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theladyofdeath · 5 years ago

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Rags & Riches {2}

Summary: An A Court of Thorns and Roses Fanfiction. 19th century AU. Based on the prompt sent in by @cat5313 All characters belong to SJM, I am just a fan with a plot.

Warning: Mature content strung throughout.

A/N: and so it begins.

Leave a comment to be tagged & tell me what you think! :)

“I may have lost my heart, but not my self-control. ” ― Jane Austen, Emma

By the time morning came, Nesta was alone, and Tomas neglected to show up for the rest of the week. Friday quickly approached, and she knew Tomas would be showing up at the ball being held at their manor in a matter of hours.

She crawled out of bed, groaning all the while. The night before, she’d snuck a bottle of whiskey out of the cabinet and helped herself to the entirety of it.

It was how she ended up missing breakfast and, instead, spending the morning with her face over the toilet.

Of all days, even she had to admit that it was not the best day to be hungover.

She stumbled out onto her balcony for a breath of fresh air. The servants would be eating breakfast downstairs while her family ate in the dining room. She should be alone. At least, she certainly hoped so as she dwelled in the fresh air in her nightgown and robe.

It was a cool morning, but she didn’t mind that. The rainy week had cleared as the sun was beginning to peek through the clouds.

She looked down at the stables.

The stableboy had seen her the other night, she knew he had, even if he pretended like he hadn’t. She should confront him, but confronting him would only lead to more suspicion if they were to be caught.

Nesta knew she shouldn’t allow Tomas into her bed, but she felt no shame. She had lost the ability to feel shame over sexual matters long ago.

She should not have to defend her actions, just because she was a woman. Often, Nesta thought she had been born in the wrong world. She read beautiful stories of heroes and heroines on exciting adventures and longed to be them instead of waiting like a prize to be taken away the instant a man worthy enough laid eyes on her.

The thought alone infuriated her to no end.

A soft knock came to her chamber door.

“Come in!”

Alis swept inside, a bright smile on her lips, as there was every time a ball occurred. It meant guests, and guests meant a night of fun.

“Goodmorning, Miss Nesta,” she said. “Shall we get you dressed?”

Nesta sighed. “Can’t I just stay in here until it’s time for the ball to begin?”

Alis clicked her tongue. “Oh, no, my dear. There’s too much to do. You must help your sisters with the set up. Your father is expecting you downstairs within the hour.”

“Oh, good,” Nesta said, walking back to her bed. “Then I can sleep for another thirty minutes.”

“No, no, dear,” Alis began, opening her wardrobe. “We would all sleep into the late hours of the morning if we could, but there’s simply no time.”

Nesta didn’t protest any further. It would be of no use. She could already see Elain, ordering around the help. She was a natural planner, though. Nesta? Not so much. The idea of planning gatherings annoyed her. Feyre did it, bright-eyed and with a smile on her face, so no one would ask any questions. Nesta did it only to please Elain, who would be the next one to come knocking if Nesta wasn’t downstairs soon.

“Very well,” she said. “I have to run into town this morning to pick up my dress, so find something comfortable, please.”

She was soon dressed in a deep, lavender day dress. Her hair was braided back and her boots were well-worn in - perfect for walking.

Nesta looked at herself in the mirror after Alis had curtsied and left.

She looked like a zombie. Dark shadows rested beneath her eyes, her cheekbones had grown sharper. Perhaps it was a lack of sleep. She couldn’t get a good night’s sleep unless alcohol was involved, and being a young woman held high in society, it was difficult for her to drink when she pleased.

Which was always.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Nesta was out in the hallway and strutting down the main staircase.

As predicted, Elain was telling servants where tables and chairs should be, where the strings quartet should be set up, and where every piece of decor should be strategically placed.

Feyre was holding a plate of cheese, popping the little cubes into her mouth. “Ah, about time you joined us.”

Nesta raised a brow before nodding down at the plate. “Did you not just eat breakfast?”

Feyre shrugged. “Decorating makes me hungry.”

Nesta snorted. “Let us not pretend that you have done anything.”

They both looked at Elain, who was floating on air.

“Azriel!” she called.

A tall, broad-shouldered man instantly came to her aid.

“I would like all butlers in this room thirty minutes before we open our doors,” she began. “They each need to be carrying a tray, either of champagne or hors d’oroeuvres.”

He bowed his head. “Of course, my Lady.”

She watched him leave.

“He is a lovely one, isn’t he?�� Feyre asked, mouthful. ��Very mysterious looking.”

“Speaking of mystery,” Nesta mumbled. “I went by your room last night-”

“Ah, I need more cheese,” she interrupted, scurrying out of the room and taking the tray with her.

Feyre would never spill her secret, but Nesta would be lying if she said the thought didn’t intrigue her.

“I’m going into town to get my dress,” Nesta announced, but everyone was too busy to notice.

Bodies were fluttering all over the place cleaning and setting up. The Archerons held a ball annually, but this would be the first year that their father truly wished to have them become engaged since the passing of their mother. He hadn’t wanted to lose them just yet.

Now, he was ready.

Nesta retrieved her satchel and her white gloves before ordering a carriage to be prepared. As she waited, she pulled a book of poetry out of her bag and began to read as she sat on the front steps.

Her mother had always scolded her for sitting in public places with a book. It was unladylike, or something of that nature. Her father, however, always smiled when he found Nesta plopped down somewhere, a book open on her lap.

“Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep?”

Nesta froze, staring up from the book laying open on her skirts. The stableboy had come, seated at the head of the carriage, the horses’ reins in his hands.

He was watching her, grinning.

Nesta blinked. “Did the stableboy just quote Keats to me?”

He nodded down at her book. “I read his work from time to time.”

Nesta blinked, again, longer and slower. “I’m...sorry, but where is Edward? He’s typically the one to take me into town.”

“He’s not feeling well,” the stableboy replied. “But, don’t worry, Miss. I know what I’m doing.”

Nesta lifted her chin. “Very well. However, I am on a tight schedule today so we must make haste.”

The stableboy inclined his head before jumping down from his seat and opening the carriage door. He held out his hand to help her inside, which Nesta completely ignored as she pulled herself inside of the carriage. The door was soon closed behind her and they were strolling down the pathway.

Nesta loved open carriages, which is why she often volunteered to go places alone. Especially in the warmer weather, when the wind felt good against her skin, blowing her hair.

Nesta put her book bag into her bag and looked up at the back of the stableboy. His shoulders were broad. It was clear through the thin, ivory fabric of his shirt that he was quite fit. Tall. Tanned. His hair was tied at the nape of his neck. He was slouching, but not in a way that was disrespectful. Only in a way that showed he was in his natural habitat.

They were halfway to town before Nesta cleared her throat. “Now that we are alone, we must speak about...something.”

He didn’t look back at her when he said, “What is that, my Lady?”

Nesta hesitated. Perhaps she had been mistaken. Perhaps he hadn’t seen Tomas’ hands roaming her body, his lips pressed against her neck. Perhaps it had all been in her imagination. Just as she was about to tell him to forget about it, he asked, “Is this about your lover? The one that sneaks onto your balcony at night?”

“Shhh!” Nesta hissed.

The stableboy looked at her over his shoulder. “Why are you shushing me? With all due respect, my Lady, there’s no one around.”

“I could get you dismissed for being so blunt with me,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

She couldn’t see his face, but she could tell from the gentle shake of his shoulders that he was laughing, quietly. “Forgive me, my Lady.”

Nesta closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Look. Keep what you saw to yourself. Please. If you told anyone, I will have you-”

“I told no one,” he promised, and she could tell by his tone that he was being honest. “And I will tell no one. Your secret is safe, my Lady.”

“Thank you…” she began, trailing off.

“Cassian,” he supplied for her.

“Thank you, Cassian,” she said, words crisp. “Now, pick up the pace. As I said, it is a busy day.”

“Of course, my Lady,” he said, and that was the end of their conversation.

They rode the rest of the way into town in silence, the sound of the horses’ hooves clumping against the dirt the only sound that carried them. Every now and then, she’d glance at his back, admiring the muscles and the dark scars beneath the thin fabric. She found herself wondering where they came from but accepting the fact that she would never know.

Ten minutes later, Nesta was walking into the finest dress shop in town. The owner, upon seeing her, was thrilled.

“Ah, Miss Archeron,” Helion beamed. “Welcome back. Your dress is finished, as I assume that is why you have come.”

Nesta liked Helion, although she wasn’t sure why. Their personalities were complete opposites. He was far too cheery, far too pleasant. Yet, he never seemed to mind Nesta’s pessimism. In fact, he seemed to thrive on it.

“Shall we try it on, my dear?” he asked.

Nesta shook her head. “No, I trust your work. Besides, as you know, it’s a busy day.”

“Indeed,” Helion said, before disappearing into the back and appearing with a giant box. “Very well. Here it is. And, I must say, I cannot wait to see it on you at the ball tonight.”

Nesta fiddled through her satchel, collecting his payment. “Will you be bringing a guest?”

“That is for me to know,” Helion began, before snatching his payment away from one of his favorite customers, “and for you to later find out.”

Nesta snorted, shaking her head. “Well, then I will see you tonight.”

“Of course, my Lady,” Helion smiled, brightly and wonderfully, before bowing. “I look forward to it.”

“Good day,” she said, before taking her box outside.

Cassian was waiting by the carriage and when he saw her with the box, he humbly took it from her before setting it inside. “Is there anywhere else you need to visit, my Lady?”

Nesta looked at the pub across the street and longed for an ale. “No. Take me home.”

Cassian, once again, held out his hand to help her into the carriage.

Nesta, once again, ignored it.

~~~~~

Elain’s anxiety was through the ceiling.

Not because of the setup.

No, Elain loved planning. The time of year when the Archerons held their annual ball was her favorite time of the year. It meant guests would come and she would spend the evening laughing and dancing among her friends and neighbors.

But this year was different.

Lucien.

His name had consumed her for days. It was all she could think about, and yet, it was not exactly because she was excited. No, she feared meeting him.

She feared she would hate him.

She feared she would love him.

Since the night she found out of their courtship, Elain had rarely seen Azriel. There had been no flirting, no secret kisses. She longed to feel his lips against hers, but she knew how much she was asking in longing for such.

Instead, she would be presented tonight to another, as a precious jewel. It didn’t matter what she felt, their fathers would make arrangements for their betrothal if they saw fit.

And Elain could only pray that they found her and Lucien to be unfit.

And yet, what would be the point of that? She could never marry Azriel. It was impossible. He was a lowly butler, and she was a beautiful Lady.

Ladies and butlers did not wed.

Yet, she couldn’t help but dream. Every time Elain needed something done, she would call for Azriel. Even when it was an unnecessary task, she would call for him, just to see him, to speak to him, for a moment’s time.

Now, she was standing in her room looking at herself in the floor-length mirror, admiring her gown that Helion had made for her in town. It was lovely. Plum, with a full skirt and beaded designs along the silk fabric. He had truly outdone himself. And Alis, who had perfected her hair in neat curls, had pleased Elain immensely.

Yet, there was a hole in her chest.

She used to thrive on the idea of marriage, used to long for a husband. Before she met Azriel, she couldn’t wait to find a man that found her wonderful enough to court. Then she met Azriel, then she fell in love with Azriel, and his adoration for her was true.

Elain used to think that love and marriage were the same thing.

She no longer believed as much.

Marriage was a contract, while love was the connection between two souls.

Elain admired herself one more time before exiting into the halls, then walking alone to the ballroom. She hadn’t seen her sisters in hours. Feyre, since she dismissed herself for a plate of cheese; and Nesta since she went to pick up her fitted gown.

She and her sisters had once been so close. They still had a bond, but as they grew, and after their mother had passed, nothing had been the same.

Elain had no idea where Feyre spent her nights, and Nesta always seemed to have an emptiness in her gaze.

She could hear the humming of a crowd the closer she walked to the ballroom. At this time, most everyone should have arrived. Of course, there would always be a few latecomers, but Elain figured it was time to make her own appearance.

She straightened her back and took a deep breath as she turned the corner. The doors were open, the music was playing, and it was everything she imagined it would be. Couples were dancing, groups were laughing, and Elain found herself scanning the walls for a certain butler.

But it was her father that met her at the door. “You look beautiful, darling.”

“Thank you,” Elain smiled, gently.

“The Vanserras have arrived,” he said, as Elain looped her arm through his. “Shall I introduce you?”

Elain nodded, although no words came once she opened her mouth.

Isaac chuckled. “It’s okay to be nervous. You should have seen me the night I met your mother.”

Elain nodded, still unable to spot Azriel.

They walked through the crowd, and Elain should have been pleased. The ballroom was beautiful, the band played wonderfully, and everyone seemed to be having a joyous time.

Where is he? She kept thinking to herself as her father led the way.

It wasn’t until they stopped that she snapped back to reality. And when she did snap back to reality, she was met with a pair of russet eyes.

“Elain, this is Lucien Vanserra,” Isaac beamed. “Mr. Vanserra, my daughter, Elain.”

Lucien bowed and Elain curtsied.

He was handsome, in the most obvious sense. He was lean, tall, and his auburn hair flowed beautifully around his shoulders. His eyes were kind, his smile gentle.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said. His voice was soft and lovely.

“The pleasure is mine,” Elain assured him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Isaac smiled, before kissing his daughter’s cheek and moving onto his guests.

Elain felt her cheeks reddened as she debated on following her father, but just as she was about to take a step, Lucien spoke up. “I hear we’re a good match.”

Elain huffed a laugh. “I hear the same.”

“Well,” he began, “I must confess that I was a bit nervous to meet you. However, you are beautiful, my Lady.”

Elain’s smile was genuine. “Thank you, my Lord.”

It was then that she spotted him, on the far wall. He should have been observing the other butlers, making sure everyone was doing what they were supposed to be doing.

But his eyes were on her.

Lucien was speaking, but Elain couldn’t hear him. Guilt flooded her senses. Lucien seemed kind enough and was most handsome.

But her eyes had connected with Azriel’s, and she couldn’t look away.

“What do you think, Lady Elain?”

Elain blinked, bringing herself back to their conversation. “Forgive me, I suddenly feel lightheaded. I must find a place to set.”

“Allow me,” Lucien offered, and held out his hand.

As Elain took it, she swore she could feel Azriel’s gaze fall from across the room.

~~~~~

Feyre loved to dance.

There was something freeing about not giving a damn as a series of men twirled her around on the dance floor.

As the youngest, she had a few more years of freedom. Unless someone came to claim her hand, which she doubted would happen anytime soon. She had never had a man come to court her, and she loved it.

A courtship among the rich and stuck up sounded horrible.

But dancing with them?

Splendid.

It wasn’t until she’d had one too many glasses of wine that she fell into the arms of a young man with lavender eyes.

“Well,” he crooned, “I must say, you look much different in women’s clothing.”

Feyre, as if just realizing whose arms she was in, grinned. “Ah, Lord Rhysand. And how have you been after our adventure the other night?”

Rhysand lifted his brow. “How many glasses of champagne have you consumed, Feyre, darling?”

“Not nearly enough,” she laughed, her hand tightening in his.

“Hmm,” Rhysand mumbled, contemplating. “You’re worrying me.”

“Why is that?”

Rhysand pulled her closer as he said, “You’re much more pleasant than you were the other night. Dare I say, you’re being nice to me.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Feyre asked.

Rhysand weighed the question. “I must admit, I rather enjoyed our banter.”

It was true, their banter had been surprisingly pleasant the night he had brought her home after saving her from Tamlin in the alley. She rode on the back of his horse, her arms around his waist as they left the town and slowly made their way to the Archeron Manor.

She hadn’t seen him since, nor had she sought to. But now, in his arms, the wine flowing warmly throughout her body, she remembered the way his eyes lit up when he laughed, remembered the amused tone in his voice when he told her how horribly ridiculous she looked dressed as a man.

The song ended and the couple stepped apart, bowing to one another.

“Walk with me?” Rhysand asked.

Feyre hesitated, but nodded, nonetheless, before looping her arm through his. They made their way out onto the balcony, into the cool night air. The stars shone brightly above them as the doors were shut behind them. The celebration inside became muffled background noise.

“I am to go back to Velaris tomorrow,” Rhysand said.

Feyre lifted a brow. “Am I meant to care?”

Rhysand grinned, facing her. “I do not expect you to, although I wish you would.”

Feyre leaned back against the banister, crossing her arms. “Well, you expect correctly.”

Rhysand looked for her arms, then met her eyes once more. “You know, ladies shouldn’t cross their arms and slouch.”

“I am the youngest of three daughters,” Feyre explained. “I am the one being looked at the least. No one in this town cares about the youngest Archeron.”

“Is that why you gamble?”

"There are many reasons why I gamble, none of which I will share with you,” she assured him.

Rhysand laughed, deep and heartily. “Ah, there’s the Feyre I have dreamt about for the past three nights.”

Feyre laughed, quietly, as she broke his gaze, begging her cheeks not to redden. “It has been a pleasure knowing you, my Lord. I wish you safe travels.”

Feyre took a step to move around him, but he followed her lead, blocking her path.

“There is one more thing.”

Feyre blinked, amused. “Yes?”

“I would like to court you,” he said.

Feyre barked a laugh. “Court me? Why, so that I may become your wife?”

Rhysand did not look bothered whatsoever by her outburst. His grin simply widened. “Would that be so awful?”

“I..” Feyre hesitated, before laughing once more. “I have not even thought of marriage.”

“Perhaps not,” Rhysand said. “Just think about it. Okay?” He picked up her hand and pressed his lips softly to the back of her hand. “Until next time, Feyre, Darling.”

Before she could gather a response, he was gone.

~~~~~

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