you walked through the stables, looking for a hiding spot.

‘If you must know, I am currently on the run,’ you stated while looking over a haystack in the far corner.

‘Ah, so whilst you had accused me of being a criminal, it was you who had been committing the crimes then? Should I now scream for help?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t, ' you said, attempting to climb the hay to get past it. ‘I have already brought much too much attention to myself.’ Your foot slipped, making you tumble back down to the ground. The accident made you stop for a moment before attempting to climb again, looking over your shoulder at the man. ‘Are you not going to even try and stop me?’

‘Oh,’ it was as if he had awakened from a deep thought or had just realised that what you suggested was exactly what he ought to do. ‘Well, would you listen if I told you not to climb up there?’

You pondered his question for a short moment. ‘No, I highly doubt it.’ Thus, you resumed your climbing. As you did, you heard the shuffling of his feet behind you. The next time you slipped up, this time from a far higher distance, he had been in precisely the right place to catch you in his arms.

‘I cannot assure you I will be able to catch you once more, so it is in good conscience that I suggest you stop, ma’am,’ he said as you got back to your feet.

‘You are right,’ you admitted. Then you realised just how close the two of you stood and quickly occupied yourself by looking for another hiding place. That is when you noticed it. You had spent years in this stable and knew every inch of the space, yet… ‘Have you moved things around?’ You looked back at Eddie.

‘Only a little. I’m afraid my predecessor did not have a flair for organisation,’ he explained.

‘That may be so, but I would prefer you would put things back as they were.’

‘Excuse me?’ Eddie could not help but laugh at the demand.

‘Your new floor plan has completely disoriented me, ' you admitted. ‘It is unbecoming.’

‘My apologies. I will be sure to put things back as they were, then.’ His laugh still echoed his words.

You had not expected him to actually agree to this request. ‘You will?’ But quickly, you regained your composure and tried to hide the surprise in your voice. ‘Very well, thank you. Then, since you have discarded all of my possible hiding locations, what do you suggest I should do?’

‘I suggest you run.’ But it was not Eddie who had answered you.

‘Mother, ' you gasped. What was it, in God’s good name, with everyone sneaking up on you today? Lady Byrnwick stood at the threshold of the stables with her arms crossed. Her lips tightened into a thin line as she took a step inside. You prepared yourself for a disciplinary outburst, but instead, your mother focused on the man standing next to you.

‘You must be Mr Munson.’ The kindness in her voice was laughable. The overcompensation of her kindness threw both you and Eddie off.

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ You noticed that he bowed his head in a much more orderly fashion than he had done to you.

‘I hope my daughter has not been too much of a nuisance.’

‘Not at all.’ Eddie politely replied.

‘Good, good. Well, I can already see that my son did a good job in finding you,’ she stated as she looked around the retouched interior. ‘And I hope that you will grow to enjoy England.’

‘I’ve had nothing to complain of yet.’ Eddie proudly said with that smile of his, and for a moment, you thought to have caught his eyes on you for just a second. Your mother nodded along with his words in satisfaction, but this cheeriness dissipated as soon as she directed herself to you.

‘Has your headache cleared, dear?’ Her eyes were spitting fire.

‘Yes, mother.’

‘Then we will be on our way.’ She stepped aside, giving you room to walk outside. ‘Goodbye, Mr Munson.’ Eddie had become the unintentional victim of the venom that perferred your mother's words.

He was polite enough to look away as you made your shameful walk through the aisle between the horses’ stalls, but you couldn’t help but look behind you one final time as you left and catch his favourable grin. What a peculiar man he was, indeed—one whose presence you immediately began to miss.

Perhaps that was because of the company you were in at the time.

‘Have you gone completely mad?’ Your mother scowled. ‘Mr Harrington has been waiting for well over half an hour.’

‘He is still here?’ You stopped in your tracks. This day could not have gone any worse. It seemed like everything you had been doing was working in your favour.

‘Yes, so you better come up with a clever excuse for your tardiness as I will not be embarrassed any longer. I swear, have you no shame?’

‘I am truly sorry mother, I had lost track of the time.’

‘Doing what exactly? What were you doing in the stables, exactly? Considering you had told me you were going out for some fresh air.’ Yes, the air around the horses was not exactly to be called “fresh.”

Unfortunately, you had no satisfying answer to any of your mother’s questions. Come to it, you yourself were unsure what exactly had brought you there in the first place, not to mention what made you stay. It must have been a sense of child-like naivete to think you could hide from your problems the way you attempted.

Problems that were coming closer as Mr Harrington walked towards you through the aisle of hyacinths that grew all around you in various colours.

‘What is he doing here?’ you mumbled towards your mother.

‘Considering the lovely weather, I had offered for us to sit out in the gardens.’ Your mother spoke out loud. That is when you noticed the set table and chairs under a large parasol on the patio.

‘I hope you do not mind. I took the initiative of taking a stroll in your absence.’ Mr Harrington spoke in a cadence that would have been new to you if not for the fact that you had spent the last hour in the presence of a very similar tone.

‘Of course, not,’ your mother had regained her ability to smile. ‘May I introduce my daughter.’ And so she did.

‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting, sir. I completely lost track of time.’ You apologised and were ready to offer your hand to Mr Harrington when you noticed how filthy your gloves had become. In a panic, you pushed both your hands behind your back, trying to distract the man with a wide grin.

‘The important thing is that we are all here now,’ he manoeuvred, which you could not help but agree with, then led you to the patio.

The next hour went by faster than you had ever imagined it would. Mr Steve Harrington turned out to be not only a great conversationalist but a rather fascinating one at that. It was only a fault of your own that you were distracted for a larger part of the conversation. There was simply something about the man’s brown eyes that constantly reminded you of somewhere else. He was very charming and, abiding by your brother’s promises, had a great, though perhaps somewhat awkward, wit. It seemed that his confidence, once clearly overt, had been lowered, causing him to stumble over his words at times and laugh at his own mistakes in a deprecating manner, but never enough to make it a bother in your eyes. Truly, it was all rather endearing.

But you could not, for the life of you, figure out what exactly caused these fumblings in his character, as nothing seemed to be particularly wrong with the man. Though you did not see him as an academic or scholar of any sort, from the way he spoke, you could tell he was one of the more clever men you had the fortune of meeting. And his looks were certainly no topic of discussion either. He was tall and lean, with a wonderful smile and soft brown hair that apparently was more common than imagined, as were those dark eyes and the way he held you in his arms—

You took a sip of the cold water as Mr Harrington expressed his gratitude to your mother for the audience and made sure the message would be conveyed to Lord Byrnwick, too. You nodded and smiled along. Even when he bid you farewell and bowed his head, your mind was elsewhere. As if expecting something to emerge from behind the hyacinths, you could not help but glance in the Eastern direction of the gardens.

‘See, it was not all that bad, was it?’ your mother immediately said, pulling you back to the patio. By then, Mr Harrington had excused himself and was crossing the patio to the exit from the grounds but had turned briefly for a final goodbye, which you met with a polite wave.

‘No, I suppose you are right, mother.’ You had persevered against all odds. As you watched the gentleman leave, you felt quite content with the meeting—happy, some would even say. The only problem was that you could not make quite clear what, or rather, who brought on this particular mood.

Chapter 2

Thank you so much for reading!! I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Remember the best way to support writers is to reblog and share. I love to hear what people think of my stories so feel free to leave a comment or an ask or message.

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wholoveseggs · 2 months ago

Text

Yearning

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Request from @sweetieseven: Lissaa, I have something in mind right now I've been thinking about Elijah in 1400s (his long hair and sweet smile! The way he kissed Katherine's hand!) I would love to read a story about a lady that's very smitten of him! And that she's married (so, it's kinda controversial) And my favourite author is you, so I hope you can make this happen! Luvv

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} Hired by Rebekah to paint her family’s portrait, you find yourself irresistibly drawn to her eldest brother, Elijah. But with a husband bound by ambition and society’s stifling expectations, surrendering to forbidden desire could change your life forever...

♡♡ Thank you for the request darling!!! Medieval Elijah is such a dreamm ♡♡

9k words {I can't be contained} - Warnings: smutttt, oral sex {f!receiving}, riding, public sex, outdoor sex, forbidden romance, Rebekah wants to eat you... but then becomes your friend, medieval court intrigue, Elijah being devastatingly intense and charming, lots of sexual tension, marital discord, possessive Elijah, protective Elijah, manipulative dynamics, cheating, mild violence, betrayal, secrets, gardens, power imbalances && a family portrait..

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

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@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

@origshipfan @cocoabliss @eternalnoble

Your husband, the son of a wealthy trader, was as calculating as he was relentless. He lived for the approval of the court, bowing and scraping before the nobles in hopes of securing a title. You’d never felt much for him, even in the early days of your marriage, when your father had insisted this union would secure your family's future. But his recent desperation to curry favor with the visiting Mikaelson family had made his flaws all the more glaring. Every word from his mouth was flattery, every gesture self-serving. You knew he would sell his own soul if it meant earning the smallest amount of praise from one of his betters.

And yet, you could not entirely blame him. The Mikaelsons had a reputation that preceded them. They were a family steeped in power and mystery, their arrival casting a shadow over the court. The noblewomen gossiped in hushed whispers about their strange allure, their almost otherworldly beauty.

"Have you seen the younger one? Ser Kol," one woman had whispered during the last banquet. "He’s often in the lower streets... no doubt consorting with common girls."

Another had leaned in closer, voice dripping with scandal. "And the middle brother? Niklaus. I heard he shares his bed with whomever pleases him, man or woman."

"And the sister, Rebekah," a third chimed in, "has every lord at court vying for her hand. A face like hers could launch kingdoms."

But it was the eldest brother who had caught your attention. Unlike his siblings, he carried himself with quiet restraint, his presence commanding without needing to demand. You’d only seen him in passing.. a fleeting glance in the library, the sweep of his long hair as he walked the castle corridors, or the faintest trace of a smile during a royal symphony. The whispers about him were fewer, but they lingered in your mind.

Elijah Mikaelson. The name alone made your pulse quicken.

You knew better than to seek his attention. And yet, you couldn't stop yourself from wondering. What was he like beneath his noble composure? What thoughts occupied his mind as he listened to the symphonies, or perused the stacks of the castle library? Was his heart truly as cold and hard as the rumors suggested?

A royal feast had been organized in honor of the Mikaelson family, a grand display of wealth and power that you suspected was meant to impress the siblings. The entire court had been invited, including yourself and your husband, whose eyes were constantly darting between the different noblemen, as though seeking an opening for conversation. You knew he had plans to corner Lord Elijah and attempt to curry his favor.

You were already growing weary of his scheming.

The music drifted throughout the great hall, a delicate blend of lutes and drums that you could barely hear over the din of chatter. Your husband had left your side, and you watched as he approached a group of young lords, joining their conversation with the usual charm and flattery.

You sighed. How you despised these affairs. Nothing of substance ever came from the empty conversations, the meaningless platitudes, the frivolous displays. All around you, people were dancing and laughing and drinking, while you stood in the shadows, a hollow ache settling in your chest..

It was in this moment of despair, when you felt most alone, that you noticed him. Lord Elijah was standing beside the great oak doors, his long hair pulled back from his face, the faintest hint of stubble shading his sharp jaw. He was dressed in a black doublet and pants, the silver embroidery catching the light as he moved. His expression was placid, almost unreadable, his dark eyes focused on something across the hall.

When you followed his gaze, you saw he was watching his brother, Niklaus, as the blond lord conversed with a young lady. There was a strange tension in the air, one that was almost palpable. You couldn't be sure, but you sensed Lord Elijah's disapproval of his brother's behavior.

As if sensing your attention, Elijah's eyes shifted, and he turned his gaze to you. His expression was difficult to read, his eyes dark and deep, and for a moment, you thought you saw something there, a glimpse of the man behind the facade.

A flush rose to your cheeks, and you quickly averted your gaze, looking away, heart racing. You had not expected to be caught staring. You cursed yourself for your foolishness.

When you dared a glance back at Elijah, he was gone. You scanned the hall, searching for him, but there was no sign of him among the throng of people. He had disappeared as quickly and as quietly as he'd arrived.

You let out a breath, feeling strangely disappointed, and then headed towards the table, where the wine was flowing freely. If you were going to survive this night, you would need to numb yourself with drink.

You poured yourself a cup of wine, the dark liquid sloshing over the rim, and took a sip. The sweet taste washed over your tongue, and you closed your eyes, savoring the sensation. You had a feeling it would be a long night.

"It's not that good," a sweet voice teased from behind you.

You spun around, nearly spilling your drink, and came face-to-face with Lady Rebekah. She looked lovely in a soft blue gown, her fair skin glowing in the candlelight, her golden hair cascading down her shoulders and her eyes sparking with mischief.

"Forgive me," you said, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt.

She took the cup out of your hand and tasted the wine, her lips twisting with disgust. “Just dreadful.”

You smiled despite yourself, charmed by her candor. "What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you." Her words were bold and direct, and you had the sense she was used to getting her way.

"Me?"

She nodded. "Your husband told me you're an artist. I wanted to see your work."

"You have an interest in art?" You were surprised. Most ladies of the court had no such inclinations.

"Of course," she said. "Everyone else is obsessed with the latest fashions and gossip, but I prefer to occupy my mind with more meaningful things."

You couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with her, and your heart warmed towards her. It was lonely being a woman at court, and it was refreshing to have someone understand the need for more than just the petty concerns of the nobility.

"I'd be happy to show you my paintings," you said, and the smile she gave you made your stomach do a little flip.

"Excellent." She tucked her arm into yours, pulling you close, and began to lead you out of the great hall. "Let's go, before anyone else decides they need our attention."

You laughed, feeling light and free, as she pulled you down the corridor, the two of you giggling like girls at their first festival.

"Rebekah," a stern voice cut through the laughter.

You froze, heart pounding. The voice belonged to none other than Lord Elijah.

Rebekah's smile fell, and she turned, pulling you along with her. "Yes, brother?"

Elijah's eyes landed on you, and you felt your heart skip a beat. He was even more handsome up close, his features strong and striking. "Where are you off to?"

"To look at some paintings that my lovely companion has made," Rebekah said, her arm still looped around yours.

"That sounds delightful," he said, his tone even. "I'd like to join you."

Rebekah pouted, a silent conversation passing between the siblings.

"Please," he added, softening his words.

You weren't sure what was happening, but it seemed the two of them were having a private discussion, and you were only getting fragments of it.

Rebekah let out a dramatic sigh. "Very well, brother."

She led you down the corridor, Elijah following behind. You tried to ignore his presence, but the sound of his footsteps was like a drumbeat in your mind, a constant reminder that he was near.

You stored your work in a small chamber adjacent to your rooms. There was a single chair and a narrow window that looked out onto the courtyard.

"I come here to sketch," you said, by way of explanation. "It's peaceful."

Rebekah glanced around the room, taking in the canvases and the brushes, the jars of paint and the wooden easel. She seemed bored by it, which disappointed you, but Elijah looked curious, his gaze sweeping over the room.

"You are quite talented, a true artist," he said.

"It's a hobby," you replied, shrugging.

"No," he said, his eyes finding yours. "An artist is an artist, whether it's their sole occupation or simply a pastime. It doesn't diminish the passion and dedication."

"Such a flatterer," Rebekah quipped, a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

Elijah ignored her, his gaze still fixed on you. "May I see more of your work?"

You nodded, unable to find your voice. There was something about his attention that made your stomach flutter, and you had the sudden urge to please him.

You pulled out a sketchbook and handed it to him. He opened it and began to leaf through the pages, his eyes scanning the drawings. You tried not to watch his reaction, but it was impossible not to notice the small smile that tugged at his lips.

"These are lovely," he said, and the sincerity in his voice made you blush. "You capture nature in such a unique way."

"Thank you," you said, and he closed the book, handing it back to you.

"Perhaps you'll paint a portrait of me," Rebekah suggested.

You shook your head, the suggestion startling you. "I'm not very good with portraits. People are difficult to capture."

"Nonsense," she replied. "If my brother can see the beauty in your work, then surely you can capture my own."

"Rebekah..." Elijah's voice was a warning, and you had the sense there was more to this conversation than you realized.

She turned to him, a defiant look on her face. "What? I wish for a portrait. Is that so wrong?"

"Not at all," he replied, his tone measured. "But perhaps now is not the best time."

She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "Are you really going to spoil this for me? While Kol and Niklaus drink from every-"

"Enough," he cut her off.

She let out a frustrated sigh and stormed out of the room.

You stood there awkwardly, not sure what had just happened.

"My apologies," Elijah said. "Rebekah can be... a bit much at times."

"It's fine," you said, but the tension in the air was palpable.

He turned to leave, but then stopped, his hand resting on the door frame. "Be careful with her," he said, his voice softening. "Rebekah can be very charming, and she doesn't always think about the consequences of her actions."

"I'll keep that in mind," you said, not entirely sure what he meant.

He paused for a moment, and then met your gaze, his eyes dark and intense. "I look forward to seeing more of your work."

With that, he left, the door closing behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

What a strange family.

Rebekah returned the next day, her demeanor much calmer. She came to visit you in the morning, before the court was abuzz with activity. You were seated in the main room of your chambers, sketching as your husband droned on about something unimportant. You could barely hear his words over the scratching of your quill on the parchment.

As soon as Rebekah entered the room, her presence commanded attention, and your husband immediately stopped speaking.

“Lady Rebekah,” he said, quickly rising to his feet.

“Forgive me,” she said, her words dripping with insincerity. “I did not mean to interrupt.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, smiling. “You are always welcome here.”

“Thank you,” she said, returning his smile before turning her attention to you. “I was hoping we might continue our conversation from last night.”

Your husband looked from you to her, clearly puzzled. He had been desperate to gain favor with any of the Mikaelsons, and the fact that she had sought you out was both unexpected and unnerving to him.

“Of course,” you said, rising from your chair. “You wished for a portrait.”

Your husband scoffed. He had never approved of your artistic pursuits and often complained about how much time they occupied.

“Actually, I was thinking a family portrait,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Wouldn’t that be splendid?”

“Absolutely,” your husband replied, eager to seize any opportunity to curry favor. “She would be honored.”

“Wonderful,” she said, her smile broadening. “I shall send someone to fetch you later.”

With that, she turned and left, leaving the two of you alone once more. Your husband was practically giddy, his excitement over the prospect of gaining favor with the Mikaelsons clearly evident. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of irritation, as though your work was only valued for its potential to impress the nobility.

“I don’t know how you managed it, dear wife, but you’ve secured us a place at their table,” he said, practically beaming.

You sighed, knowing there was no way out of this. The prospect of painting the family was daunting, but it would make your husband happy, and perhaps bring him one step closer to his dream of earning a title.

"Of course," you said, forcing a smile.

You didn't share his enthusiasm. In truth, the thought of spending any amount of time with the Mikaelsons made you uneasy, but you really couldn't say why. There was just something about them that told you to run far away.

Elijah had secured a large chamber with ample light, the morning sun streaming in through the tall, arched windows. The Mikaelson family was gathered around a heavy oaken table, their expressions ranging from bored to mildly irritated. Rebekah was the only one who appeared genuinely enthusiastic, her radiant smile lighting her face as she posed for the portrait.

"Is this really necessary?" Kol complained.

"Yes," Elijah replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Kol, go sit next to Niklaus, and stop complaining," Rebekah chided.

Kol grumbled, but did as he was told, taking his place beside his brother.

You felt a nervous tremor in your hands as you adjusted your easel and arranged your pigments, your hands shaking slightly. You could feel their eyes on you, the weight of their attention making the task feel impossible.

Niklaus was particularly unsettling, his eyes tracking your movements, a slight smile playing on his lips. You couldn't read his expression, but something about it made you uneasy.

“I hear you paint landscapes,” he remarked, his tone laced with condescension.

“I do,” you replied, doing your best to sound composed.

“Interesting,” he mused, his words slow and deliberate. “What makes you think you are qualified to paint my family’s portrait?”

“I suppose I’m not,” you admitted, unable to hide the tremor in your voice.

“Ignore him,” Rebekah interjected sharply, shooting her brother a withering look. “He only grows competitive when the subject of art is raised. He acts as though he has some divine monopoly over the matter.”

“That is not true,” Niklaus retorted, though his tone lacked conviction.

“So you are a painter as well?” you asked Niklaus, striving to keep the conversation light.

“Among other things,” he replied, the faintest trace of a smile playing on his lips.

“Like what?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Many things,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “But mostly, I enjoy capturing the human form.”

The innuendo was not lost on you, and you felt your cheeks flush. Kol chuckled softly, clearly amused by his brother’s remarks.

“Enough, Niklaus,” Elijah interjected, his tone sharp and unyielding.

“Yes, yes,” Niklaus replied, his tone bored but his expression still mischievous.

You turned your focus back to the painting and began sketching the outline, but the arrangement of the siblings felt awkward. The positioning of their bodies only seemed to emphasize the tension in the room.

“How is this?” Rebekah asked, adjusting her posture gracefully.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted, struggling to find the right words.

“You could paint me nude,” Niklaus offered, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “That would certainly liven things up a bit.”

Elijah smacked the back of Niklaus’s head with a swift hand, and the room erupted in laughter.

“Enough,” Elijah commanded again, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

Despite your unease, you couldn’t help but feel drawn in by the Mikaelsons’ strange energy. There was something magnetic about their banter, even if it was overwhelming.

You stood and began repositioning Kol and Niklaus, each of them watching your efforts with mild amusement.

“Must I hold still?” Kol teased, feigning irritation.

“Yes,” you replied, your patience already wearing thin with his antics.

“How long will this take?” he complained, shifting in his seat.

“I’ll make sure to paint you first,” you promised, trying to keep your composure despite his constant interruptions.

“Excellent,” he said, grinning as though you had done him a great favor.

Rebekah was easy to pose, her natural grace evident in the way she carried herself. When you approached Elijah, however, your heart quickened, the thought of touching him sending a rush of heat through your body.

“Could you turn towards the light?” you asked, striving to keep your voice steady.

“Certainly,” he replied, shifting his position with an elegance that matched his demeanor.

You reached out to adjust his arm, your fingertips brushing against the firm muscle beneath his finely tailored doublet. You swallowed hard, determined to ignore the way his presence unsettled you.

“Is this acceptable?” he asked, his voice low and smooth.

“Yes,” you said quickly, stepping back to regain your composure.

He gave you a knowing smile, as though he could read the thoughts you were struggling to suppress.

As the session wore on, you found yourself more at ease among the siblings. They were an odd bunch, much like the other ridiculously wealthy nobles you had encountered, but with a surprising playfulness that set them apart. Their teasing and laughter filled the chamber, and by the time the sun began to dip in the sky, you realized you were enjoying their company.

“How many more sessions will there be?” Kol asked, stretching his arms above his head like a restless squire.

“As many as it takes,” Elijah replied, his tone leaving no room for debate.

“Only one more for Kol and Niklaus,” you said, carefully packing away your supplies.

“Thank goodness,” Kol quipped, his grin as mischievous as ever.

You smiled, charmed by his lightheartedness. Despite their eccentricities, the Mikaelsons were not as imposing as you had first feared. Perhaps, given time, you might even consider them friends.

“Shall we continue tomorrow?” Elijah asked, his tone both calm and assured.

You nodded, a strange thrill coursing through you at the thought of another day in their company.

With that, the siblings departed, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Your emotions were conflicted, and the sensation was foreign to you. You were used to feeling numb, resigned to your fate as a lonely wife, but the Mikaelsons had sparked a flame within you, a spark of curiosity and interest that you hadn't felt in years.

You let out a sigh and began tidying up the chamber. Your life was full of rules and obligations, but there was something about the Mikaelsons that made you feel like a bird longing for the sky. You couldn't explain it, and perhaps you never would, but the pull was undeniable.

You took a long walk before returning to your chambers and your husband greeted you, brimming with excitement.

“Lord Elijah has invited us to a private supper next week,” he announced, his voice filled with pride.

“A private supper?” You were surprised. Elijah had been polite but distant, and you hadn’t expected him to show such a level of interest.

“Yes,” he replied, practically giddy. “He is apparently eager to hear my thoughts on the kingdom’s trade agreements.”

You weren’t entirely shocked. Your husband had managed to carve out a name for himself among merchants and lesser nobility, though his opinions were rarely sought after by those of Elijah’s rank.

“That is wonderful,” you said, forcing a smile.

“Indeed,” he replied with a flourish. “We shall need to procure new attire.”

You frowned, knowing this would cost dearly. Your husband’s ambitions had already drained much of the household’s coffers, and yet another expense seemed likely to drive you further into debt.

“Whatever you think best,” you said, unwilling to provoke an argument.

He leaned down and kissed your cheek, his mustache brushing against your skin and making you suppress a cringe.

“It’s going to be a good year,” he declared, patting your arm with confidence. “I can feel it.”

You smiled and nodded, trying to match his enthusiasm, though the truth was, you longed for something of your own.

One thing that didn't have to be tainted by his aspirations.

The next few days were a blur as you worked to complete the portrait before the supper. The siblings had grown accustomed to sitting for the painting, and you managed to finish Kol and Niklaus without much difficulty.

Rebekah was particular, but you understood her desire to present herself at her best. You took care to subtly enhance her already striking features, ensuring she seemed alive on the canvas.

“You are all done, Rebekah,” you said, feeling a surge of satisfaction at the finished product.

She rose gracefully from the chair and approached the painting to inspect it. She looked radiant, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders, her blue eyes glinting with vitality.

“It’s perfect,” she declared, turning to smile at you. “All that remains now is dear Elijah.”

A flush rose to your cheeks at the mention of his name. Elijah was the last to be painted, and the thought of being alone with him was both thrilling and nerve-wracking.

He smiled then, his gaze locking with yours, and for a moment, it felt as if he could see straight into your soul, discerning every unspoken emotion swirling within you.

Rebekah kissed your cheek in farewell, her touch light and affectionate, before sweeping out of the room.

Now, only Elijah remained.

You had already sketched his outline, and all that was left was to refine the details. As you studied his face, your nerves fluttered anew. The faint creases of his smile, the dark stubble along his sharp jaw. He was so handsome that it almost hurt to look at him.

Picking up a brush, you dipped it into the paint and began the final stage of the portrait. His eyes followed your movements, though he remained silent, the quiet stretching between you.

“Have you always enjoyed art?” he asked suddenly, his deep voice breaking the stillness.

You startled slightly but recovered quickly. “I suppose so,” you replied, keeping your focus on the canvas. “Since I was a child, I’ve always been fascinated by color and light.”

“An admirable quality,” he said warmly.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your cheeks warming under his praise.

His eyes lingered on you, and you felt your pulse quicken beneath his steady gaze.

“Your husband has been quite vocal about his ambitions,” he remarked, and your heart sank.

You had hoped the task at hand would steer the conversation elsewhere, but it seemed your husband’s reputation for greed had preceded him.

“Yes,” you replied softly, unsure how best to answer.

“He seeks a title,” Elijah said, his tone calm and matter-of-fact.

“I’m aware,” you replied, unable to mask the bitterness that crept into your voice.

“You don’t seem enthused by the prospect,” he observed, his sharp eyes studying you.

“His ambitions are his own,” you said, deflecting as you focused your attention on the canvas.

“And what of your ambitions?” he asked, his words soft but pointed. You felt the air between you shift, heavy with unspoken meaning.

“What do you mean?” you asked cautiously, glancing at him.

“I mean, what would make you happy? Is a title something you desire?”

You paused, his question taking root in your mind. The truth was, you hadn’t often considered what might make you happy. Your happiness had never been a priority, least of all to your husband.

“Are you married, Lord Mikaelson?” you asked, changing the subject as you carefully added the dark wisps of his eyelashes to the portrait.

“It’s Elijah,” he corrected gently, his eyes meeting yours. “And no, I am not married.”

“Well… marriage is about compromise,” you said, your tone measured. “My duty is to support my husband and help him achieve his goals.”

“But what of your own needs and desires?” he pressed, his gaze unwavering. The question caught you off guard.

“I am fortunate enough to have a hobby that satisfies some of those,” you replied, though the words felt inadequate, leaving you feeling unexpectedly exposed.

He was silent for a moment, and you thought the conversation had ended, but then he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You deserve far more than that.”

Your breath caught, and your gaze lifted to meet his. His words struck deeply, piercing through the layers of propriety and obligation that had shaped your life.

“I’m sure your future wife will be a fortunate woman,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

He chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with quiet amusement. “I doubt that very much.”

You didn’t know how to respond. The sudden intimacy between you was overwhelming, and you quickly turned your attention back to the canvas, focusing intently on the portrait to steady yourself.

But Elijah continued to ask you questions... questions no one had ever bothered to ask. He seemed genuinely interested in your thoughts and feelings, and you found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn’t expected. You spoke of your childhood, your dreams, your fears, and he listened, his attention unwavering.

“And what of you?” you asked, hoping to shift the focus away from yourself. “It must be difficult, being the eldest brother.”

“It can be,” he admitted, his smile fading into something more introspective. “My brothers can be… boisterous at times.”

“Rebekah mentioned that,” you said lightly, hoping to ease the mood.

“She’s the wildest of us all,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “But she has a good heart.”

“I can see that,” you said, smiling.

He paused, his expression thoughtful, as though weighing his next words. “It’s rare for my family to enjoy the company of someone outside our circle,” he said, his gaze meeting yours. “Your friendship is a gift.”

A flutter stirred in your chest at his words, which touched something deep within you. You hadn’t realized how lonely you had been until you spent time with the Mikaelsons, who had brought a warmth into your life that had long been absent.

“I am honored to be considered a friend,” you said sincerely, and his smile softened in response.

“May I see?” he asked, gesturing toward the portrait.

“Of course,” you said, stepping aside.

He moved closer to the painting, his gaze traveling across the canvas. His eyes widened slightly, and you caught the glimmer of admiration in his expression.

“You have captured us all so perfectly,” he said, the sincerity in his tone sending a rush of warmth through you.

“Thank you,” you replied, unable to hide the pride in your voice.

“Rebekah was right,” he said, turning back to you. “You are an artist.”

You smiled, and he stepped closer, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“I shall treasure this painting,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “And, of course, ensure you are handsomely rewarded for it.”

“It’s a gift,” you said softly, wanting him to understand just how much this meant to you.

“Nonsense. I cannot accept a gift of such value,” he replied, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “Perhaps we could reach a compromise.”

“What did you have in mind?” you asked, curiosity stirring within you.

“I will grant the title your husband so desperately seeks,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

You could only stare at him, his offer leaving you stunned. It was the last thing you had expected, and for a moment, you wondered if he was jesting.

“But in return, I would ask for one more thing,” he continued, his eyes holding yours with unwavering intensity.

“And what is that?” you asked, your breath catching.

He reached for your hand, his touch warm and startlingly intimate. “A truth.”

“A truth?” you repeated, your confusion evident.

“Yes,” he said, his tone as soft as the flicker of a candle’s flame. “Tell me... do you feel the same way about me as I do about you?”

Your eyes locked with his, and your heart raced as if caught in a dream. The answer came easily, as if it had always been waiting to be spoken.

“Yes.”

His lips curved into a smile as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your palm.

“You are beautiful, like one of your paintings,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours. “I find myself quite envious of your husband, who shares your bed each night.”

You had been drawn to him from the start, and now, as he stood before you, you felt an undeniable connection. He was kind, charming, and devastatingly handsome, and for a moment, you wondered if perhaps you had found someone who could understand you, someone who could see past the walls you had built around your heart.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. A spark of heat coursed through your body, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to dissolve into nothingness.

The proper thing would have been to pull away, to remind him of your vows and the sanctity of your marriage. But instead, you returned the kiss, the passion igniting within you like a forbidden flame.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and as the kiss deepened, you knew you were lost. Your heart was his for the taking, and nothing else seemed to matter.

Gently, he guided you back until you felt the sturdy surface of the table against your hips. Your fingers threaded through his hair, drawing him closer, and he let out a low moan that sent a fiery thrill through your veins.

Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his hands stilling on your hips, though his voice carried a tremor of restraint.

"No," you breathed, the word barely audible.

He grinned and lifted you onto the table, his mouth crashing back against yours. He lifted your skirts, his fingers brushing against your bare thighs, and you felt a thrill of pleasure run through you.

Your hands sought the laces of his doublet, fumbling as you tried to feel the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric. You couldn't get enough of him, his taste, his scent, the feel of his body pressed against yours.

"So lovely," he whispered, his hands moving up your thighs, his fingers finding their mark.

A gasp escaped your lips as your body responded to his touch, heat building within you. His grin was both knowing and triumphant as he began a slow, torturous rhythm that left you breathless, each stroke teasing and coaxing you closer to the edge.

He pressed kisses along your jawline, his lips trailing a molten path down the curve of your neck. Your body arched against him instinctively, your hips moving in time with his hand.

Then he knelt before you, his head dipping beneath your skirts, and you gripped the edge of the table, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Elijah, what are you-” The question died on your lips as his tongue found a place of exquisite sensitivity, drawing a low moan from you.

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, and your toes curled as waves of pleasure rippled through you. You had never imagined that a man could kiss you there, and the feel of his hot, wet tongue was utterly exquisite.

His tongue danced across your most sensitive core, the sensation unlike anything you had ever known. The pleasure built steadily, a white-hot heat coiling low in your belly, threatening to consume you.

Your husband had never touched you like this, had never made you feel this alive. Closing your eyes, you surrendered to the moment, your moans growing louder as the ecstasy surged within you.

Your fingers wove into his hair, tugging him closer, and he groaned against you, the vibration sending a shudder through your body. The release was powerful, leaving you trembling in its wake.

He emerged from beneath your skirts, his lips glistening with evidence of his devotion, a satisfied grin lighting his face. Your cheeks burned, feeling exposed, and yet, utterly content.

He kissed you again, his lips warm and insistent, and you tasted yourself there. Instead of repulsion, it only stoked the fire within you, the desire flaring anew.

“If you were my wife, I would cherish you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

You froze, his words washing over you, leaving your mind spinning. Was he serious? Could this truly be happening?

“I would love you,” he continued, his gaze unwavering. “Every day.”

“Elijah,” you whispered, his name catching in your throat. Your hand rose to cup his cheek, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your heart ache.

He was offering you everything you had ever dreamed of. It was all too much, too fast. You knew the cost of this moment. The ruin it would bring to your marriage, your reputation, and the life you had known. But as you looked into Elijah’s eyes, you saw the glimmer of something more, something wonderful. It was terrifying to believe in.

“We cannot,” you said at last, your voice trembling.

His smile faltered, and a shadow passed over his expression, leaving it guarded.

“I understand,” he said quietly, though the disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable.

“It’s not what I want,” you added quickly, desperate for him to know the truth.

“But it is what must be,” he replied, his tone heavy with resignation.

You kissed him once more, the touch lingering as if to hold onto the moment just a little longer, before pulling away.

He helped you down from the table, his hands steady as your skirts fell back into place. You straightened the fabric with trembling fingers, the weight of what had transpired pressing upon you.

He sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. “I will see you at the supper,” he said, his voice carrying a sadness that pierced your heart.

“Until then,” you replied softly, fighting the desperate urge to stay.

He took your hand, pressing one last kiss to the back of it, the gesture tender and filled with unspoken meaning. Then he bid you farewell and turned to go, leaving the chamber.

You watched him leave, your chest tight with conflicting emotions. You knew you had made a mistake, one that could ruin you both, and yet, as you recalled the way he had held you, you could not bring yourself to regret it.

The night of the supper arrived, and you felt a flutter of nerves. It would be the first time you had seen Elijah since your encounter in the studio, and you knew that your feelings would be impossible to hide.

As your carriage pulled up to the Mikaelson manor, its grand stone façade illuminated by the glow of torches, you could barely contain your racing thoughts.

Stepping out, you gazed up at the magnificent hall, its imposing architecture a testament to the wealth and influence of the Mikaelson family. Your husband, beside you, was brimming with excitement, his greatest ambition on the verge of realization. You, however, felt only apprehension.

He spoke animatedly with some of the other guests, his arm draped loosely around your waist, using you as an ornament to enhance his image.

“Ah, Lord Elijah!” your husband called out, his voice cheerful. “Just the man I wished to see.”

Elijah approached, dressed in a formal white doublet, composed and handsome as ever. His dark eyes flicked over you, lingering for a moment, and you felt a blush creep up your neck.

“What a splendid home,” your husband remarked, oblivious to the tension in the air. “It must require great effort to maintain a residence of this size.”

Elijah smirked, though his gaze was still drawn to you. “It does,” he replied smoothly, his words laced with an undertone only you could catch, “but I find the cost well worth the investment.”

Your husband launched into a lengthy discourse on his vision for the kingdom’s agricultural policies, extolling the opportunities for a new golden age and hinting at Elijah’s potential involvement. Elijah nodded politely, offering measured responses, but his focus never truly left you, his dark eyes drinking you in.

“Your wife is an astounding artist; the portrait she painted of my family was truly breathtaking,” Elijah said, his dark eyes meeting yours and holding them.

“Oh yes, she has many talents,” your husband replied dismissively, his tone devoid of the admiration Elijah's carried.

“We shall present it to the court this evening after the final course,” Elijah announced smoothly.

“We shall?” you blurted out, unable to hide your surprise.

“Of course,” Elijah said with a grin, his expression full of delight. “It is far too beautiful not to share.”

You blushed, the compliment sending a rush of heat through you. Your husband didn't value your work, not the way Elijah did. It was a heady sensation, knowing that someone thought so highly of you.

"Well, isn't it out darling artist," Kol said as he approached you. "My sister is absolutely mad about the portrait."

Your husband’s posture stiffened as he noticed how at ease the Mikaelsons were with you.

“Yes, well, my wife is skilled in her pursuits,” he said, his smile tight and uncomfortable.

Elijah continued speaking with you, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he encouraged you to share your thoughts. The conversation flowed easily, and you found yourself opening up in a way that felt both liberating and dangerous. Elijah seemed genuinely engaged, his attention unwavering, which only made your husband’s irritation more apparent.

Thankfully, Elijah soon excused himself, moving to greet other lords and ladies.

“I did not realize you were such a popular figure among the court,” your husband said sharply, his displeasure evident in his clipped tone.

You didn't know what to say, the question caught you off-guard. Your husband hated being upstaged, and by his own wife? Such a thing could not be borne.

“They seem to enjoy my work,” you replied cautiously.

“Are you blushing?” he accused, his voice low and edged with anger.

You avoided his gaze, fiddling with the clasp of your necklace instead.

“You cannot expect me to believe they are so enamored with you simply because of your art,” he pressed, his mustache twitching as his frustration grew.

"What should they be taken with? Your endless monologues about the economy?" You asked, losing patience with his jealousy.

He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "Do not let it go to your head. I'm the one who gives you that platform, without me, you'd be nothing," he spat.

“Nothing?” you scoffed, your voice sharper than you intended. “I could say the same about you. How many times have your dealings fallen through? How many empty promises have you made and broken?”

Your husband’s face turned an alarming shade of red, his knuckles tightening until they turned white. He leaned in, his eyes blazing with anger.

“You are my wife,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Never forget your place.”

He stormed off, his fury radiating in every step. You felt a pang of guilt, but it was overshadowed by an unexpected surge of relief. For the first time in years, you had stood up for yourself, and it felt strangely wonderful.

Throughout the supper, the animosity from your husband was palpable. His simmering rage showed in his flushed cheeks and clenched jaw. The food was exquisite, but the atmosphere at your table was heavy with tension.

Elijah was seated beside you, and the placement only deepened your husband’s ire.

Kol, as ever, was holding court with his wild tales, Rebekah and Klaus laughing at his expense. Even Elijah allowed himself a rare smile, and you couldn’t help but giggle, his sister’s joy infectious.

Your husband straightened in his chair, preening like a peacock, desperate to reclaim attention. He launched into a self-aggrandizing tale about how he had single handedly financed the next great expansion of the local market. His gestures were large and theatrical, but his words fell flat. Rebekah’s eyes glazed over in boredom, and she stifled a yawn, twirling her fork idly between her fingers.

Kol, undeterred, followed with a ridiculous story of the time he had escaped an angry mob by rowing a boat down the river, only to be pursued by a flock of starlings. The table erupted into laughter, the sound spilling out into the hall.

You were enjoying yourself thoroughly when you felt a warm hand on your knee. Startled, you glanced at Elijah, whose gaze was steady and knowing. His smile was suggestive, and he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.

“Once the painting is revealed, can you slip away...go outside?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

You nodded, your cheeks warm. Elijah sat back, his grin widening. You knew what was coming, the chance to be alone with him. It was forbidden, and yet, you couldn't deny how much you wanted it.

As the final course was cleared away, Elijah signaled for a footman to unveil your canvas. The gathered lords and ladies reacted with gasps of admiration and murmurs of approval.

Your husband’s displeasure was evident, his lips pressed into a thin line as he observed the attention your painting commanded. His frustration simmered beneath the surface, his irritation growing with each word of praise.

As the hall began to empty, you turned to your husband, murmuring that you needed fresh air. He barely acknowledged your words, too preoccupied with engaging another lord in animated conversation.

You stepped out into the cool night, the sky above alive with stars. The full moon cast a silvery glow over the gardens, illuminating the landscape in an otherworldly light. You paused, momentarily struck by the serene beauty around you.

Faint strains of music and laughter drifted from the ballroom, mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves. As you approached the rose garden, you felt the warmth of a hand resting lightly on your back.

“I love the scent of roses,” Elijah said quietly.

“They’re beautiful,” you replied, your gaze fixed on him, transfixed by his presence.

“They are,” he agreed, though his eyes never left yours.

“Are there any here you favor?” you asked, curious.

“This one,” he said softly, plucking a dark red rose from a nearby bush.

He presented the flower to you with a subtle flourish, its delicate fragrance drifting upward to greet you.

“It’s exquisite,” you breathed, running your fingers over the velvety petals.

Elijah stepped closer, his hands gently cradling your face as his dark eyes searched yours. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss.

“You’re even more beautiful,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet reverence. Your heart skipped, the words igniting a warmth deep within you.

His lips claimed yours once more, the kiss deepening as you surrendered to the moment. The rose slipped from your fingers, forgotten, as your hands found their way into his hair, drawing him closer.

His hands roamed over your curves, his touch igniting a fire that coursed through you. You could hardly believe this was real. That he was here, kissing you, holding you. It all felt like a dream, one you never wished to wake from.

He lifted you onto a stone bench, his hands unlacing the front of your dress. You knew this was forbidden, but you no longer cared. You wanted him, and in this moment, the risk felt worth taking.

Your gown slipped, pooling around your waist and revealing the soft lines of your bodice. Elijah leaned in, his lips trailing reverently across the exposed skin, eliciting a shiver of pleasure from you.

As he captured your lips in a kiss once more, his hands cupping your breasts, you moaned, a wave of desire flooding your core. You reached down to unfasten the laces of his breeches, your need growing with every passing moment.

He slipped a hand between your legs, finding that sensitive spot of pleasure, and you let out a gasp. Your fingers fumbled as you worked the laces loose, a flutter of nervous anticipation running through you.

"Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion. "If you're sure-"

"I want this," you cut him off. "I want you."

His fingers teased at your entrance, gently dipping into you, before withdrawing. He repeated this a few more times, before finally sliding a single finger inside of you. You let out a soft moan as he curled his finger inside you, before slowly withdrawing it again. He added a second finger, slowly pumping them in and out of you as you gripped his arm.

"I have a plan," he whispered to you, leaning closer to you as he continued to slowly move his fingers in and out of you. "When the sun rises, you are going to leave with me, and we are going to get as far away from this court as we can. Do you understand?"

You looked into his eyes, your breath catching at the intensity of his gaze. His words lingered between you, heavy with promise and risk. The court, your husband, the consequences. All of it seemed so distant compared to the man before you.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both fear and excitement. “I understand.”

Elijah’s lips found yours again, the kiss deeper this time, as though sealing the vow you had just made. His fingers continued their deliberate rhythm, drawing gasps from your lips as your body arched into his touch.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured against your lips, his voice filled with possessive tenderness. “And I’ll keep you safe.”

His words could have terrified you, but instead, they wrapped around your heart like armor, shielding you from the unknown future that awaited.

Your hands slipped into his breeches, wrapping around his length. His hips bucked instinctively against your palm, a low groan escaping his lips as his head tilted back in pleasure.

His reaction sent a thrill through you, your core throbbing with need. You began to stroke him, your fingers sliding along his length, feeling him grow harder beneath your touch. His grip on you tightened, his breath hot against your neck as he struggled to maintain his restraint.

You knew how dangerous it would be if someone caught you like this, but your desire to be with him, to have him in any way you could, outweighed any fear of discovery.

The risk only served to heighten the pleasure, your arousal pooling at the apex of your thighs. You sat up on your knees and he helped guide himself into your warmth, the two of you both gasping as your bodies joined at last.

The feel of his hardness inside of you was exquisite, filling you in a way you hadn't expected. His hands moved to your hips, holding you steady as he began a steady rhythm.

The sound of his labored breaths mixed with your own soft gasps and moans as the two of you found a familiar rhythm, moving as one. You clung to him, your arms wrapped around his neck, letting him guide your hips up and down in the most delicious of ways.

Your husband was always quick, in and out, and gone before you could catch your breath, but Elijah took his time, savoring the feeling of being buried deep inside you, drawing out every gasp and whimper, making sure you both reached the peak together.

As the two of you came together, his warm seed spilling inside of you, the sound of his name on your lips seemed to echo across the stillness of the night. He kissed you passionately, his lips swallowing every last whimper, before breaking the kiss to press soft kisses down your neck and along your collarbone, making sure to leave no part of your body untouched.

You rested your head on his chest, feeling his heart thundering against your ear, listening to the soothing sound of his breath as it began to even out.

The sound of distant voices coming towards you broke the spell of the moment, and you both began to hurriedly redress. He helped you fix the bodice of your dress and tuck your skirts in order to keep up appearances. The two of you shared a nervous glance, a flicker of uncertainty flashing between you, as the voices drew nearer.

Then he grabbed your hand and tugged you deeper into the garden, the two of you hiding among the trees and shrubbery, pressed tightly together in an effort not to be discovered.

As the sound of the voices passed by, your nerves seemed to settle and a playful giggle slipped out of your lips. The look in his eyes when they met yours again was intense, and before you knew what was happening he was kissing you once more, the warmth of his mouth moving over yours, slow and passionate.

It was in that moment that a shocked gasp broke through the stillness of the garden. The two of you sprang apart, whirling to face whoever had discovered you.

Your husband stood there, his face contorted in horror and fury. You opened your mouth to speak, to explain, but no words came out.

His hand flew to the hilt of his sword, but before he could draw it, Elijah stepped forward, his hand pressing firmly against your husband’s chest.

“Please, sir,” Elijah said, his voice a commanding force that could have made the devil himself tremble. “Do not act in haste.”

Your husband froze, his hand falling still as he stared at Elijah’s outstretched arm in disbelief.

“How dare you,” your husband hissed, his teeth clenched, his rage barely contained.

Elijah removed his hand and stood tall, his presence radiating a quiet menace. “I know what it is you truly desire,” he said, gesturing toward you with a slight tilt of his head. “And it is not her.”

Your husband’s expression twisted into one of offense, but it quickly faded into something darker as understanding dawned.

“How much?” he asked bitterly, his tone cold and calculating.

Elijah smiled, but it was not a kind smile. It was sharp, predatory, a smile that promised victory. “Your wife, in exchange for that title you’ve sought so desperately. It seems a fair trade.”

Your husband was many things. A selfish, ladder-climbing opportunist. But even he had a shred of pride. Elijah’s offer was too much for him to bear.

“My lord, this is a dishonorable proposal,” your husband said, his voice trembling with indignation.

“No more dishonorable than your ambition,” Elijah retorted smoothly, his gaze unwavering.

Elijah turned to you then, his eyes searching yours. In that moment, you gave him a small nod, your love for him shining through, along with your silent plea for the freedom he had promised.

“You are a despicable man,” your husband spat, his voice filled with venom. “The king shall hear of this. I swear, I will see you both hanged.��

Elijah chuckled softly, a sound that sent a chill down your spine. Stepping closer, he grasped your husband’s face, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Do not make threats you cannot keep,” he murmured, his voice a deadly caress.

Your husband’s fury faltered as Elijah’s dark gaze bore into him, his expression shifting to confusion, then calm. His breathing slowed, his body slackening as if under a spell.

“You no longer have a wife,” Elijah said, his voice low and hypnotic. “Any trace of her in your mind is like dust on the wind. You shall never seek her again.”

Your husband’s voice turned hollow, devoid of emotion. “I no longer have a wife. I shall never seek her.”

“And when you return to court, you shall speak of her as if she has passed on. Do you understand?” Elijah continued.

“I shall act as though my wife is no more,” your husband repeated in that strange monotone.

Satisfied, Elijah released him, watching as he stumbled away from the garden in a dazed, trance-like state. The shadows of the manor swallowed him whole, leaving the two of you alone once more.

Elijah turned back to you, his hands gentle as they cupped your face, brushing away a tear that had escaped down your cheek.

“How?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “How did you do that? It was as if you cast a spell over him.”

A sly grin spread across Elijah’s lips as he leaned in to kiss you softly. “Let us not waste another moment dwelling on such things,” he murmured. “Come away with me, my love.”

“And where shall we go, my lord?” you asked playfully, your heart lighter than it had been in years.

He shrugged his broad shoulders, his eyes sparkling with promise. “The world is ours, my sweet. Where shall we begin?”

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