#married woman killed for dowry

[buggotbrain]

very important.

Thinking about wakanda forever’s complex themes of indigenous peoples, colonization, grief, hatred, and how all of that gets ignored with fandom shipping goggles.

Art and life offer so much more meaning and beauty when you stop observing everything through your fandom lenses and actually think for once.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere 7k Special:

With This Love of Mine

Yandere Crossdressing Duchess x Marquess Reader

The day your father announced (your name)’ engagement to Duke Claymoore, she was horrified. The young Duke had risen to power from killing all of his siblings and even his father to become the head of the family… Duke Claymoore was a tyrant.

“But father, he’s a tyrant! A madman-“ (Your name)’s head was thrown to the side when her stepmother slapped her across the face. Jezebeth’s face twisted with disdain. A face (your name) was all too familiar with since childhood.

“This is for your own good. No other man would want to be with a wild woman like you.” And whose fault was that?! (Your name had wanted to screech at the treacherous woman that stood confidently before her. Jezebeth had destroyed (your name)‘s reputation by spreading false rumors of her having a love affair with her childhood friend… her commoner childhood friend, Claudia.

“Perhaps the Duke will straighten out your brazenness.” Marquis (last name) sighed in defeat, the portly man pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “He will be here to fetch you this afternoon, so I recommend you clean yourself up to be more… presentable.”

(Your name) but her lip and cast her gaze to the floor. She never had her father in her corner so why would this sudden engagement change his coal black heart? The Marquis was only interested in more power and if that meant marrying off his only daughter, then he’d do it… an action that (your name) would never forgive until the day she died.

“Fine, but don’t you ever forget what date you had succumbed me to. For I will never land you a hand in your time of peril, even if you beg me.” (Your name) then grasped her blush colored skirts and rushed from the room so her stepmother didn’t see the tears that fell from her eyes. The young marquess didn’t want her ‘family’ to witness any more of her weakness.

“I’m sorry (your name)…” Marquis (Last name) muttered under her breath. “I’m so sorry.”

.

.

.

(Your name) swallowed the lump in her throat when her fiancé stood before her. He was a massive man, of mostly muscle, that stood at almost seven feet tall. His long, dark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, but his neat hair did little to tame the wildness behind those ruby red eyes.

(Your name) gulped at all the scars that riddled his face. She couldn’t imagine the ones that littered his body since he was wearing long sleeves, but she caught a glimpse of some burn scars on his neck. This man was terrifying… and she had to marry him.

“I’m here for my wife.” Duke Claymoore’s voice was low and raspy, as if he hadn’t spoke in a millennium.

“Oh, I hope her appearance isn’t embarrassing-“ The Duke slammed his shoulder into Jezebeth’s shoulder before he stood in front of (your name). His ruby red eyes studied her expression in wonder.

“I’ve come to take you home, (your name).” (Your name)’s face scrunched up in confusion at the Duke’s words. How did he know her name? She had never debuted in society since her stepmother had torn her reputation into tatters and she only had one friend up until their sudden disappearance.

“Home- oh!” (Your name) squeaked when the Duke threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Was he some sort of unsophisticated barbarian?! Why on earth would he carry her like this?!

There was only one person that had ever handled her in such a way but she had lost Claudia in a fire so many moons ago… plus this was a man that picked her up and not a woman…

The Duke chuckled when (your name) began to struggle. The giant man shifted her body around so that she now was in a proper bridal hold. His chapped lips pulled up into a soft smile that only made the large scar across them even more intimidating. (Your name)’s fiancé was terrifying…

“I’m taking my wife home. My men have the dowry money in my carriage.”

The Duke ignored the interjection of the Marquess and his wife and instead rushed (your name) to his dark carriage. His grasp was inescapable from how tight it was, his palms dug into her flesh like a pair of ticks. It made (your name) feel even more trapped.

She was gently placed into the carriage before the Duke crawled in beside her. His large, gloved hand slammed the door shut on her father’s face, the Duke grinned as he signaled the carriage driver to leave.

(Your name) could only watch out the window as her father’s portly body attempted to give chase, her brows furrowed in confusion on why the old man would even try to catch up to a horse drawn carriage.

“Your stepmother made jokes within the social circles that you were only worth a single gold coin so that’s all I gave him.” (Your name) jumped when she felt the Duke whisper in her ear, the young woman recoiled into herself.

“W-what?”

“They don’t deserve anything more than a single gold coin.” Duke Claymoore pressed a chaste kiss to (your name)’s cheek. “You’ll never have to be around them ever again. It can be just you and me… like it was always meant to!”

(Your name) furrowed her brow in confusion at the Duke who seemed so suddenly chipper. Just her and him? She has never met this man before in her life!

“I’m sorry, but have we met-“ a beat up locket was suddenly thrust in her face which sent (your name) into even more confusion. This locker belong to Claudia… but Claudia had died almost five years ago.

“I didn’t think I’d pass so much for a man.” The Duke chuckled as he ran his hands through his pulled back hair. His raspy voice a bit shaky, “it’s me, (your name). It’s Claudia.”

“Claudia?!” (Your name) gasped, her eyes nearly bulged out of her head in shock. Claudia… was a man?! No…

(Your name) blushed when Claudia guided (your name)’s hands towards her chest. (Your name) was shocked to find the softest bit of flesh around those muscles.

“I had to train my body to the point bones snapped and I’d throw up, but it was all worth it! I have power and money now, I could easily eliminate our enemies!” Claudia beamed at (your name), her ruby red eyes filled with so much love. “My family tried to kill me since I was an illegitimate child to the Claymoore Dukedom. Who would have thought an orphan like me had noble blood?”

“Claudia, I was so worried about you… this is a lot to process.”

(Your name)’s cheeks were then cupped by Claudia’s calloused palms. The Duchess bent down to press a tender kiss to (your name)’s nose.

“I’m so sorry for pretending I died in that fire all these years ago. I saw it as an opportunity to gain power and influence to protect you.” Claudia’s face was merely inches apart from (your name)’s, their breaths mingled. “You don’t know how happy I was when I heard about how much you loved me…”

Love? Did Claudia believe the rumors (your name)’s mother had started?

“Claudia, I-“ Claudia pressed her chapped lips against (your name)’s in a searing kiss. One of her hands tangled in (your name)’s hair whip the other grasped her hip to pull her closer.

“Shh. You don’t need to say anything, I know you love me too.” Claudia peppered (your name)’s face with more kisses. “I’m so happy you accept this love of mine…”

[calisources]

𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences were taken from different sources about romance, marriage and specially arranged marriage and what that entails. Mentions of affairs, mistresses, wedding ceremonies and medieval talks of what marriage entails follow. Change names, pronouns and locations however you see fit.

Marriage is a marriage, whether it is arranged or not. Both necessitate the same level of dedication.

It’s not an option to be best friends with your life partner; it’s a requirement for a firm foundation in a long-term relationship.

Arranged marriage is not always a bed of roses, but it is possible to achieve with love and faith.

It’s different for women, isn’t it? They have no choice where they go. They grow up in a prison and then get married into one.

Is there anything more courageous/stupid than saying yes to spend your life with someone you have no idea about?

The country was as much of a mystery to me as the man I had married.

One day you’ll be in love with me.

You could be a titled lady. 

I have avoided the fate my father had planned for me. Surely it is I who has won, not he.

I do not care about power and wealth, father. I want to marry for love.

But if you were matched, what do you think she'd be like?

We're supposed to be unable to keep our hands off of each other. 

In this case the time is not so important for me, the person asking for commitment is.

We are trapped by convention and must marry another.

Every good child knows: duty before your heart's desire.

I am to be a bride, but whose? 

I married you to stop the bloodshed, and you keep killing. When will it be enough- when?

I found out soon after we met that Leah’s father had promised her in marriage to some young Pole.

If I ever get into an arranged marriage, I want it to be like theirs.

Arranged marriages require effort; constantly and every day. And where there is love, you want to make these efforts.

A successful arranged marriage can help climb the biggest mountain and build the biggest empire.

An arranged marriage is like wine; it tastes good with time.

You will marry him and do your duty to your House.

You are my daughter and you will do as I say. End of discussion.

Love? What does love have to do with marriage?

He'll honour his duty to family and swallow it.

I was three when my parents promised me. When a deal was struck. 

 So I was raised to be his wife. I was taught my favorite color was gold because his favorite color was gold. I was told my favorite foods were his favorite foods

I never thought what it would actually be like to have him... be gone. 

I was raised for him, and now I am... new. I am brand-new. And I do not even know how to breathe air he does not exhale.

A bride at her second marriage does not wear a veil. She wants to see what she is getting.

Marriage is a financial contract; I have enough contracts already.

The dowry, not the wife, is the object of attraction.

Arranged marriages work like this. The girl is hardly asked and is expected to follow whatever her parents deem fit.

Marry, that marry is the very theme I came to talk of.

Maybe she'll be beautiful. Maybe she'll be rich. As long as she brings swords and men.

Perhaps love is a minor madness.

It doesn't matter who the seed is. The important thing is that it has a place in your womb.

Her maidenhood will seal an alliance and must be kept safe.

Every married woman knows a man can have mistresses and we must look the other way.

All I ask is, that you do not cast me aside. Have mistresses and lovers as you please, but confide in me as I am to be your wife.

A husband’s first and foremost job in a marriage is to protect and love his wife.

Touching without looking had been incredibly arousing.

In my opinion, most marriages are based either on money or the fear of being alone.

I want you in every way there is to want. I want you in any way you choose to share.

I'm free to do with my wife as I fucking please.

The marriage of convenience lasts until you become an inconvenience.

Ours is a marriage of convenience and nothing more.

From now on, you're sleeping in our room. There's no chance in hell I'm letting you sleep far away from me again.

You agreed to this marriage and didn’t even dare to ask my opinion on the matter.

You're going to bend, and so am I. We're going to compromise, negotiate, and distract each other.

Being together means our priorities are going to change.

Men marry because they are tired; women, because they are curious: both are disappointed.

I don't think I am likely to marry, Harry. I am much too in love.

It is certainly romantic to be in love, but there's nothing romantic about a definite proposal.

They are royals, whoever they marry is not their choice but who is better for the crown.

That is a match made in a boardroom.

Once you are wed to another, you will forget me. 

I will marry a man who desires me but I have no interest in. 

I will not be a secret kept in shadows. Once you are wed, I will leave.

How can I marry them, when I am in love with another? It is not fair to them, that I think of you when I’m with them.

Ever since I met you, no one else has been worth thinking about.

Behave yourself, out here, we are wed and what you do, reflects on me.

You are being sold like a mare and do not care.

Once I bore him a son, he shall be happy, I know it.

We hate one another but for peace, we must wed. At least, let us enjoy this part of the contract.

I am doing this for my family and for the terms you offer.

A marriage is simply an alliance.

All will be well, love can be found in a marriage. If not love, at least, good company. 

Do your duty and give him sons.  That’s all men want.

I will not be paraded around in a bedding ceremony. I will wed them and bed them, but I will not be humiliated. 

You think this title gives me power, but you forget, I am a woman.

I am lucky enough to have options. None who please me but at least, I can choose one.

Come to bed now, husband. It is our wedding night, after all.

[anghraine]

what happens to charlotte lucas if mr. collins dies early (before he inherits longbourne)?

That is the worst possible scenario for her, basically.

Mr Collins's living with regard to Hunsford only lasts for the duration of his life, so she gets nothing from it. Unless her child (she's implied to be pregnant at the end of P&P) is a son and, iirc, falls within a set number of generations as laid out by the original entailment, she also gets nothing with regard to Longbourn (and if the child is a girl, she now has another dependent to worry about and provide for; I think Mr Bennet's daughters would receive preference over Charlotte's if Mr Collins never inherits and there's no son).

There would have been legal documents accompanying their betrothal that laid out exactly how much property or money Charlotte and her potential children would receive during and after the marriage (this is what is meant by references to pin money and jointure; pin money is what the woman will regularly receive for her private expenses during the marriage, and jointure is what she gets if she survives her husband). There's a straightforward example of this with Mr and Mrs Bennet, for instance.

Mrs Bennet brought a dowry of four thousand pounds to the marriage. Mr Bennet or his family settled an additional one thousand pounds on her at the time (23 years earlier). So there's five thousand pounds attached to Mrs Bennet and her children specifically that is essentially secure—the income from it can only go to her or her children. Since her children are all daughters, however, this pretty much automatically includes her daughters' husbands as well, since women were legally and financially subsumed into their husbands' identities upon marriage and it took some legal shenanigans to protect their resources. Lydia's share of Mrs Bennet's fortune, one thousand pounds, effectively goes to Wickham as part of the marriage arrangements, and it's not clear if Lydia's money is legally secured to her in the same way since it was part of bribing Wickham to marry her at all.

(Tangent: a lot of analysis tends to assume that income from a lump sum of this kind would generate an income of 5% of the principal via low-risk, low-reward government investments. Mr Collins himself explicitly estimates that Elizabeth's portion of Mrs Bennet's settlement would generate an income at a 4% rate, leaving her with a mere 40 pounds a-year. This might seem Mr Collins-style negging, but in reality these kinds of safe government investments could and did drop to rates closer to 3% due to various economic upheavals at the time.)

Returning to Charlotte's situation, eighteenth-century advice urged men (even much less affluent men) to set aside a significant portion of their incomes every year to add to what was settled on their wives/children, so that if they died, their children and widows would have more to live on. The original settlement, as in Mrs Bennet's case, could be pretty small, especially for multiple people to live on. Mr Collins is enough of a rules guy that he might set aside the suggested percentages of his income, especially if Lady Catherine considers it proper. But even if we assume he's setting aside, say, 20% of his income, I doubt that would amount to very much if he dies soon; the Hunsford living is good, but not that good, and he's only 25, so there just hasn't been much time. Charlotte would essentially be a poor cousin by marriage of the Bennets and dependent on her own family (already in straitened circumstances) for anything more than her settlement, which given the circumstances wouldn't amount to much.

People often kill Mr Collins young to given Charlotte a chance at a better life, but in reality, this would likely be a disaster for her.

[fantasyescapes17]

Scandal (Part 1)

The Viscount's sister with an enormous dowry, beauty and unmistakable talent- you began the London season as the most desired woman in any room. But Jeon Wonwoo (a man who would rather hide in the library than dance at a ball) is beyond your comprehension. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but it embroiled you into a scandal with a man you could never love.

Genre: Wonwoo x Female!reader. Regency!AU (It's sort of Bridgerton-esque in the sense that I give zero attention to historical accuracy and prioritize aesthetics lmao) You are Joshua's sibling so your last name is Hong but the reader has no other physical characteristics. Note: Certain main characters may initially seem unlikeable in this story. Redemption arcs will come.

Word Count: 6.8k+

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Series Masterlist [Reading Candle and Manners, the earlier installments in this series first is strongly recommended as main character dynamics are introduced there.]

The sheer cacophony being produced from Miss Brooke’s fingers prodding at your pianoforte was unbearable. 

You suffered silently through the onset of a headache as Miss Brooke continued to perform (the piece was not even recognizable to your ears although she was using your sheet music). The remaining occupants of the parlour conversed awkwardly over her uninspiring performance. 

Your mother- the Dowager Viscountess Hong-  derived great enjoyment from hosting other elite families for tea. Her tea parties were renowned not only for the wide array of cakes, biscuits and other delicacies served, but also her remarkable skills as a hostess. 

Presently, the evening's guests consisted of two of the ton's most elite families: the Brookes and the Jeons. Both families had eligible young women of marriageable age which factored into your mother's decision to host them. She was hoping your brother would marry by the end of the season. 

Your brother- the Viscount Joshua Hong- was seated near Miss Jeon. They chatted politely about something. The specifics of their conversation were prevented from reaching your ears by the ruckus Miss Brooke was creating on the piano. Miss Jeon was the season's promising young debutante, but it was evident that she had no particular attraction to Joshua. And Joshua's heart was already engaged elsewhere. 

That left only one other marriageable bachelor in the room. 

Mr. Jeon Wonwoo. 

He was a strange one, you decided. Mr Jeon was exceedingly handsome and always had a calm, peaceful demeanour. He spoke very little. Even now, he sat across from you and sipped his tea quietly without making any attempt at conversation. Your initial subtle attempts at flirtation had fallen quite flat.  

You had to admit that you found him rather mysterious. 

Still, you had never met a man that was completely immune to your charms. Mr. Jeon was simply a bit of a challenge. You enjoyed a challenge. 

Miss Brooke's piece at the piano finally drew to an excruciatingly slow end. Seizing the opportunity, you rose from your seat and clapped politely with a smile on your face as you approached her. 

"Thank you so much, Miss Brooke. We are so grateful to have been able to experience your playing this evening. Truly a remarkable performance," you told her graciously. 

Miss Brooke blushed. "Thank you, Miss Hong. I was considering what to play next-"

"Oh! No, I won't hear of it! You must be very tired already. I insist that you sit down and try these lemon cakes. I would be happy to continue the music in your stead," you offered. 

Miss Brooke looked put out but you firmly and politely ushered her away from the piano. You sat at your beloved instrument and let your fingers lovingly stroke the keys that Miss Brooke had abused mere moments ago. 

You never tired of showing off your performances. Your musical talents were undisputed among the members of the ton, and you were confident that there was no young woman in London who could ever rival your skill at the piano.

Surely, you thought, a display of my exquisite musical talent will be enough to gain a little attention from Mr. Jeon Wonwoo? 

You chose to perform an incredibly difficult piece that you had recently mastered. The entire room immediately ceased conversation to turn their attention to your performance. You could tell from the corner of your eye that even Mr. Jeon Wonwoo's sharp gaze was fixed on you. He was watching you intensely.

When you finished, you were treated to an enthusiastic round of applause from the entire room. Your mother spoke up to praise you. 

"Wonderful, dear. That was beautifully done," the Dowager Viscountess told you proudly. 

"That was quite delightful!" Miss Jeon was equally quick to praise your performance once you returned to your seat. "I have heard so much about your musical talents, Miss Hong, but to hear you perform in person is quite something else entirely. How much time and effort you must have put in to reach that level of skill! Was it not lovely, Wonwoo?"

You smiled to yourself, awaiting the praise that was surely to come from Mr. Jeon. You were accustomed to general admiration of your music. The young gentlemen of the ton were among your most ardent admirers.

You batted your eyelashes at him and spoke in a sweet tone. "Yes, Mr. Jeon. I am very eager to hear what you thought of my performance."

Mr. Jeon Wonwoo sipped his tea calmly. His dark eyes flickered to you and he gave you a polite, tight-lipped smile. 

"You possess great potential, Miss Hong," he replied simply.  

You could not have been more shocked if Mr. Jeon Wonwoo had chosen to throw his unfinished tea in your face. 

Potential? What on earth did he mean by that? You had been learning to play the piano since you were a small child of seven. That was a decade and a half of uninterrupted learning, of your parents hiring the best tutors and dedicating all your free time to the practice and perfection of the art. Your late father had bought you the priceless pianoforte for your twelfth birthday, and it was your most prized possession. You were undisputably the most skilled young lady in all of London and this rude, conceited, tasteless man had the audacity to tell you that you had potential?

As though you were a child? 

You had never been so affronted. 

"I have dedicated myself to learning how to play the pianoforte for over fifteen years now, Mr. Jeon," you informed him coldly. "I am certain that I have already realised my full potential. Perhaps you may wish to reserve your critical judgement in the future."

Mr. Jeon's handsome face did not flinch.  

"You asked me for my thoughts, Miss Hong," he replied in his calm, deep voice. His eyebrow was raised. "Am I to understand, then, that my criticism holds no value while my praise does? One might call that vanity."

Your cheeks turned hot in anger. How dare this tasteless man not only insult you publicly, but also accuse you of being vain and fishing for compliments?

How dare he? 

"One hardly needs to be a music aficionado to pay basic respect to the quality of a performance, Mr. Jeon. I believe even my dog knows good music when he hears it-"

Viscount Hong interrupted the rapidly escalating conversation with a laugh and made a tangential comment about a hunting expedition that he planned to undertake with some other gentlemen. You leaned back in your seat and fumed silently for the rest of the evening until the Jeons and Brookes finally took their leave. 

"Joshua," you told your elder brother once the guests had departed. "I hope you have not developed any affection towards Miss Jeon because I forbid that family from being invited to our home again. I have never been so insulted in my life!"

Joshua raised an eyebrow. "Your performance was lovely, sister. You should not let the opinion of others affect you."

You turned to your mother. 

"Mother! Was Mr. Jeon not excessively rude to me earlier?" you demanded validation. "Have you ever known someone to openly insult my performance- as a guest in our home, no less?"

Your mother gave you a sympathetic smile. "It does not appear that Mr. Jeon has a discerning ear for music, my darling. But do not fret. If you do not wish to see him again then we need not host the Jeons any more this season. There are plenty of other young gentlemen among the ton who would suit you much better."

You smiled and embraced your mother. 

"You are so good to me, mother. Shall I play you another piece before dinner?"

"I would love that, my dear."

—-------------------------------------------------------

True to her word, your mother did not attempt to host the Jeons again. Any formal invitations to tea were restricted to the female members of the Jeon family- among whom Miss Jeon, you discovered, was a polite and friendly young woman.

You were fortunate to see very little of Mr. Jeon Wonwoo over the next few weeks. While his sister made a splash upon her entrance in society with her pretty manners and success at balls, Mr. Jeon himself was not easy to spot at social events. He would indulge in one or two dances at most and not be seen for the rest of the evening.  

It was for the best, since the passage of time had not diminished your anger towards him in the slightest. 

"Your post has arrived, Miss Hong," the maid told you as she came in with a tray of letters while you were at breakfast with your mother and brother. 

The Dowager Viscountess raised an eyebrow. 

"That is a lot of correspondence, my dear," your mother commented as you carelessly opened the letters one-by-one and glanced at them briefly before tossing them aside. "Who are you writing to?"

"I am not writing to anyone. These are from some gentlemen I danced with at the Hessington's ball last week. Mr. Carter writes to me regularly and of late I've received correspondence from Baron Wright, the Park brothers, and a few others…."

"So many admirers!"

You rolled your eyes. It was not surprising. These men were only interested in your status and fortune, though one would not think so from the romantic prose and lavish gifts they sent you on a regular basis. One of the envelopes contained a gift of expensive silk ribbon. Another contained an exquisitely carved handheld mirror. 

You gestured to your maid to take the gifts away before continuing to open the envelopes. 

"Oh, look- Mr. Carter has written a lovely little poem. You should use that, Joshua. It might help you woo Miss Lee."

Joshua did not look at the letter you passed him. 

"I am capable of drafting my own correspondence with Miss Lee, sister, thank you," he told you firmly. 

You were not convinced. "If you had written her a few poems like this before you raced off to her home to ask for her hand in marriage…"

Joshua sighed."Yes, yes, all right. That is enough."

"Oh dear," you mumbled as you opened the last letter. "Baron Wright says he intends to call upon me today. He is quite unbearable. I must not be at home- Minnie! It is lovely weather for a walk in the park. Will you help me find that pretty blue summer dress? And we shall take Snowball with us."

Your maid nodded. "Of course, miss."

You enjoyed the fresh air. Since you spent hours every day in front of the piano, it was rare to have a chance to promenade in the park with your furry companion. Snowball- your adorable fluffy white Pomeranian- trotted alongside you cheerfully on her leash and your ladies’ maids followed you at a polite distance. 

"Miss, you must walk in the shade," your maid insisted. "It is very bright outside and the direct sun may burn your skin…"

You conceded, teetering a little off the path so that you and your maids could walk in the shade of the trees lining the park. You paused suddenly when you noticed a gentleman and lady strolling in your direction. 

You recognised them both.

The man was Mr. Jeon Wonwoo. The mere sight of his handsome, unsmiling face was enough to make your blood boil. Wonwoo had no business looking so deceptively charming in a dark brown riding coat that emphasised his broad shoulders- the uncultured swine. 

You would have walked past him without acknowledging his presence if it had been up to you. But unfortunately, you were not afforded this option. The lady accompanying him was your cousin-Miss Ella Williams- and she smiled and waved as soon as she recognised you. 

"Cousin!" Ella called out cheerfully as she hurried down the path to greet you. Mr. Jeon followed her. His long legs allowed him to cover the distance in casual, effortless strides. 

"Ella," you greeted your cousin warily. You were forced to acknowledge her walking companion. "And Mr. Jeon Wonwoo, if I remember correctly? I see you are out for a stroll."

Ella smiled. "Indeed. I was on a walk with Miss Jeon but we were joined by Mr. Jeon and Mr. Yoon. The path is narrow so I am afraid that the others have fallen a little behind. Mr. Jeon- please allow me to introduce you to my cousin, Miss Hong."

Wonwoo’s expression was emotionless as always. 

“We are already acquainted,” he replied shortly. 

"I see you and Snowball have come to promenade as well. Is the weather not perfectly lovely? It is a wonderful sunny day," Ella gushed.

"It was when I arrived. But there seems to be a rather ugly dark cloud crossing my path at the moment," you quipped with a sharp glance at Mr. Jeon. 

The sky was clear and blue.  

Mr. Jeon fixed his dark eyes upon you. He seemed annoyed. "Perhaps a dark cloud now and then is inevitable in life, Miss Hong. The sky cannot cater to your personal desires," he remarked. 

You scoffed. "So long as the cloud learns its place and does not rain down upon those of us attempting to enjoy our day; I shall have no objections to the existence of the cloud."

Ella looked bewildered. "What cloud-"

She was interrupted by a sharp tug on your leash. Snowball had grown impatient while standing in one place and darted forwards to sniff at Mr. Jeon's shoes. 

Mr. Jeon looked surprised. It was the closest thing to an emotion you had seen on his serious face- but he did not move away from the dog.

"Snowball, no!" you cried. Snowball was beginning to wag his tail and you could not imagine the mortification you would feel if your dog expressed any affection towards the man you were clearly attempting to snub. 

You reached down and picked Snowball up quickly before he could embarrass you. He let out a small whine but relaxed in your arms. 

Ella laughed. “Oh, that is all right, cousin! I am sure Mr. Jeon does not mind dogs- do you, Mr. Jeon?” 

“I consider them to be excellent companions,” Mr. Jeon replied simply. 

"And I think he is adorable," Ella insisted as she reached forward to pat Snowball's head. "I wish my mother would allow me to have a dog, but she insists that the fur makes her ill. Will you allow me to walk him sometime?"

"Anytime you like, dear cousin."

Ella's eyes suddenly widened as she remembered something. "Oh, but cousin, you must tell me- I have heard that the Viscount is courting Miss Lee! I was quite surprised. Can it be true? Will they be married?"

You stiffened. You were aware of Joshua's affections for Miss Lee; their courtship was the hottest gossip among the ton at the moment, largely because Miss Lee was from a humble background and did not possess either status or dowry to match your family's. 

You had spoken to Miss Lee at the Hessington's ball. She was kind-hearted and a perfect choice for Joshua, but did not seem confident in her ability to become a Viscountess. You were not certain that she would accept your brother's proposal. 

"It remains to be seen," you replied lightly. You did not want to confirm rumours until the success or failure of their courtship was more evident to you.

"You do not think she is a good match for Joshua?" Ella wondered. 

"We shall have to see," you said vaguely. "Decisions such as these should not be made in haste. Not everyone is suited to become a Viscountess."

Mr. Jeon's dark eyes were still on you. His jaw was clenched; he looked displeased. 

"Do you disagree, Mr. Jeon?" you demanded. 

"I do not think it is your place to assess who is suited to become the Viscountess," he replied stiffly. "I am sure your brother is more than capable of making such decisions on his own."

You laughed. Your brother had made plenty of poor choices in Miss Lee's case- including springing a proposal on the poor girl without giving her any hint of his affections for her and failing to realise how she would be affected by the gossip.

"You overestimate my brother, Mr. Jeon. He is perfectly capable of making mistakes, like any other gentleman," you replied. 

"A gentleman will deal with the consequences of his own actions- whether they be mistakes or otherwise," Mr. Jeon retorted. 

You stared at him, bewildered. What was he going on about? You had no idea why Jeon Wonwoo was so invested in Joshua's courtship with Miss Lee, but you refused to let this odious man have the last word.

"It seems you have a high opinion of my brother," you snapped. "But I am sorry to inform you that the decisions made by a Viscount do not impact him alone. Forgive me if I do not want my brother to make mistakes that would cause pain to those around him."

Ella looked distressed at the turn the conversation was taking. 

"Cousin, I am sure there is no question of the Viscount making any mistakes. Let us speak of something else," she pressed. 

"Yes, of course. Men must never be questioned by women when they make mistakes," you replied drily while glaring at Mr. Jeon. "How foolish of me to think otherwise."

Mr. Jeon raised an eyebrow. "Miss Hong, it was never my intention to suggest that-"

"Frankly, Mr. Jeon, I have no interest in what you intended to suggest. I did not ask for your opinion; I shall certainly not make that mistake twice. You may rest knowing that your silence pleases me well enough. Please do not trouble yourself with speech."

Ella was shocked. "Cousin!"

"Snowball is quite tired and we must be returning home now. I will take your leave.  Good day, Ella. Mr. Jeon."

You walked away, your cheeks hot with anger. Who did Mr. Jeon Wonwoo think he was? It is not your place to assess who is suited to be a Viscountess? As though a sister being concerned for her brother's marriage was overstepping her bounds? How dare he speak to you that way? 

One thing was certain. You were not as kind and forgiving as your brother. 

Jeon Wonwoo would regret making an enemy of you.

—-------------------------------------------

"Miss Hong, you have the most exquisite taste in fashion! These gowns are so striking!" Miss Brooke cried. 

You were having tea with some of the other young ladies of the ton when your latest shipment from the modiste arrived- a large collection of custom-made ball gowns, hats, and shoes that you had ordered recently. 

"This one is my own personal design," you boasted as Miss Brooke admired a particularly gorgeous lavender gown with a delicately embroidered skirt. "I ordered it specially for my brother's wedding and I am having a pair of shoes custom-made to match."

“It is a masterpiece!” 

You sipped your tea and leaned back as Miss Brooke, Miss Hessington and Miss Jeon continued to compliment and admire your new gowns. You had spent a considerable amount of time preparing the designs and discussing them with the modiste. The admiration of the other young ladies was sufficient recompense for your efforts. 

Let it never be said that Miss Hong was not the best-dressed young lady in the room.

Just as Miss Brooke pulled out an exquisite handmade silk shawl from the boxes stacked on the tea table, your brother appeared at the doorway of the tea parlour. 

"Ladies," Viscount Hong greeted the other young women in the room with a handsome smile before turning to you. "I apologise for interrupting your tea. Sister- if I could have a word in the hall?"

You followed him into the hallway outside. 

"Joshua? Is there a problem?"

Joshua had a small stack of papers in his hand. He showed them to you calmly. "These are the bills I have received from the modiste, the shoemaker and the jeweller," he informed you. 

You blinked at him. "All right. What is the problem? Send the clerk to pay them."

"Do you not think some of these are a little extravagant, sister? This single ball-gown of yours costs as much as the Arabian horse I had shipped from overseas," Joshua pointed out. 

"It is custom-made. The silk is imported from India so it has travelled the same distance. If we can afford the horse, then I fail to see the problem with the dress," you replied defensively.

Joshua shook his head and sighed. "Do not mistake me, sister. I am not angry. I only want to be sure that you are conscious of your spending habits."

"Are my gowns putting a dent in the Hong family fortune?" you asked with a laugh. 

"You know they are not."

"Then what do you want from me?"

"I would like you to acknowledge that regardless of our ability to pay for them, perhaps it is not necessary to spend so much money on a dress that you shall only wear on a single occasion. I ask you to exercise a little restraint.”

“Yes, yes, all right," you told him dismissively. "The season is nearing an end so this was my final order. We shall be returning to the countryside after your wedding, in any case."

"Glad to hear it."

"Have you ordered your wedding things? You know the modiste takes over a week for wedding orders- particularly the wedding gowns."

Joshua blinked. "Wedding gown?"

You gasped. "Joshua! Your wedding is in less than a fortnight, are you telling me that an order has not been placed for Miss Lee's wedding gown? What on earth is the matter with you?"

Joshua looked flustered. "I-I assumed Miss Lee would arrange her own wedding gown-"

"Miss Lee's family cannot afford a wedding gown fit for a Viscountess! And she is so humble she would never ask you for such a thing- it was your responsibility to offer! You must place a deposit with the modiste immediately and I will take Miss Lee there myself to select the design this evening. You are fortunate that I am the modiste's valued customer."

Joshua nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes-yes, I will do that…"

"And none of that restraint, please. Sell one of the Arabians if you must," you added with a giggle. 

Your brother hurried away and you re-entered the parlour where the young ladies were still discussing your silk shawls.

You re-seated yourself in an armchair. 

"Is everything all right, Miss Hong?" Miss Jeon asked politely. 

"Yes- my brother needed some help with the arrangements for his wedding. Gentlemen are very lucky to have sisters to rely on in certain matters," you said lightly before glancing at Miss Jeon. "Would you not agree, Miss Jeon?"

Miss Jeon shook her head. "I am sure I rely on my brother far more than he relies on me."

"But of course. Mr Jeon Wonwoo is a different case altogether. I gather he does not need your help in matters of the heart, since he openly refuses to court anyone," you quipped.

Miss Jeon did not seem worried. "I am sure he will find a young lady he is interested in someday."

"I hope that the young lady is not too fond of polite conversation, then, since Mr. Jeon will surely not indulge in any," you replied. "Was it not just last week, Miss Brooke, that you told me Mr. Jeon danced with you and did not speak a single word for the entire duration of the dance?"

Miss Brooke smiled awkwardly. "Yes…"

"And Miss Hessington, did you not tell me that you attempted to converse with him at the assembly rooms and he did not even look up from the book he was reading to greet you?"

Miss Hessington nodded. 

"Wonwoo does not speak much," Miss Jeon admitted with an awkward laugh. 

"Perhaps that is for the best," you replied airily. "I am quite offended by what little he has spoken to me thus far. If he spoke more often, I imagine he would soon gain many enemies among the ton."

"I apologise for his actions, Miss Hong-"

You brushed her off kindly. "Not at all, Miss Jeon; you are a dear friend. I would not dream of holding you responsible for your brother's behaviour. He shall carry that burden entirely on his own."

"Are there any gentlemen among the ton that have caught your eye, Miss Hong?" Miss Brooke wondered. "I notice that Baron Wright seems to be quite set on you. You often dance with Mr. Carter as well."

"We shall see," you replied lightly. "Since the season is coming to an end and I will be returning to the countryside soon, it is a perfect time to test a man's so-called affections. Only those who maintain their correspondence with me over the winter will remain candidates for my hand next season."

Miss Jeon giggled. "Then may we expect to see another wedding in the Hong family next season?"

"... Perhaps so."

—----------------------------------------------------------

Viscount Joshua Hong's wedding was a grand success, in no small part thanks to you.

The bride's wedding gown was greatly admired by the entire ton and Miss Lee thanked you for your efforts toward ensuring they had a smooth ceremony. The happily married couple left for their honeymoon immediately after. You returned with your mother to the Hongs' countryside estate for the winter. 

It was a quiet winter without your brother at home. You spent most evenings practising music by the fireplace and reading and writing your correspondence. Baron Wright and Mr. Carter were both quite serious about their affections for you, and you wondered if perhaps one of them would approach the Viscount for your hand as soon as your family was back in London for the next season.

You could not decide if you cared enough to marry either of them. But you were already in your third season, and now with your brother married too, the clock was ticking. Luckily, you had the entire ton to choose from. You doubted there was a single unattached man who would not welcome your affections if you chose to bestow them upon him. 

Except perhaps Mr. Jeon Wonwoo. 

But as always, he was the exception to the rule. 

You were pleased to return to London after the end of winter. Your sister-in-law, the new Viscountess, was equally excited. She had fully embraced her new role as your brother’s wife, and seemed much happier and brighter by his side than she had ever appeared before.

It almost made you envious of their marital bliss. 

“I hope you will find someone who makes you as happy as Joshua makes me,” the Viscountess gushed as the servants hurried to unpack your belongings and set up your London home for the new season. “Marriage really is quite wonderful and I would love for you to experience it, sister.” 

“Well, I must find the right man,” you reminded her. “And more importantly, I must find the right dress for the ball that the Duchess of Graham is hosting tomorrow. It is going to be the most spectacular event of the season and I cannot afford to look anything but my best.”

“You always look beautiful.” 

“Your words flatter me, sister; but it is your first public appearance as the Viscountess and you must be equally careful. Perhaps a trip to the modiste is in order?” 

The Viscountess smiled. “Perhaps it is.”

—------------------------------------------------

It was not easy to be the centre of attention at the Duchess of Graham’s ball.

The beginning of a new season came with so much fresh gossip and juicy rumours that it was impossible to keep track of it all. Whispers abounded from the moment you descended your carriage and entered the Duchess’ palatial London manor. 

“The youngest Miss Yoon is the most awaited debutante of the season,” your cousin Ella Williams informed you as you both took a turn about the beautiful ballroom. The dancing had not yet begun. You were taking the opportunity to admire the sheer magnificence of the Duchess’ manor.

It was beyond anything you had seen before. 

“Miss Yoon?” you asked. “Mr. Yoon Jeonghan’s younger sister?”

“She is rumoured to be a great beauty. And now that the messy issue of her dowry is resolved and her fortune restored, I expect she will be receiving her fair share of offers.” 

You nodded. “I would like to meet this young woman. But first, Ella, tell me about the Duchess. I knew she was rich and had connections to the royal family but… the extravagance of this manor! It is at least three times the size of any other home I have seen in London, including my own.” 

Ella nodded eagerly as you both admired an enormous marble statue in the entryway to the ball room. 

“Of course. The Grahams have historically been very intimate with the royal family and their fortune is beyond comparison. But the Duke of Graham left no male heirs. When he died last year, the title should have died with him- but the Queen herself decreed as a special exception that the title would continue through his only daughter.” 

Your eyes widened. “Fascinating. I am sure this has never happened before."

“Indeed. It was quite the controversy. Much of the nobility was displeased with a woman being able to hold a title without the support of a man. They insisted that she produce a male heir at the soonest. It is rumoured that the Duchess intends to marry soon. Perhaps this season.`` 

You sighed. “I wish she wouldn’t. It is quite nice to have a Duchess in her own right.” 

“I agree. But she has not shown any interest in the gentlemen of the ton, so perhaps she will marry someone from the royal family instead. A Prince? Anything is possible, really,” Ella gushed excitedly. “As for the manor, it has been in the Graham family for many generations. Much of the furniture is antique and gifted by the royal family. I have heard the library has an antique pianoforte which was gifted hundreds of years ago by the King himself.” 

Your eyes sparkled. “A pianoforte, you say?”

“Perhaps the oldest still in existence in London.” 

Your interest was piqued. 

“Ella- I must see this pianoforte,” you decided.  

Ella laughed. “Unfortunately, cousin, I am not entirely sure where it is. The library is upstairs but I have never been to this manor before. I have heard that your brother is acquainted with the Duchess. Perhaps if you ask her permission…” 

You shook your head. “Ask her? She is the hostess of the ball, we should never have a chance to speak to her tonight. Look at the size of this event! Nobody would notice if we slipped upstairs in between a few dances. The staircase is not even blocked.” 

Ella was startled. “We?”

“I cannot go alone!” you cried. 

“But-but…” 

“I will grant you any wish within my power, Ella,” you promised your cousin as you seized her hand and pressed it tightly. “You may choose any dress from my wardrobe- even the ones I have not yet worn. Take your pick from my jewellery box. I simply must be able to lay my fingers on this historical piano.” 

Ella laughed and removed her hand from your grasp. “All right. You are lucky that this is the first ball of the season and all the attention is focused on the Duchess and the new debutantes.”

“Show me your dance card,” you insisted, seizing the little card tied to your cousin’s wrist. “You are unoccupied for the third dance, as am I. We will meet near those stairs at the beginning of the third dance and slip upstairs. I am promised to dance with Baron Wright for the fourth- so we must find the piano and return to the ballroom by then.” 

Ella giggled. “All right, cousin. But keep your promise. I intend to take the lavender dress you wore to the Viscount’s wedding.” 

“It is yours.” 

—--------------------------------------------------------------

You danced the first two dances of the evening with Mr. Carter and Mr. Hessington. Both of whom were very vocal about their admiration for you. You accepted their advances with your usual coolness and light flirtation.

You were still deciding which of your admirers to properly encourage. For now, you would keep your options open. 

The moment the second dance ended, you hurried to the foot of the grand marble staircase. Ella was nowhere to be seen. You waited impatiently for your younger cousin, but the enormous grandfather clock in the foyer continued to tick and after a few minutes, you could hear the opening notes of the third dance beginning in the ballroom.

You were running out of time. Where was Ella? 

You made a quick decision- surely there would be nobody upstairs except for a servant or two? The ball was in full swing here anyway. You could be up and back down in a matter of minutes. 

It would be fine. 

You lifted your skirts and ran up the stairs. At the top was an enormous landing and, as you expected, not a single person in sight. You walked down a hallway of enormous, studded half-open doors until you finally found the library. The high walls were lined with shelf after shelf of books rising into the air. 

In the centre of the room- an enormous white pianoforte. 

You walked towards the instrument and sat down before it with your heartbeat thudding. You were no stranger to expensive instruments but this was undoubtedly the most beautiful one that you had ever seen in your life. It was delicately hand-carved and the quality was evident from the moment you gently brushed your fingers over the keys. 

“Beautiful,” you whispered to yourself before pressing your fingers down to play a chord. The noise was strange and jarring. 

“That is disappointing,” a voice said from behind you.

You almost screamed in shock. You had not realised that there was anyone else in the room with you. You jumped up from the piano and whirled around to see Mr. Jeon Wonwoo was standing in the shadow of one of the bookshelves, leaning against it with a book in his hand. 

“Mr. Jeon?” you demanded. 

He stepped forward from the shadow. Mr. Jeon looked as handsome as ever-  his dark hair fell forward barely brushing his eyes and he looked less… serious than he normally did. The corner of his lips were turned up in an almost-smile. 

“Miss Hong,” he greeted. 

“I-I did not see that you were already in the room,” you stammered quickly. “You should have announced your presence to me. What are you doing up here?” 

Mr. Jeon held up the book in his hand. “Reading.” 

“And avoiding the ball, I see, as always. I suppose you consider yourself far too superior to the young ladies here to bestow them with the gift of your presence,” you replied snidely. “Shall I thank you for deigning to speak to me today?” 

He blinked. “No thanks is necessary.” 

“Excellent. Then I shall ask you to please leave. It is quite improper for us to be alone together here.” 

Mr. Jeon smirked lightly. “Leave? Miss Hong, I am afraid that I was here long before you. By the common rules of courtesy, if you do not wish to be in my presence then you are very welcome to leave yourself. The door is open.”

This infuriating man simply would not let you be.  

You glanced at the enormous grandfather clock in the corner of the room. You could still hear the faint notes of music coming from the ballroom below, but time was running out. You had no idea when you would have another chance to experience this instrument. Mr. Jeon would not ruin this for you. 

“I am sure you have been to hundreds of libraries, Mr. Jeon, but this instrument is one of the oldest antique pianofortes in London. I only wanted a few moments alone with it, if you would be so kind.” 

Mr. Jeon’s eyes flickered towards the instrument. 

“It looks antique but the noise it made just now was quite awful,” he remarked.   

You huffed and pressed some of the keys again. The noise was still awkward. “It is simply not tuned. Evidently nobody has played it in a long time. The fact that you could not tell leads me to believe that your knowledge and appreciation for music is much lower than I originally imagined.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Why? Because I would not compliment your performance last year?” he demanded.

“It was an excellent performance,” you said defensively, anger rising. “Regardless of whether you are willing to accept it or not, Mr. Jeon. I can allow for differences in personal taste, but there is some objectivity in the field that deems me more than a mere child with potential.” 

 Mr. Jeon closed the book in his hands and stepped closer to you. “The problem was not your performance.” 

“Oh?” you demanded. 

“No. Your performance was masterful. I am afraid what you failed to realise is that your self-indulgent display of talent left your friend, Miss Brooke, almost in tears,” Mr. Jeon replied. His dark eyes narrowed and he crossed the library towards you in long, effortless strides. You felt your heart constrict in your chest. 

“What?” you demanded, confused.

“You are evidently the better musician. But what I found distasteful, Miss Hong, is how you felt the need to make a spectacle of Miss Brooke by showing the entire room just how superior you were to her. That was a selfish, vain, tactless thing to do to a young lady who believes herself to be your friend.” 

“Miss Brooke made a spectacle of herself,” you snapped. “She should have known better than to perform for company when she can barely produce a recognizable nursery rhyme from the piano!” 

Mr. Jeon shook his head. “You could have ended it there. Perhaps even closed the instrument for the evening. But you had to outperform her by playing your most difficult piece. You used her to satisfy your vanity.” 

You could not help it- you laughed. You could not believe the audacity of this man, after all this time, to defend his actions in this manner. You were becoming angrier and angrier.

Your cheeks felt hot and your fists clenched. 

“Are you telling me, Mr. Jeon,” you asked as you laughed in disbelief. “That your blatant public insult of my performance while you were a guest in my home was an act of chivalry in defence of a slight you perceived against Miss Brooke? You are mad. Really, you must be quite mad to think that is even remotely an appropriate defence for your actions-”

“And you must be very proud indeed, to allow such a minor slight to make you so angry after all these months” Mr. Jeon replied with a smirk.

He was standing in front of the instrument now, mere feet away from you. 

You scoffed as you stepped forward again. You would not back down from this man. 

“Yes, of course. Yes, please, Mr. Jeon, I would love to hear more about my pride from the man who infamously hides in libraries during balls and snubs every young lady that crosses his path. Do you consider women beneath your notice? But of course- why should Mr. Jeon Wonwoo bother with polite conversation with stupid young ladies when he is evidently so superior in intellect and manner to our entire sex,” you hissed. 

His eyes looked wild for a moment; you had never seen so much emotion in Mr. Jeon’s eyes and you could hear your own blood pumping in your ears from anger as you stared back at him. You were barely a foot apart and you could see the way his chest heaved up and down underneath his black coat. 

The room was filled with a complete silence. 

Silence. 

The faint music from the ballroom below had stopped. 

Suddenly, a number of things occurred in the flash of a single moment. 

You realised that the third dance had ended and you had spent too long upstairs. There was the sound of footsteps outside the partially open library door. Jeon Wonwoo looked startled- he suddenly took a step back to put some distance between you, but his foot caught on the leg of the pianoforte and his arm came down upon the keys to steady himself. 

You darted forward to steady him but it was too late. His palm had already hit the keys by the time you seized his arm and the loud, jarring piano noise was released into the silent room with no chance of concealment. 

The door to the library burst open. 

Oh no. Oh no no no no. 

You were ruined. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------

[blossom-hwa]

a very fine line, indeed [6] | c.bg

pairing: Beomgyu x fem!reader genre:  fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: cursing, period typical misogyny word count: 11k notes:  — updates every M/W/F at 8pm EST until the series finishes — inspiration taken from an amalgamation of different bridgerton stories - let me know what easter eggs you find! — story takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun and earl!taehyun fics - check out the link to the series below for some more easter eggs :) In a society where it only takes a year for a young woman in search of a husband to be considered out of season, it is no wonder that by your third year out, you are desperate to marry. Known as one of the beauties of the ton, such a task should not be difficult for you—but with an absent father, no dowry, and a reputation centered around your inability to keep your mouth shut around one certain Beomgyu Choi, your prospects are more limited than you’d like. While you cannot recover your family or your wealth, however, the one thing you can try to control is your reputation. So when the third season rolls around, you resolve to keep your distance from Beomgyu Choi, your childhood enemy, and the man you hate most in the world. Enter Beomgyu Choi, second son of the Kensington Viscountcy, one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton. His older brother, cousin, and good friend have all recently married, leaving the mamas to salivate at his doorstep for the chance of marrying one of their daughters to him. When Beomgyu walks in on a particularly traumatizing moment between you and one of the most unsavory men in the ton and learns of your desperation to marry, despite your history of enmity, he proposes you a devious deal—to pretend to court you. It seems like a winning situation for both of you—more gentlemen will take notice of you, enhancing your prospects, and he will have the ton’s mamas off his back—and so, despite your misgivings, you agree. With you hell bent on marriage and Beomgyu completely indifferent to the concept, even independent of your hatred for each other, it seems unlikely that any sort of true affection will bloom. But as you begrudgingly put aside your differences to spend more and more time in one another’s company, and as you grow to know each other beyond your ill-conceived preconceptions from childhood, you begin to realize that perhaps you two have more in common than you had once thought. And as your faked acquaintanceship becomes more truth than fiction, a friendship beginning to bloom most unexpectedly— Perhaps you no longer need to convince the ton of the veracity of your courtship, because anyone with eyes can see that it is true.  Part 5 >> Part 6 >> Part 7

Series Masterlist | TXT Masterlist

When Beomgyu wakes up in the morning, he decides he is never going to sleep again. 

Not truly, of course. Even in school he was never able to stay up all night to study, something Taehyun did often with ease. But if his sleep is going to be as restless as it has been for the past two weeks, then he’d almost rather not sleep at all so that the dreams can’t find him. 

The dreams are what really are going to kill him. 

How many times will Beomgyu have to relive that kiss—the moments before, the awkwardness after? How many times must he feel your lips against his, hear your little moans into his mouth, see your eyes fluttered shut as he holds you to him closely, so closely? Not to mention when his dreams go a little further than reality did and he ends up even closer to you than he ever could have imagined before…

God, he thinks about you too much. Dreams about you too much. Through his dreams alone Beomgyu almost thinks he could trace the planes of your face, your neck, your torso, onto paper, or shape it from a lump of clay. He sees you nearly every day, if not in person, then through visions at night. 

It’s torture. 

Beomgyu groans, rolling over in his bed. He’s never thought of a single person this way—never wanted anyone like this—and it’s screwing up his whole life. He doesn’t know how he survived the Bridgerton ball without you noticing anything. The entire time you were dancing, he could hardly stop thinking about kissing you right then and there. 

He was so grateful, too, when you spoke to him of being friends. Of truly leaving your grudges in the past, and continuing to see each other not for the sake of the deal but just for being friendly with one another. He certainly didn’t have the courage to say anything about it which just makes you even more admirable in his estimation, not to mention that you did all that while apparently being terrified that he would view you with derision if you tried. 

Did you enjoy his company that much? Did you truly like him so? 

Even the idea that the answer to those questions might yes makes him want to smile like a child in a candy shop, and that terrifies him. 

All of this terrifies him. It’s hardly an exaggeration. He’s come to so many realizations about you over the past few months that just thinking about all of it gives him a headache. You are not the person he once believed you were, just as he said at the Bridgerton ball. You are vivacious, you are kind, and you have a wicked sense of wit that keeps him easily entertained. You are intelligent, honorable, and lovely not only on the outside, but in your heart as well. You are far more than the arguments you used to have in years past. 

Beyond that, though, you like him. You wanted to be friends. And you were brave enough to admit it, even with years of hostility and distrust behind you, which means you cared for him on a level deeper than perhaps either of you ever believed possible. Beomgyu should feel over the moon because of this. 

Instead, he just finds himself wanting more. 

It’s the stupid kiss’s fault. He resists the urge to throw his pillow across the room. He shouldn’t have offered, shouldn’t have played along, shouldn’t have gone with you until it was too late, but—it wasn’t supposed to mean anything. You were going to stop seeing each other in less than a month. It shouldn’t have mattered to him or to you. 

Yet here he is, dreaming about the kiss, and wanting something more than friendship. 

Wanting. Beomgyu isn’t accustomed to want, as shameful as it is to say. He’s always been provided for, has always been given access to his basic needs and far more. He had a loving father and still has a loving mother. He has a wonderful brother, though he’ll never admit it, and his sister in law has only ever brought good things to his life. He has a good cousin. He has very good friends. He has never wanted anything more than what he currently has. 

But now…he wants you in a way that friendship won’t fulfill. And he doesn’t know what to do about it. 

He still doesn’t know what to do about it later that night when the family carriage pulls up in front of Lady Park’s home for a dinner party, the lights in her windows bright and warm and in stark contrast to the anxiety that’s been building in his blood throughout the entire day. You’re supposed to be here tonight and if Beomgyu knows anything about Lady Park, she’ll seat you two together for her own entertainment. Half of him rejoices. The other half of him wants to keel over and die.

“You look constipated,” Soobin says as the carriage rolls to a stop. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” Beomgyu scowls, which probably makes him look even more constipated. He can’t tell Soobin that he’s nervous, because then he’d have to explain exactly why he’s nervous, and he isn’t ready to go into that with anyone. Not even himself. “I’m not constipated.”

“Good for you.” His brother’s wife smiles at him serenely and Beomgyu wonders exactly why he wanted them to get together so badly. They’re both menaces to him and to society and combined, they have some synergistic effect on him that’s more than awful. He almost wishes they would go back to pining for each other in secret. At least then they didn’t have time to tease him nearly as much. “Settle your expression so it doesn’t look like it, though, or Lady Park is going to have a field day with you.”

Beomgyu does manage to relax his face, but his mood improves very little as they enter the hall. In fact, it takes a downturn as he looks around and can’t find you among the small crowd of people milling about the entryway. On one hand this is a good thing—he doesn’t have to deal with your eyes staring back at him, your terribly kissable lips curving into smiles and frowns and every other micro-expression you have in your arsenal— but on the other hand, seeing you is half of the reason he’s here. 

“Mr. Choi!”

Ah. And there’s the other half of the reason. 

Beomgyu pastes a smile on his face that isn’t entirely faked as Lady Arina Park comes walking up, her cane thumping ominously on the ground. “Lady Park,” he says politely, bowing in greeting. Soobin and his wife have somehow managed to vanish and he curses them with every ounce of his being for leaving him to deal with her alone. “Thank you for inviting my family and I tonight.”

“Of course I invited you.” Her eyes glint, and Beomgyu is reminded why he finds this old woman so terrifying. She must be in her seventies or even her eighties, but even in her old age with her stooped walk and her cane, she remains as sharp as ever. Beomgyu shudders to wonder what a force she was in society when she was younger. “You, Mr. Choi, are one of the only people in this ton with an ounce of wit in their head. You were one of the first people I put on the invite list, along with that girl of yours…Miss L/N.” She clicks her tongue while Beomgyu just blinks. “What are the chances of you two bringing down the house tonight, Mr. Choi? Can I expect some marvelous entertainment from the two of you?”

“…We’re courting, Lady Park,” Beomgyu gets out. He’s almost certain she knew this already. 

“Oh, I already knew that.” She waves her hand dismissively and Beomgyu just feels stupid. “I wanted to hear it from your own tongue. I could hardly believe it when I found out, you know. Your, ah, discussions, had been my greatest entertainment in years.” She sighs, as though remembering some good old days, then leans in to Beomgyu almost conspiratorially. “Though I suppose it makes sense. The line between hatred and love is always finer than anyone believes it to be.”

“Love?” Beomgyu splutters. The wit that Lady Park mentioned before seems to have abandoned him entirely as he tries to remember how to breathe. “Lady Park, that is hardly—”

“Ah, is that your lady?” Lady Park’s eyes narrow on something behind him. Beomgyu turns to see you entering the hall, looking vaguely uncertain until you meet his eyes. Your expression breaks into a smile that only grows wider when you see the woman standing next to him. 

“She’s hardly my lady,” Beomgyu says, though he can’t hide his own smile at seeing you. 

“Delusion doesn’t suit you, Mr. Choi.” And as he’s reeling from that statement, she thumps her cane against the floor and grabs his arm with surprising strength. “I believe I will accompany you to her. I should like to speak to the girl myself.” 

Beomgyu tries to convey his apology through his eyes as the two of you draw near, but you don’t seem to be the slightest bit terrified or even hesitant to see Lady Park hanging off his arm. “Lady Park. Mr. Choi.” You curtsy, the smile on your face unwavering. “Lovely to see you both.”

“And lovely to see you too, my dear.” Lady Park reaches out to give you a fond sort of pat on the cheek and Beomgyu just gapes. He’s never seen her outwardly display such affection before. “I was just telling Mr. Choi that I should like to see some entertainment from the two of you tonight.”

You blink. “Um, Lady Park. We are courting.”

“I know that,” she huffs. “Why is it that both of you seem to think I am daft?” Before either of you can apologize, though, she’s plowing on with her next comment. “Watching you interact is already marvelous enough. I never thought I would see the day that you two could stand in the same room civilly, let alone be courting. And I have been in society with you two for over twenty years!” 

Beomgyu has no idea what to say to that. Judging by your expression, you don’t seem to either. 

“I could shed a tear.” Lady Park lets go of Beomgyu’s arm—damn, he didn’t realize how tight her grip was until it was gone—to wipe something away from the corner of her eye. Beomgyu would bet five quid that it was fake. “That two of the people in this ton with a reasonable amount of wit should court and potentially raise families that will be surely be the ton’s sole source of intelligence from now and forever on…oh, if I were capable of crying in my old age, I would already be doing it by now.”

You open your mouth, then close it. Beomgyu would try to help, but he is still trying to process the fact that Lady Park expects you two to raise a family. 

“With all due respect, Lady Park,” you finally say, a carefully blank smile affixed to your expression, “I think you might be getting somewhat ahead of yourself here.”

“I am never ahead of myself, Miss L/N.” She sniffs. “I say what I see how I see it.”

For some reason, Beomgyu almost laughs. “That was never in doubt, my lady.”

“Take care to keep it that way.” She gives him a threatening little smile that, despite her age, makes Beomgyu want to take a step back. “Well, Mr. Choi, Miss L/N, I should love to stay in your company for the rest of the night—” Beomgyu hardly bites back a shudder—“but alas, my duties as a hostess precede me. Mr. Choi.” She turns to him sharply. “Do take care not to offend Miss L/N. I do not believe I need to be the one to tell you that letting her go would be the biggest mistake of your short life.” With a parting whack of her cane to his calves, she disappears into the crowd, leaving Beomgyu to stumble forward with the force of her smack almost right into you. 

“Careful,” you say, steadying him with a hand. Your eyes twinkle. “How hard did she hit you?”

“Hard enough,” he mutters, trying not to fall over again at the touch of your skin against his. God, between Lady Park saying he’d be remiss to lose you and her speculations about a possible family, he’s losing his mind. “Apologies for letting her accost you. She insisted on accompanying me the moment she saw you.”

“No apologies needed. I quite like her.” You grin. “Do you not?”

“I certainly don’t dislike her,” Beomgyu replies. He shudders a little. “But you can’t deny that she’s terrifying.”

“In the best of ways,” you agree. “She’s hilariously witty. I want to be like her when I’m older.”

Beomgyu glances at you sidelong. “I don’t think you’ll have much trouble with that.”

“…I’ll take that as a compliment.” You take his proffered arm. Beomgyu tries very, very hard not to notice the way your lips curve when you smile anyway. “I like her.”

“She also seems to like you.” He raises an eyebrow. “If her saying that I would be an idiot to lose you is anything to go by.”

“And that might be the greatest compliment of all.” You turn a little towards the crowd and Beomgyu’s heart does a little skip of panic when you tug his arm and it feels as though you might pull away. Good Lord, he needs to get a hold of himself—he’s gone two weeks without you suspecting anything strange on his part and he doesn’t intend to break that streak anytime soon, at least not before he’s figured out his own thoughts first. You don’t let go anyway so he feels stupid for panicking in the first place. “It looks like everyone is going inside,” you say, apparently oblivious to his internal turmoil. “Shall we follow them to dinner?”

Beomgyu survives the meal. He survives sitting next to you for the best part of two hours, watching you eat and talk all the while with that lovely smile on your face. He survives having to talk to you for the entire two hours and doesn’t spit out any food every time he remembers that Lady Park expects you two to have a family, to have children. 

What he very nearly does not survive, however, is when he is talking to you in the drawing room when the men have rejoined the women after they’ve drunk their port, and Lord Cho comes up to steal you away from the conversation. 

Beomgyu notices him eyeing you first from across the room. “Lord Cho incoming,” he says, and he only manages a half smile to indicate that this is a joke. Or at least that it was meant to be, because he doesn’t feel much like smiling. 

You glance at him. “I don’t understand why you don’t like him,” you say frankly. “He’s very nice. At least he seems genuinely interested when he speaks to me, unlike many others I could name.”

Beomgyu shrugs. He wishes he knew why too, but he can’t exactly explain why Lord Cho gives him that slightly slimy feeling that puts him off so. Outwardly there was nothing amiss with their conversation the first and only time they spoke, but everything about it still felt all wrong. “He seems nice,” he agrees. “But just because he’s nice doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take precaution as you do with all the other men who might seek your hand.”

“As I should have done with you?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. A teasing smile plays on your lips and in a moment of weakness, Beomgyu imagines kissing it off. 

He pinches himself hard. Maybe he needs to get a brain replacement. “Well, I think you have already seen many of the worst parts of me,” he says superciliously. You laugh and he preens a little for having been the cause of it. “So I don’t know how much more precaution you must take around me. You have already proven yourself quite capable of fighting back.”

“Might I take that as a compliment?” 

Despite himself, Beomgyu smiles. “Yes, you may.”

“Then I’ll thank you for that.” You take the last sip of water from your glass and place it on a nearby empty tray. “And I’ll take your advice, Beomgyu. I appreciate it, though I don’t know how warranted it is.”

Beomgyu tamps down the stupid thrill that rushes up his spine when he hears his name from your voice. It’s not that hard to hide this time, not with Lord Cho’s approach dimming his mood already. “Just be careful, is all,” he says quietly, just before Lord Cho makes the last step into conversational range. 

“Miss L/N. Mr. Choi.” Lord Cho makes a polite bow. Against his will, Beomgyu moves slightly to include him in your small group. “I haven’t had the chance to speak to either of you tonight.”

“A pity that Lady Park had us seated on opposite ends of the table,” Beomgyu says, not really meaning it. 

You shoot him a sidelong glance which tells him you heard all of the indifference in his tone, but he doesn’t really care. You look more amused than annoyed with him, anyway. “A pity indeed,” you echo, giving a short curtsy. “How are you, Lord Cho? You look rather well.”

“Better now that you’ve been so kind to me.” Lord Cho smiles, and Beomgyu fights the urge to roll his eyes. Maybe this is why he doesn’t like Lord Cho—he’s never been one to stomach flirting, at least not as outright as this. “It seems Mr. Choi has quite kept your attentions this evening. Would it be remiss if I stole some of your time?”

“Of course not.” You smile prettily before taking his arm. “Mr. Choi, I shall see you later tonight or sometime soon, I am sure.”

“And I, you,” he says, smiling directly at you. He doesn’t bother looking at Lord Cho and the other man doesn’t seem to care as he turns you to another corner of the room. Beomgyu watches you leave on his arm, then decides he doesn’t care much for the scene and goes to get another glass of whiskey. He suddenly very much feels like he needs it. 

Soobin sidles up to him as he picks up a glass from a servant’s passing tray. “Well, you look like you have a mouthful of sour grapes,” he says, and Beomgyu nearly spills his drink all over both of them. “Hey, watch out!”

“You watch out,” Beomgyu hisses, cradling the glass to his chest. “You’re the one who startled me.”

“Well, if you weren’t so busy glaring holes into Lord Cho’s back, you might have noticed me approaching.” Soobin sniffs. “What did he do to you this time?”

Beomgyu groans. “Of course she told you.”

“What, my wife? She tells me everything.” Soobin smirks. “Including that you might have felt a pinch of jealousy towards the man who’s talking to the woman you’ve decided to court this season.” 

Annoying as Soobin is, his words throw a splash of cold water over Beomgyu’s thoughts. He isn’t courting you. Not really. Even though you decided to continue seeing each other, it isn’t because you wanted him to pursue you for real. It was because you wanted to be friends. He has no business feeling like this, wanting to kiss you, feeling annoyed when someone else steals you away. He can’t even put it down to just blatant uneasiness about Lord Cho anymore because even if that unease might still exist, to say that there is no jealousy whatsoever would just be a lie. “I regret the two of you ever realizing your feelings for each other,” is all he manages to say around the sick feeling growing in his stomach. 

“You’re the one who complained about suffering in silence amidst all the pining,” Soobin points out. “Though if I may—”

“You may not.”

“—I’d say I understand your frustration, now.” Soobin glances across the room where you’re chatting animatedly with Lord Cho and a few others, then back at Beomgyu. “This tension is unbearable.”

“There is no tension,” Beomgyu snaps. 

“Beomgyu, I may not have your gift for discerning personalities at a glance, but I’m not daft.” Soobin fixes him with a deadpan stare. “You clearly feel something for the girl. Whether that feeling is a simple interest or something more, I will not presume—I would like to believe you know yourself better than I—but there is something there. I only wonder why you have done nothing about it yet.”

Oh, if only he knew. Beomgyu barely suppresses a scoff. “And you are so knowledgeable about love?” he snaps. He’s lashing out because he’s angry and frustrated, he knows, but in this moment, God he doesn’t care. “It took you years to realize that you were in love with your wife!”

Surprisingly, Soobin looks more amused by Beomgyu’s outburst than angry at his tone. “First of all, I never said anything about love.” He waits a moment for Beomgyu’s spluttering to stop, then continues. “Second of all, though it may have taken me a long time, at least I did realize it in the end.”

Beomgyu raises a sardonic eyebrow. “And how, exactly, did you realize it?”

“I realized that every moment I was away, I wanted to be with her,” Soobin says seriously, either not hearing or completely ignoring Beomgyu’s sarcastic tone. Beomgyu is inclined to believe the latter option. “When I did not have her attention, I wanted it. When I was with her, I was happier than I believed I ever could be.”

Involuntarily, Beomgyu’s gaze flashes towards where you are speaking with Lord Cho right now, that pretty little smile on your face. His heart spasms and he finds himself with the passing thought that he’d much rather that smile be directed at him. That he dislikes that it’s being directed at someone else. Specifically Lord Cho. 

“I do not claim to know your heart or your thoughts with any certainty,” Soobin says. From the way he’s looking at him, Beomgyu gathers that he noticed the glance. “But I would implore you to make any decisions you need to make before it is too late. And, Beomgyu.” He smiles teasingly, which Beomgyu does not appreciate for even a second. “It would do you well to remember that the line between hatred and love can be a very fine line, indeed.”

. . . . .

After the fifth time you stab yourself with a needle, Soyoung removes the embroidery from your hands. You barely put up a struggle. It’s late, it’s dark, and all you can really do is stare at the small bead of blood welling up from the pad of your finger, deep red in the flickering candlelight. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Soyoung asks. You’ve always liked working with her in the dark of night—she becomes more casual, lets her words and laughter flow more easily as though the darkness erases some of the social barriers between you two. But right now, you wish you were alone. Your thoughts are hard enough to unravel as it is. You don’t know how to explain any of it to yourself, much less to someone else. 

“Nothing.” You shake yourself out of your daze and reach for your embroidery. Another dress, hopefully one of the last you’ll have to remake for the season—you’re not sure you have it in you to put together much more before the season is out. Each one already takes up so much time. “Soyoung, please give it back.”

She narrows her eyes at you. You’d smile if you weren’t so tired. “Not until you tell me what is bothering you so, Miss L/N,” she finally says, though she slides you a small towel to wipe off your finger. “You’re usually never this careless, especially not with your own clothing.”

Suddenly you’re tired. So tired. Between the whirlwind of society events and doing the household chores and keeping up your ruse with Mr. Choi—Beomgyu—you’ve barely had a moment’s time to truly relax. To breathe. You barely have time to sleep. Makeup can only hide your dark circles so many times and you’re already running out of your concealing powder. You’ve counted the remnants of your pin money and you hate the amount you’re going to have to set aside for more powder but there’s no choice but to do it. And what little time you do have to yourself after the days are all done and over now has to be spent on refurbishing your old gowns because you have no money to buy new ones. 

All of this, and you still have to contend with emotions. Feelings. Desires and wants that you have no right to have and that you really don’t want to have, but that you do anyway. It is an incredibly annoying situation and you are tired of having to deal with said emotions, because they are really getting in the way of things that are very important. Like marriage.

You try to put your face in your hands and very nearly poke your eye out with the needle you’re still holding. You can’t even muster the energy to glare at it, not in light of yesterday’s events. When you accepted Lord Cho’s invitation to promenade that afternoon, you had thought little of it. He’s a suitor. A nice one at that. This is normal. To be expected. 

You did not expect him to hint at a proposal. 

Everything logical tells you that you should be happy about this. After two seasons of despairing you will ever be married, you finally have a hint that you will really receive a proposal from a very eligible gentleman who will be certain to take you far from this place. You want to be happy. You really do. But you aren’t, at least not nearly as much as you should be, and you don’t know why. 

Actually, that’s a lie. You know exactly why. You wanted someone else to propose. 

You wanted Beomgyu to propose. 

Which is—insanity. Your courtship isn’t even real. It doesn’t matter if you are friends now—none of the presents, none of the dances, none of that meant anything. Not even the kiss. You knew you had felt something after the kiss but you put it down to it quite literally being the first time you kissed someone. Of course anyone would feel butterflies in their stomach for days after that. Right? Right. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to matter if that’s true. What does matter is that the kiss wasn’t apparently just a kiss for you. 

Candlelight flickers in the dark, throwing strange shadows on Soyoung’s face. “Miss L/N?” she asks softly. 

You feel close to tears. It’s too late and it’s too dark and you’re feeling far too many things right now for you to process. You should be happy to marry Lord Cho, so happy. But now all you can feel is dread for the next time you will see him, because while you know the answer you will give him must be in the affirmative, you know that you won’t be happy with it. 

When did you start feeling this way about Beomgyu? When did you start liking him beyond just the basic acquaintanceship, then the tentative friendship? When did you start wondering, however subconsciously, whether you could live a life with him that wouldn’t just be filled with screaming and arguments? It wasn’t just the kiss. That may have been the final straw. But you know yourself, and you must be honest with yourself right now, and you know that that wasn’t when it all started. 

Maybe it will begin to make sense if you try to speak of it.

You choose your words very carefully. “I may receive a proposal in a short time.”

Soyoung’s entire face lights up. “Oh, truly? That is wonderful!” Her voice feels brighter than the candle and it makes you head hurt a little. “I was honestly expecting it since you’d been spending so much time with him, but now that Mr. Choi has all but confirmed it—”

Mr. Choi?

“Soyoung.” You interrupt her excited exclamation, a very strange feeling in your stomach. “Soyoung, why do you think it was Mr. Choi?”

She stops midway through a word, her mouth still open like she plans to finish it. You watch her open and close it several times in the ensuing silence, her expression morphing into confusion. “Is it not?” she finally asks. Her voice is much smaller.

“No.” You shake your head. “It was Lord Cho.”

“…Oh.” She doesn’t sound so enthused about him, and that reaction just intensifies the strange, sick feeling still roiling in your stomach. 

You two sit in silence for a moment. Soyoung’s hand has gone slack, but you can’t find it in you to take your embroidery back. You probably wouldn’t even be able to do anything with it even if you had it—at least nothing beyond stabbing yourself another five times on accident. “Do you not like Lord Cho?” you eventually ask, though you’re not sure you want to hear the answer. 

“It’s not that I don’t like him!” Soyoung frantically shakes her head. “He seems to be a nice man. But that one time he asked about Mr. Choi…”

You remember that moment and how uncomfortable it was. How cornered you felt, how the intensity in Lord Cho’s voice and eyes made you tense up in…not fear, not exactly, but wariness at the least. You didn’t enjoy that conversation even after the tension was cut. Soyoung was there and confirmed then and now that whatever that was, it wasn’t normal. 

But it only happened once. Lord Cho has never given you any reason to be wary of him since, and if it weren’t for Beomgyu’s insistence that you remain on your guard you’d probably have relaxed around him entirely by now. He wouldn’t hurt you, you’re sure. At least not in the way that Mr. Thompson would. And anyway, it is entirely understandable that one suitor might be wary or want to know more about another. While you may not have appreciated the way Lord Cho went about to get that information, you think you can understand why he did it. 

So why does Soyoung still have so many apprehensions?

“It was only one time,” you say, uneasy. “You’ve been with me and him before. He hasn’t done anything strange since.”

“Yes, but…” Soyoung looks down, fiddling with her needle and a little bit of thread. “I don’t know. You do seem happy around him. He seems to be a good man. You would likely be very happy if you married him.”

For all the certainty of Soyoung’s words, her voice only thinly hides a current of wariness just beneath the surface. You debate for a moment whether or not to press her on the topic—have her explain why she dislikes Lord Cho so. But you decide not to. She doesn’t seem to know herself. 

It reminds you of Beomgyu, when he was trying to explain the same thing to you. 

You return to your original question. “Why did you think it was Mr. Choi?”

“Well, you just…you just always seemed so happy around him. Not always in the beginning, but even then, you were always…yourself.” She glances around the room like she’s afraid someone else will hear. “Even when you were arguing. You didn’t try to hide that part of yourself like you would have around others. And when you were just talking with him, your smiles were genuine. You didn’t try to be pretty around him the way you do with Lord Cho. Especially recently, whenever you look at him…I don’t know. You look at him like he’s the only one in the room."

The sick feeling in your stomach intensifies. You feel like you might throw up. 

“And he looks at you the same way,” Soyoung continues, apparently oblivious to your growing sense of dread. “He didn’t do it before but now he’s always smiling, even when you two argue. It seems like he’s not arguing with you to hurt you anymore. It’s more like…he just wants to keep talking to you. No matter what.” She pauses, and then her voice lowers. “He gave you gloves.”

Stricken, you can barely even nod to confirm her statement. 

“I don’t know who would perform such a gesture for anyone they didn’t love,” Soyoung says, almost as though she’s in awe. “When I saw that, I just…I thought there was no way he didn’t love you then.”

You seriously might throw up. You—you tricked her. You tricked Soyoung. You tricked the whole ton—you knew you would, that was the entire plan, but somehow, hearing it from Soyoung, one of your closest friends, that she really thought you were in love…

Suddenly you can’t stand it. 

“It wasn’t real.” You force the words out one by one, horrible relief coating your voice as Soyoung’s eyes widen. “None of it was real, Soyoung.” In as few sentences as you can, you tell her about the deal, about how you two conspired to trick the ton for the sake of winning you more suitors and discouraging his small army of followers, about how it succeeded. You don’t say anything about the kiss. You don’t say anything about being friends. 

You don’t say anything about the sick feeling in your stomach that rose to your chest when she said there was no way he didn’t love you. 

After you finish, silence descends upon the table. The candle burns low but you can’t move yourself to replace it, just watch the wax melt slowly, slowly, until the moon provides more light than the flame. Soyoung switches between staring at the candle and staring at you. She doesn’t say anything. 

“You can’t tell anyone,” you finally say, the warning rough in your throat. “I’m serious, Soyoung.”

She blinks. Shakes her head slightly, like shaking off a daze. “Of course I won’t,” she replies, and you immediately feel bad about doubting her. “I’m sorry. I just—it seemed so real.” She shakes her head again and you can’t tell if the disappointment in that movement is directed towards you or the situation at hand. Maybe both. “If I didn’t know that you would never lie to me, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

The room is too stifling. Too hot. Never mind that there’s only one candle barely burning and you’re wrapped in a blanket. You rise from your seat on stiff legs to open the window. The sudden burst of cold air hits you like a hammer and forces you to think. 

Soyoung’s words made you feel sick because they were true—at least on your end. You can say nothing about Beomgyu and how he feels. But it is true that you haven’t really felt that you had to hide anything around him. It’s just as he said before, as yourself have thought before—you’ve seen the worst of him and he’s seen the worst of you. There isn’t much left to hide if anything at all. You think less about your words, care less about your appearance—you certainly feel freer around him, more able to express yourself than around anyone else. 

You swallow. Soyoung said you never tried to be “pretty” around him, like you did with Lord Cho. You unfortunately do have an idea of what she means. To nearly everyone in the ton, you are just a pretty face with no dowry to accompany it, which means you’ve had to rely on that pretty face to get you where you need to be. It’s not extremely effective, which tells you exactly what you need to know about how much money is valued in this society, but that’s not the point. The point is that you’ve never been able to let that pretty little façade drop around anyone, because that is your main selling feature. Your beauty. 

Only you don’t have to hold that façade up around Beomgyu. 

Against your will, the kiss comes back to mind. Cool air rushes over your face but even then, your cheeks start to warm with the memory. God. None of this would have happened if you hadn’t been idiotic enough to go down that train of thought with a man with whom you were about to separate in just a few short weeks. Instead, you got caught up in the moment, had your first kiss, dreamed about it for days (and unfortunately you are still dreaming of it), and then begged him to be your friend so you at least wouldn’t have to stop seeing him ever again. What kind of idiot does that?

An idiot in love. 

You grip the blanket tighter around your shoulders. Maybe you really are in love with him. 

The heavens really must be having a good laugh at you right now. 

“Miss L/N?” Soyoung’s voice brings you back to earth, the call of your name soft and uncertain. “Are you all right? It’s quite cold.”

You look down and realize that for all you felt stifled before, you’re now shivering under the blanket. You let Soyoung help you close the window and light a new candle. The flame dances cheerfully in the dark, a stark contrast to the emotions sitting in a solid, tangled lump behind your chest. 

“Don’t tell anyone,” you say again, voice far more ragged than before. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

“I won’t,” Soyoung promises. “On my honor, I won’t.”

That reminds you of another oath taken on someone else’s honor. An oath of silence when that person found out your deepest secret, the cracked and swollen secret hidden behind a thin layer of cotton fabric. 

You love him. You don’t love him. You might love him. The three statements bounce off the corners of your skull. Two of them are lies and only one of them you know for certain. 

“If Lord Cho proposes,” you mumble, “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Soyoung looks at you sympathetically. “Miss L/N, I’m sure that when the time comes, you will do what is best for you.” The certainty in her voice only makes you feel a little better. 

Silence falls save for the clicking of needles and rustling of cloth. Soyoung doesn’t say anything more, and you stab yourself another five times before you finally give up and go to sleep.

. . . . .

Beomgyu shouldn’t have come tonight. 

Objectively, there is nothing wrong. The Haynesworths always host good parties, if not particularly interesting ones, and Beomgyu sees nothing to complain about this ball right now. Anyway, even if he did, it’s only their second year holding a ball for the ton. Flubs would be understandable and Beomgyu won’t insult them for it. But there are no flubs. The music is pleasant. The food is good. The decorations are nice.

What is wrong, however, is the fact that you have been attached to Lord Cho’s side the entire night. 

He arrived late, which wasn’t his fault—dinner with Kai, who just returned to London, took longer than expected. By the time he stepped into the ballroom, Kai at his side, you were already busily conversing with Lord Cho. The sight annoyed him slightly, but Kai was there and he didn’t want to ruin his friend’s night so he tried not to react. It didn’t matter—he would just find some other time to talk with you, and maybe dance. 

It's been just over three hours and Beomgyu has still not been able to speak to you once. 

He really thought it was just coincidence and bad timing during the first hour or so. Fine. Normal. Beomgyu came late and you kept getting whisked onto the dance floor by one person or another in between very long conversations with Lord Cho, so Beomgyu tucked himself away with Taehyun and Kai and caught up with his friend’s inheritance issues some more. He took to the dance floor a few times and enjoyed himself well enough. 

By the second hour, however, he was starting to suspect Lord Cho was keeping you sequestered away on purpose. 

It can’t just be coincidence that every time Beomgyu leaves the dance floor, you and Lord Cho are deep in conversation on the entire other side of the ballroom. It can’t just be bad timing that every time Beomgyu tries to make eye contact with you, Lord Cho hands you another glass of lemonade or guides you to another area of the room. As the second hour passes and the third hour rolls around, Beomgyu is grinding his teeth visibly and Kai is starting to look slightly concerned. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Beomgyu hears Kai whisper. 

“I don’t know.” Taehyun shrugs. “What’s wrong with you, Beomgyu?”

Beomgyu does not answer. You just laughed at something Lord Cho said, and he feels vaguely sick. 

“Ah.” Taehyun has apparently come to a conclusion even without Beomgyu saying anything. “He’s jealous.”

Kai frowns. “Jealous?” he asks, at the same time Beomgyu snaps, “I’m not jealous.” 

Taehyun ignores him, which he’s had ample practice with since they went to school together for almost ten years. It does not make Beomgyu feel any better. “Beomgyu here used to have a mortal enemy,” he says sagely, as though Kai isn’t completely aware of the previous animosity between the two of you. “That used to be Miss L/N over there.”

“…I’m aware.” Kai looks even more confused. “Why is he jealous of her?”

“I’m not—”

“They started courting this season,” Taehyun says, evil delight coating his every word as an irritatingly pleasant expression remains on his face. “Apparently they’ve put their past behind them, or something. They’ve become quite attached at the hip especially recently, but because Miss L/N is quite beautiful, of course she has other suitors trying to win her hand.” He gestures slightly at you. “Voila, Beomgyu is very jealous of Lord Cho.”

“…Just how much did you omit from your letters when I was abroad?”

“Quite a bit. Sometimes, telling stories via letter just isn’t as impactful as telling them in person.” Taehyun is still wearing that easy smile and Beomgyu is feeling the growing urge to punch it off his face. “Beomgyu, if you keep glaring at Lord Cho like that, you’re going to bore a hole in his head. Not to mention Whistledown will be scribbling terrible notes with her feathered pen to round out the gossip papers in a few days.”

With effort, Beomgyu looks away from Lord Cho. He still feels vaguely sick—his throat feels tight for some reason—so he takes a sip from his glass. “I’m not glaring at him,” he snaps. 

“You’re not now,” Taehyun agrees. “But you were.”

Beomgyu nearly screams. 

“Is there something wrong with Lord Cho?” Kai asks timidly. “You seem to hate him a lot more than you would if he was just a suitor.”

God, Beomgyu doesn’t want to go into this again. “I don’t like him,” he snaps with finality. “It isn’t just because he’s trying to court Miss L/N. He feels strange to me, and I don’t trust him. I wish I could tell you why.”

Kai looks at him strangely. “If I didn’t know you better,” he says slowly, “I’d say you were in love with the girl.”

Buzzing fills Beomgyu’s ears. The orchestra fades into white noise, the lights of the room suddenly too bright and loud against his eyes. Love, Kai had said. He didn’t hear wrong. He said the word love. And he said that Beomgyu was in love with you. 

Beomgyu blinks rapidly. Some of the spots clear out of his eyes but everything still seems too bright. “I beg your pardon.”

Taehyun steps forward, the previous humor drained from his expression. “Beomgyu,” he says quietly. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Of course.” The room is too bright and his head vaguely feels like it’s spinning and his stomach just dropped to his feet, but he’s fine. Completely fine. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Some of the sardonicism returns to Taehyun’s face. “I don’t know, maybe because when Kai said you might be in love with Miss L/N your entire face turned pale and you looked like you were about to keel over right then and there.”

Lies. Slander. There’s no way Beomgyu looked like that. “I’m not in love with Miss L/N,” he says emphatically, but even though that’s supposed to be true, every single word sounded wrong. 

“Then why do you care so much about her?” Taehyun presses. “Let us assume Lord Cho does not have the lady’s best interests at heart. I will grant it is normal to be concerned. But to stare at them for nearly three hours wearing that expression on your face?” He waves a hand at Beomgyu. “That is hardly expected of anyone.”

“Well, she’s not a monster,” Beomgyu snaps. “Of course I should care.”

“You used to talk about her like she was one,” Kai says, raising an eyebrow. “And Taehyun’s point wasn’t that you shouldn’t care. It’s that you care so much more for her than would be normal for an acquaintance or a friend who was simply concerned.”

Beomgyu flounders for a response. Taehyun takes the opportunity to go in for the kill. “So are you going to give us another reason why you are so jealous of Lord Cho you can’t even see straight?” he asks. “Or are we going to have to go with the very logical conclusion that you are in love with the girl, and resent him for keeping her away from you this entire evening?”

Almost involuntarily, Beomgyu glances across the room at you and Lord Cho. Several others have joined your group but you seem only to have eyes for him, standing close by with that bright, pretty smile on your face. Not once since an hour ago have you looked at Beomgyu. Not even once. 

Maybe…

Maybe it is jealousy. But if it’s jealousy, then where did it come from?

Against his will he recalls Soobin’s words from Lady Park’s gathering. 

“I realized that every moment I was away, I wanted to be with her. When I did not have her attention, I wanted it. When I was with her, I was happier than I believed I ever could be.”

“It would do you well to remember that the line between hatred and love can be a very fine line, indeed.”

Kai thinks he’s in love with you. Taehyun thinks the same. Soobin certainly seemed to be hinting at it. Beomgyu clutches his glass, feeling suddenly like the floor is tipping beneath his feet. Is he in love with you? Is he truly?

He blanches. The fact that he’s even considering their words says far more about him than he’d like to admit. 

“I need to go.” Beomgyu swallows hard and puts his half full glass on some empty tray. “To the washroom.” He doesn’t wait for a response before he starts pushing through the crowd. 

The washroom is quiet, empty. Beomgyu stands in front of the small basin and splashes water onto his face until he feels a little more alert. There’s a small mirror hung up above the basin and he looks into it, not really seeing his reflection, but contemplating it. 

These are the facts. Beomgyu likes you. He enjoys being your friend. At some point he disliked you very much, but most if not all of those feelings have disappeared. You are a good person. He is happy to know you. He is even happier that you have overturned your previous opinions about him, and that you like to be around him. He was upset at himself when he mentioned ending your courtship. He was overjoyed when you said you didn’t want the friendship to end. 

And yet he still felt like something was missing, even with all that hope and joy fluttering in his chest. 

Beomgyu swallows. There are still more facts to sort out. He kissed you. He wanted to kiss you. It was the only kiss that had ever made him feel something more, the only kiss that had ever made him want more. He dreamed and still dreams about the kiss and he doesn’t know why. 

Or does he?

He takes a deep breath and lets it out quickly. Slowly, slowly, he forces himself to consider the fact that he may be in love with you.

It unfortunately explains a lot of things. 

The jealousy. The dislike of Lord Cho beyond the fact that he seemed only to view you as chattel to win in marriage. The fantasies about the kiss, the constant dreams where the kiss morphs into something more. The desire to be with you, to be the reason you smile and laugh. 

Beomgyu splashes more water on his face. He can’t do this right now—maybe can’t do it ever. He can’t face the facts or even try to make sense of them. He needs to get out of here or else he’ll go insane. 

He wipes his hand on the roller towel and leaves the washroom. Kai and Taehyun are nowhere to be seen, which is annoying because he really should tell him he’s planning to leave. Beomgyu wades into the fray again, searching the crowd for his friends, but then his eye catches someone else’s. 

Lord Cho’s. 

It seems as though he’s frozen in time. Lord Cho regards him with an impassive gaze, Beomgyu still rooted to his spot halfway across the ballroom. For a moment neither of them reacts. 

Then Lord Cho smirks. 

All at once there is nothing in Beomgyu’s mind except the desire to punch this man into the floor. Unfortunately, an ounce of sense remains—just enough for him to know that that would be a terrible idea, one that would land him in Wooyoung’s bad books forever and possibly even the town jail for a night or two. 

Besides, there’s another way he might wipe the smile off Lord Cho’s face for an hour or two. 

He pushes through the crowd with singular ease, beelining right for where you stand next to Lord Cho, listening to something a nearby gentleman is saying. The man’s words falter as he sees Beomgyu walking towards them, and when he does, you turn to see who he’s looking at and meet Beomgyu’s eyes. 

Beomgyu would dearly love to give Lord Cho the cut, but years of politeness in society force him to give the man at least a small nod in greeting before turning directly to you. “Miss L/N, we haven’t spoken all night.” He doesn’t wait for a response, only extends his hand. “May I have the next dance?”

. . . . .

The next dance is a waltz.

Which—normally wouldn’t be a problem. You have to get permission to take to the floor for this dance—with all of the touching and close holds, it is still considered extremely scandalous even several years after it was introduced to the ton. To dance it with anyone who isn’t a close relative or betrothed could be social suicide. You’ve never had an issue with this, though, because you’ve never been given permission to dance the waltz, and you’ve never bothered to ask. 

Though today, you do have permission. Your mother is friends with Mrs. Haynesworth. She extended that permission as a token of friendship with the invitation to tonight’s ball, and while it might have been nice to think about it, you never planned to use it. No one has proposed to you, even if Lord Cho seems close to it. You have no close male relatives with whom it would be acceptable to dance. It doesn’t matter—you’ve always sat out the waltz and you planned to do the same tonight. 

But now Beomgyu stands before you, his hand extended, his mouth smiling but his eyes sharp, burning with a fire you have never seen before. You have no idea if he knows what the next dance is. You have no idea why he’s looking at you as though no one else in the room exists. 

Some of Soyoung’s words come back to you, from several nights ago. “You look at him like he’s the only one in the room,” she had said. “And he looks at you the same way.”

Beomgyu asked you for a dance. Not just any dance, but the waltz. You don’t believe Beomgyu is an idiot. You don’t believe he would have asked for the next dance if it didn’t mean anything to him. Nothing he does in society is without reason. So if he is asking you to waltz…

A stupid, burgeoning hope starts to burn in your chest. Might Soyoung’s words be true? Might he be in love with you, the same way you might be in love with him?

It’s like you watch yourself place your hand in Beomgyu’s, watch from above as he smiles as you with the force of ten thousand suns as he leads you onto the ballroom floor. People are watching, whispering, but you seem to hear none of them as he bows and you curtsy. You feel light, almost like you’re floating on air—you don’t seem to have any weight as Beomgyu effortlessly spins you through the opening bars of the dance. 

Watching the waltz before, you had never quite understood why it is considered as scandalous as the old-fashioned mamas of the ton make it out to be. Sure, it involved some more close contact than usual, but other than that you couldn’t see much of a difference from the other dances. 

Dancing it now, though, you see exactly why the waltz could lead to social ruin. 

Beomgyu’s hand rests lower on your back, just beneath your shoulder blade. Your bodies are almost flush together. Your hand, gingerly placed before on his shoulder, has since slid down his arm, and when you turn to face him, his eyes are barely a few inches from yours.

Your breath catches. From the looks of it, Beomgyu realizes, and a little smirk begins to curl his lips. 

You hate how attractive you find it. 

He spins you out and catches your other hand before you manage to fly away. Even though several feet now separate you two instead of mere handsbreadths his fingers curl around yours, so strong and steady as he pulls you back into his dancing embrace. His eyes still hold a hint of that fire from before and in your burgeoning hope, you allow yourself to wonder if he was perhaps…jealous. Envious, maybe, that another man had your attentions for so long. While you don’t love jealousy, it does make your heart flutter to think that he might care about you enough to care about that. 

Truth be told, you had been trying to get away from Lord Cho for some time. The first hour was nice, and you hadn’t seen Beomgyu at all during that time so you weren’t bothered. But while you like Lord Cho, and his friends are fine, the moment you saw Beomgyu, you wanted to go to him. You tried to make excuses time and time again to leave but someone always struck up another vein of conversation with you or asked you to dance, or Lord Cho easily sidestepped your request and led you to another area of the room to speak to someone else. 

It wasn’t unpleasant. But even then, at some point, you wished you were elsewhere. Though you couldn’t have dreamed that you would end up here in Beomgyu’s arms, waltzing the night away. 

Beomgyu catches you in the crook of his arm and lowers you into a slight dip that has you staring directly into his eyes. Your arm wraps around his shoulder, half as part of the dance and half to steady yourself on your jelly-like legs, and you can’t help it when your heart races even faster. Beomgyu’s breath whispers over your lips and suddenly it reminds you of the kiss. You almost trip over his foot when he pulls you back up. 

Judging from the way Beomgyu’s eyes flutter down to your lips, you’d say you weren’t the only one feeling the same way. 

As the waltz begins to wind to a close, you feel your face getting hotter as Beomgyu spins you once, twice, three times. You feel like you’re flying—your toes barely skimming the floor, your skirts whirling around your legs—your feet follow the one-two-three rhythm of the waltz with ease, your slippers tapping merrily against the floor. The song ends but you still have that rhythm in your blood and Beomgyu seems to realize that because he spins you out as the orchestra finishes, letting the momentum carry you into your deep curtsy. 

When you stand up, you’re smiling like no tomorrow, and nothing, you think, could ever induce that smile to fall. 

A smattering of polite applause comes from the outskirts of the ballroom. The sound reminds you that you and Beomgyu are not, in fact, the only people here and you almost jump. Were it not for Beomgyu’s hand in yours, you might have. As it stands, though, your heart begins to pound as you look out at the sea of faces whose expressions range from astonished to horrified and everything in between. 

It hits you what you’ve just done, then—danced a waltz, the most scandalous dance in polite society, with a man who wasn’t a close relative or even your betrothed fiancé. You knew that when you accepted Beomgyu’s invitation, but somehow, now that it’s over, it all feels so much more real. 

But you trusted him. You trusted Beomgyu to know what the dance was, and to know what it would mean both to you and to the ton. And when you look up at him now, precious hope cradled close to your chest, you wonder if he will do what you have wanted him to since…well, almost since Lord Cho hinted at a question he might ask the next time you were in more private company. 

You wonder if Beomgyu will ask you to marry him. 

It is a small hope. Maybe even a futile one. But though you thought it impossible over the past week, when you first realized you desired it so, now you think that maybe it wasn’t so impossible after all. Not with the way he looked at you when he asked you to dance. Not with how he treated you as he spun you across the floor. Not with the way he looks at you now…

Right?

You look at Beomgyu. He does not look back at you. With his head turned just so, you can’t tell what expression is on his face. For the first time since the end of the dance, true unease prickles your chest. You trusted Beomgyu so completely to be right, to do right, but why won’t he now look at you? Now, when it is most important? 

“Beomgyu?” 

At the sound of his name, he starts. And then he does look at you. But where you expected to see love, trust, that same fire that burnt in his eyes throughout the entire dance, now he just looks…

Blank. 

You swallow hard as dread begins to creep up your spine. “Beomgyu,” you say quietly, hoping your words will jerk him out of whatever daze he’s in. “That was…that was a waltz.”

Some of the clouds clear from his glassy eyes but not in the way you expect. He still looks mostly blank, and a little shaken—panicky, even. He takes a deep breath that rattles around his chest in a way that you’re not sure you like. “So it was,” he says, and the subtle tremble in his words only unsettles you more. 

You dare to glance at the gathered crowd. Even more people are staring now, eyes glued on your figure as mouths whisper behind pastel fans. Your heart beats even faster but not with excitement—instead, you feel like you might throw up. “You’re lucky I had permission to waltz,” you say, forcing a certain lightness into your voice. “What would you have done if I didn’t?”

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, because Beomgyu looks down at your still-linked hands and immediately lets go. 

A chill travels up your spine. Your hand suddenly feels incredibly cold, even though you felt so warm just minutes ago—the heat of Beomgyu’s palm against yours suddenly ripped away, only the cooling silk of your gloves left to caress your skin. Your fingers curl into each other, nails pinching through silk to bite into your palms as you try to rein in your trembling. 

You expected a witty answer. After all, that’s what Beomgyu is—wit and intellect rolled into one annoyingly handsome person. But the longer you look at him, the longer he says nothing, and the more you begin to realize that you’re waiting for a response he isn’t going to give. 

“Beomgyu?” you ask, voice a little more pleading this time. His face looks pale now, his skin a little clammy, and his eyes, while trained on you, don’t seem to see anything at all. “Beomgyu, is something—” You reach out, touching his hand with the tips of your fingers, and he flinches. 

You drop your arm immediately. “…Is something wrong?” you finish quietly.

Buzzing fills your ears in the silence that follows. The entire room is too bright and your heart has crept into your throat. Beomgyu’s face is becoming blurry in your vision and you really, really hope that doesn’t mean tears are coming. “Beomgyu?” you try one last time. 

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns tail and pushes his way out of the room before you can react, almost running in his haste to get away. 

To get away from you. 

You stand there on the ballroom floor, alone, staring at the path he carved through the crowd when he left. He knocked one or two people over but you can hardly hear their grunts of pain over the buzzing in your ears. You’re starting to feel incredibly lightheaded and when you bring a hand up to touch your temple, one finger brushes against your eye and you feel the telltale wetness of tears. 

Damn. You’ve never cried in front of another person before, not to mention the entire ton. 

You look up to find every single person in the room staring right at you, and in that moment, two things hit you very suddenly. 

One. You are in love with Beomgyu Choi. 

Two. He just as good as left you at the altar. 

You suppress a hysterical laugh. As it stands, a strangled noise still manages to leave your lips as you contemplate the irony of it all. This is actually even worse than if he left you at the altar. At least then you would have been betrothed, and the blow to your reputation might have been softened by pity. Right now, though, you’re as good as ruined. A dirt poor, barely titled harlot who seduced an unmarried, unbetrothed gentleman into a waltz, only the most scandalous dance of the decade, and had the nerve to smile after it. 

Well, you certainly aren’t smiling now. 

The humiliation hits you hard and fast and the tears start flowing in earnest despite your attempts to blink them back. You were an idiot to believe Beomgyu could love you, an idiot to think he would ever want you beyond what any other man has ever wanted you for—your face, your beauty. You were an idiot to think anyone could ever want you for more than that. You were a fool, a bloody stupid fool, for thinking you might have been worth sacrificing his reputation for. 

You really trusted him. Trusted him, and his honor, because even when you hated him before you had never seen him act less than gentlemanly around anyone else. He kept your secret. He gave you gloves. You thought you could trust him and you fell in love, even, because of that trust. But now…

Embarrassment burns hot in your throat as you remember asking, practically begging him to be your friend. All because you couldn’t get a single stupid kiss out of your head. All because you held on to a stupid hope. All because you dared to want something more than you ever deserved to have—attachment. Care. Love. 

What an absolute fool you are. Just as your stepmother always said, you will never be worth such things. It was all you could do to try and secure a husband and look at where that got you. 

Desperation is a cruel mistress, and you are just another groveling subject at her feet. 

A choked noise rises from your throat and you clap a hand over your mouth to rein it in. Eyes burning with tears, you cut through the crowd just as Beomgyu did seconds or minutes or hours ago, fleeing into the night. No one follows. 

You find yourself in the Haynesworths’ rose garden. A small stone bench sits in a small clearing. The moon glows brightly overhead. It reminds you far too much of the night you struck a deal with the man who just left you on the ballroom floor. 

You sink to your knees in the grass and cry. 

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[the-fiction-witch]

Good News

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Flirty

Requested: can you also do one where yns father sold her off to Jack

I hummed to myself as I worked in my little patch of the garden, digging and planting little flowers. I saw my father approach and almost immediately I had a bad feeling about this. 

"Good News!" He gleamed, 

"Ohh?" I glared, 

"I have very good news for you dear."

"Oh? am I being shipped back to England?"

"Better."

"You're killing me?"

"Don't talk like that dear, it's good news."

"I stand by what I said." 

"I have found you a husband."

"This is terrible news." I sighed returning to my flowers, 

"Ohh for-" he sighed picking me up from the dirt and forcing me back to the house "You are to have a bath, wash and brush your hair, and put on your prettiest dress to meet your new husband."

"And what if I refuse him?" I asked as he threw me back into my room,

"You will not refuse him, it's already been agreed your dowry paid." he said "Clean. Now," he demanded shutting my door,

"What happened to me having a choice!" I yelled,

"You turn away ten suitors, you give me no choice you're marrying him." 

"UUuuuughhhhhh!" I yelled in frustration, I had a quick back and fixed my hair to the minimum my father would allow putting on my dull blue dress, nowhere near my best dress but I highly doubt this is anywhere near the best man. 

I went out and met with my father outside as he wore his good suit, I held my fan in my hand trying to both fan myself and hide myself from this whole situation.

"Straight." He demanded forcing my back straight, "And smile."

I rolled my eyes and forced a smile for him, 

"That's a good girl" he smiled kissing my head "Where is he?" he muttered, 

Luckily at that moment, the carriage came into view, I noticed immediately it was our carriage meaning Father sent it to pick him up rather than him coming to get me, well that's a red flag. 

Once the carriage stopped my mind ran through with who on earth my father could ever convince to marry me. And then he stepped out.

My eyes went wide, as I saw The Dr Jack Dawkins step out.

He hadn't even dressed up, in his usual attire hell he even still had blood on his sleeves! 

He was the new surgeon in town, we hadn't met yet I had just heard of him in passing and such,

I glared at my father and he just smiled back. 

"Miss Y/l/n" He smiled at me, 

"No." I snapped turning to go inside but my father stopped me and forced me back to my place, 

"Do excuse her Dr Dawkins, overcome with emotion."

"Yes ange-" I began but my father slapped my hand silencing me, 

"Shall we retire to the parlour for the celebratory drink?" he asked,

"That sounds lovely" He smiled, 

My father then forced me to walk with them.

I sat in my chair pouting as they discussed me as if I wasn't here. 

laughing and drinking between themselves, 

"I'll leave you two to... get acquainted." My father smirked before he left the room leaving us alone, 

"So? We're going to get married."

"It appears we are."

"I take it... you're not thrilled about this?" Dr. Dawkins asked,

"Should I be?"

"I thought every little girl dreamt of her wedding?"

"Not me." 

"Alright,"

"What are your intentions?"

"... to marry you, oldy enough."

"Why?"

"Why not? you're cheaper than a maid"

"How dare you!"

"Look, you're a maid, I don't have to pay, live in my house, and I can fuck. This is a win-win for me"

"I will make your life a living hell."

"So would every other woman."

"So you're just fine with marrying an unwilling woman?"

"I'm unwilling, your unwilling, most we can do is make the best of it." 

"And what am I meant to get out of this?"

"You'll be married so your father will stop bothering you, you get out of this house, bragging rights of having a well-renowned surgeon and doctor as your husband and given I work so much I'll barely be home so you can just... do whatever you want." 

"Fine." I sighed I wasn't happy about this but he had a point, my father would stop bugging me and as a doctor, he wouldn't really be around that much. "So you're a doctor?"

"Surgeon yes."

"Let me guess military?"

"Ex-Navy"

"That'll be why father likes you," I sighed, "So you'll be working at the hospital?"

"Six to ten most days." He nods "Eleven to five is all for you."

"Fine, you get days off?"

"If I'm not busy yes."

"time with friends?"

"Friday night down the cat and bagpipes"

"I'll allow it so long as you don't come home drunk enough to be hung over Saturday morning"

"...Alright." He nods

"Do you expect children from me?"

"Four."

"One."

"Three?"

"One."

"Two?"

"I'll allow two."

"Good, one needs to be a boy." 

"I'll see what I can do." I sighed, "One boy one girl?"

"I can find that agreeable." He nods, "social events?"

"Avoid at all costs."

"Well we agree on something." He smirked "You dance?"

"No."

"Thank god neither do I." he smiled "You cook? clean? laundry?"

"I'll cook and do laundry, you do dishes and handy work."

"Ohh no handy work is gonna be your forte."

"I meant fixing things."

"Ohh. Fine Anything you insist on in our home?"

"Give me a garden and I'll stay quiet."

"I can agree to that." He nodded getting up and coming over stroking my face, "Once we are married shall we start working on our baby?"

"I can agree to that Dr Dawkins."

"Just jack buttercup" he cooed giving my lips a soft sweet kiss, "Pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure to meet you too" I smiled 

[lykegenia]

So something has been bugging me for a while now about A and N’s backstories, and while I know not everyone will be as pedantic as me, as someone who loves history and has done a lot of writing, I feel that if you’re going to write a story about vampires and give them a specific time and date of origin, then there should be a certain level of research that goes into making that background authentic. I'm not saying that Mishka didn’t do any research. It just seems that in order to keep the vibe of a happy, mellow fantasy some of the less savoury aspects of A and N’s upbringings have been left out, and it's a shame. To be honest, it feels a bit disingenuous, and it feels like an opportunity got wasted.

Let me explain (long post got long, it's 2am)

Let's take A first, since the problem is simpler here.

A is the child of a Norman lord and an Anglo-Saxon noblewoman, born in the first generation after the Norman Conquest of England in 1066. A says that these were turbulent times but that their parents had a happy marriage. Which. While I’m sure a lot of unions in that time period made the best of it, I can’t help but feel this description strips away a lot of the context of what was going on at that point in history - and removes some of the complexity about A’s thoughts on love and relationships.

Basically, after he took control of the throne, William the Conqueror stripped many Anglo-Saxon lords of their lands and titles so he could give them to his Norman buddies instead - with the added bonus that it left the Anglo-Saxons without the means to raise armies against him. The sisters, daughters, and widows of the dispossessed Anglo-Saxons were then forced to marry these new Norman lords to legitimise their power, not infrequently after all of their male relatives had been slaughtered. It’s not as if Anglo-Saxon women weren’t used to being used as political chess pieces, but the years after the conquest were brutal. It’s why William had to build so many castles. The point that I’m trying to make is that even if A’s mother was content enough in her daily life, due to the power imbalance between her and her husband, it's very likely she had little choice in the matter. She may have seen a lot of her family killed for political reasons, with the knowledge that – in an age where women had very little protection outside of their paternal household – she might be next if she made too much of a fuss.

It would be fascinating to see what effect that tension has had on A 900 years later, or even to get an acknowledgement of how much times have changed, but we don’t. We don't see how their early years affected them, how they view relationships formed naturally instead of via political contracts. And I really, really wish we did. There is so much potential there.

But A is not the one keeping me up past 2 in the morning. It’s N, and the utter detachment their backstory seems to have from the period in history they lived in as a human. And it all stems from the fact that they came from the English nobility in the late 1600s.

See, the bulk of the problem is that English inheritance law at the time heavily favoured primogeniture, where a man’s wealth would go to his first-born son. Some dispensation was made for widows and other children, but the estates, assets, and most of the money had a very clear destination.

For one thing, this makes it kinda weird that N’s stepfather would have needed an heir before he could inherit, because except in extreme circumstances everything would have gone to him anyway. Don't get me wrong, this isn't the worst part of the problem, it’s just annoying when there are more plausible reasons for him marrying a woman already pregnant with another man’s child (old family friend wanting to save her from disgrace, needed the dowry to pay off gambling debts, there was a longstanding betrothal between them that would have been tricky to get out of, etc.).

No, the bigger problem with N’s backstory vs primogeniture is firstly that at the time the English aristocracy was racist af (still is tbh) and given his pretty obvious mixed-race heritage, no court would have agreed that Nate was a legitimate son (this is for a very special reason that we will be coming back to). I say Nate specifically here because primogeniture requires the eldest legitimate son. Nat wouldn’t have inherited at all, as women in that period passed from the guardianship of their father (or other male blood relative) into that of their husband after marriage, and only gained any kind of independence with widowhood. If N had been an only child, maybe they would have been treated as a special case, but unfortunately Milton exists: the eldest legitimate son who by law will inherit everything.

Now here’s the thing. Your average aristocrat in the 17th century is very obsessed with lineage and keeping the family line unbroken. He would not, therefore, send his legitimate heir to sea to be shot at or drowned before he can carry on the family name – that joy instead goes to any other sons who need their own profession, because again, they will get very little. Nat would have had a dowry, but would never have been expected to make her own living, so I'm going to focuson Nate for this next bit.

In Book 3, if you unlock his tragic backstory Nate tells you he joined the Royal Navy after Milton went missing so that he could go look for him. And, well. This is where his backstory as Mishka tells it completely falls apart. For two reasons:

1. Even in the modern day, you can’t ‘just’ join the Navy, and you certainly can’t just jump straight to being a lieutenant – it takes years of training and after a certain age they won’t take you because they won’t be able to mould you easily enough into a useful tool. For most of the Navy's history, the process was even more involved. It wasn’t an office job you could just rock up to and then quit if you felt like it, it was a lifetime commitment. Boys destined to be officers would be sent to sea as early as 12 to learn shipboard life, starting at the bottom and moving up the ranks. These were gained by passing exams and by purchasing a commission – which is why you generally had to come from wealth to be an officer at all. Once you get to lieutenant you're responsible for a lot of people, and might be tasked with commanding any captured ships alongside the daily running of yours - it was not an easy job.

2. Even as a lieutenant (one rank below Captain, with varying levels of seniority) it’s not like you can just go where you want. In the 1720s British colonies already existed in India, the Caribbean, and up the entire eastern seaboard of North America and into Canada, and the Navy was tasked with protecting merchant shipping along these seaways (and one trade in particular that we’ll be getting to, don’t worry). Nate could have ended up practically anywhere in the burgeoning empire. He would not have been able to choose whom he served under, and would not have been able to demand his superior officer go against orders from the admirality to chase down one lone vessel because he thinks another one of the admirals might be a bit dodgy. It could not have happened.

Besides these impracticalities, there’s a far easier way for the child of a wealthy man to get to a specific point on the far side of the globe to look for their lost sibling, which is the route I assume Nat took sine she couldn’t have joined the Navy (yes she could have snuck in but she’s specifically in a dress in the B2 mirror scene so). All they'd have to do would be to charter a ship and tell the captain where to go, which is the plot of Treasure Island. It's quicker, less fuss, with less chance of things going wrong. It's even possible in the age of mercantilism that the Sewells had some merchant vessels among their holdings that could be diverted for the task. Why go through the hassle of joining the Navy and potentially ending up on the wrong side of the world when you can just hire a ship directly?

If Nate does have to be in the Navy (and let’s face it, it’s worth it just for the uniform) then it's far more plausible is that, as the illegitimate son who would not inherit because of racism etc, he got sent to the Navy as a boy and rose through the ranks to become a lieutenant. When he got news of Milton’s disappearance not far from where he was stationed, he begged his captain to go investigate in case whatever happened turned out to be the symptom of a bigger problem. Like pirates.

I like this version better not just because it makes more sense, or because it keeps Nate’s situation re: inheritance closer to Nat’s and therefore makes their stories more equal, but also because it adds a delicious amount of guilt to Nate’s need to find his brother. We know his entire crew died looking for answers, because he was selfish – that’s roughly 100-400 lives lost because of him, and we know that sort of thing eats at him.

So that's one side of the story, but if Milton wasn’t in the Navy, what was he doing on the other side of the Atlantic in the first place? Well, this is where we come to the biggest elephant in the room regarding N’s backstory as a member of the 17th century English aristocracy and potentially as a naval officer: the Atlantic Slave Trade. If you are wealthy in 17th century Britain it's more than likely that your wealth comes either from the trade itself, or from the products made with the labour of enslaved people. If you are wealthy, you want to protect your assets from attack by pirates or foreign powers so you don't become less wealthy, and that is what the Navy is for.

Regardless of N’s own views on slavery at the time – and any subsequent changes in opinion – it’s likely their family owned or had shares in slave plantations in the Americas. As distasteful as it is, it makes far more sense that Milton was on a trip to check the family’s holdings when his ship - specifically a merchant vessel - went missing. From a pirate perspective, a merchant ship would make a much better target than a Navy vessel, being slower, more likely to have valuable cargo, and less likely to have marines or a well-trained broadside.

It's not surprising that Mishka left out the subject of the slave trade given her tendency to skirt around darker subjects and general blindspot for racial politics, but it is nuance that, if it was there, would create a more grounded and coherent backstory for N that doesn’t have quite so many holes. Like with A being the child of an invader and his war bride, we could get some deeper thoughts from N about their place in the world - How do they feel to have grown up so privileged when others who looked like them were regarded as literal property? How did they feel being part of the system that made it happen? Did it inform their compassionate nature? Is it still a source of guilt or someithng they've tried to make up for?

I'm not sure where I was going with all of this. It's late, my sleep pattern is fucked. The tl;dr is that giving the vampires' backstories historical context would make them feel more multifaceted and would give opportunities for character growth that are instead missed because of a desire for a more sanitized version of the past.

[dwollsadventures]

Orc (Modern)

Pig-like humanoids known for appearing in large hordes to unexpectedly attack settlements. Why they do this is strange. Orcs don’t need to do this for food or resources, as they are able to consume almost anything and don’t suffer from a lack of necessary resources in their homelands. Like pigs, orcs have litters of 8-10, but they have a very skewed sex ratio. For every 7 or 8 boys, there’s 1 girl.  This creates a surplus of males vying for a limited number of females, especially since orcs cannot have multiple paternities. Ordinarily boars fight over mates with their tusks. This may be why orcs originally developed tusks, but such competition won't create a harmonious society. Orcs can't have a human-like community if all the guys are fighting each other. Instead we have the raiding system. Before an orc man can marry an orc woman, he has to present her with a battle prize, something which demonstrates his prowess in combat and ability to survive dangerous situations. The cooler the treasure, the more dangerous the battle, the better the chances of marriage. But the purpose of this dowry isn't to bring back treasure, it's to kill surplus orcs. The majority will die far away from home and reduce the pool of bachelors. Anyone who does come back demonstrates their ability to survive and thus passes on good, strong genes to the next generation. It's a win-win... unless you're one of the many orcs who dies. Older orcs tend to be somber, morose, battle-hardened, while young orcs are energetic and enthusiastic to prove themselves. 

-Habitat: Habitat generalists. 

-Slayer Tactics: When fighting a large number of opponents, let their own size become your weapon. Lure them into a narrow space where those in the back cannot fight without hurting their companions. 

[everything-is-crab]

Whenever a femicide case occurs in India, first thing people question is the religion of the victim and the murderer.

Was the girl Hindu? She must be.

Was the guy Muslim? He must be.

Otherwise this case isn't worth debating about as an alarming social issue.

According to Hindu men, only Muslim men possess a threat to us. Femicide is a love jihad case. Not a patriarchal one that Hindu men are responsible for too.

After that recent incidence where a 16 year old girl in Delhi was killed by an adult male she was in a relationship with, people only cared that the guy was Muslim. Same for Shraddha Walker's case.

Nobody gave af that the people who witnessed the murder of the minor girl literally just walked away from the scene. Were those people Muslim too? Nobody gaf about how the police didn't take Shraddha seriously. Were they Muslim too?

Nobody gave af about the incidence in Thane where another minor girl was murdered by her brother when she had her first period. Nobody gave a fuck in 2021 when a husband murdered his wife on a main road in Delhi in broad daylight (and nobody stepped forward to save the woman) because she wanted to do a job and earn by herself.

Even now, another recent incidence in Mumbai that made the news where both the victim and murderer were Hindus, Hindu men are crying victim because the name of the man was revealed and according to them Muslim men's names aren't revealed (which we all know is a big fat lie but imagine feeling victimized when one of yours who murdered an innocent woman is publicly recognized).

Men of all kinds are sick and inhumane. They see that our lives are taken away by them when we choose to trust them as lovers, fathers, brothers or whatever (it's not stranger men attacking us). But the patriarchy doesn't exist. There must be some other politics like race or religion involved.

It is more important now than ever that Indian feminists start taking cases of femicide seriously considering the media talks only about these isolated cases that stand out most due to their disturbing descriptions of the crime and we don't have any idea about the stats because femicide isn't counted as a different crime (it comes under homicide). So many women get murdered or driven to death for marrying out of their religion,caste or for dowry related reasons. Our sex ratio isn't skewed just due to the female infanticide and sex selective abortion cases.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Ehi! In response to this post https://www.tumblr.com/nalyra-dreaming/762968771300392960/omg-i-have-a-strange-question-that-honestly-is I kind of have a theory:

Lestat is married off in his 20s (22?) to a woman with a large dowry that, of course, his relatives immediately squander. Instead of letting Lestat and his wife leave, the marquis keeps them at the estate to help the family, as Lestat is their provider (the wolves scene might happen slightly later, I say when Lestat is 25/26 instead of 21).

Thanks to Gabrielle, Lestat and Nicki run away when Lestat is 28/29, so in 1788/1789, right before the estate is raided and the family attacked. Lestat changes his name, and him and Nicki live a low profile life for a few months, until the revolution starts. At that point, Renaud’s theatre gets a new owner, and Lestat becomes an actor for the next five years before being abducted.

Gabrielle and the marquis escape the revolution and live in another part of the country until Gabrielle leaves to visit Lestat (assuming they’re in hiding, otherwise Gabrielle might go back to Italy while the marquis goes to America, or go with him, which would motivate why it takes her some time to reach Lestat). I think this change would set up a nice parallel too, with Louis watching his own gravestone after becoming a vampire and Lestat watching his gravestone after being “killed” during the French Revolution (or earlier, if the marquis had him die to cover his escape in front of the rest of society).

After the years traveling with Gabrielle, Lestat learns that his whole family was killed except for his father and that Gabrielle had been lying to him for years. The discovery leads to the fight, the separation, and to Lestat burying himself until Marius’ arrival.

Alternatively, instead of just Gabrielle and the marquis, a few more family members escape the revolution with them, and Gabrielle later learns the news that the little family they had left (except for the marquis) died during the napoleonic wars. Hiding this information would lead to the fight.

I’m not sure if it’s a valid or sensed theory, I kinda came up with it five minutes ago, lol. But I had to give myself an answer, since Lestat’s birth year stayed the same but the rest didn’t.

Thoughts?

Hey!

Cool theory :)

The first (two) parts is easily what I also envision. 🥰

I'm not so sure about Gabrielle and the Maquis being "singled" out for a while, if that makes sense?

I actually think that mayyyybeeeeee Gabrielle and the Maquis are going to be in Paris when the mob comes for them - and maybe Lestat can only save her. (That's my idea there^^)

I think Gabrielle's and Lestat's break-up should not be different to her reasonings in the book, though of course the family is also a big factor here. But I... think they should keep the difference in outlook there.

So, I do think your theories are very valid, definitely as valid as mine at this point *grins* (theorizing is so much fun^^) - cannot wait to see what "they" make of it :))))

Thank you for sharing your thoughts!!

[adarkrainbow]

Since you've explained the differences between the verse and prose versions of "Donkeyskin," I was wondering how Perrault's original verse version handles the issue of the king being "cured of his madness" and the princess forgiving him in the end. Based on the prose version, at least, it seems slightly astounding that father and daughter can so easily reconcile after his attempted incest. But knowing Perrault, I'll bet we can read an element of satire into it. At the very least, reconciling with her father has practical benefits for the princess – it confirms her royal heritage, so no one can object to her marriage to the prince, and it presumably gives her a dowry.

A most fascinating question!

Now, I have to say I haven't done the most thorough research when it comes to Donkeyskin (I can eventually go check some French scholar articles if you want), so I might very easily miss something.

In the prose version it is the prince's parents that insist for Donkeyskin's father to come, so that he can agree to the wedding (again because of this ancient rule according to which a daughter couldn't be wed without her father's consent) [Another interesting detail: in the prose version the Lilac fairy appears within the prince's palace BEFORE the parents insist for summoning Donkeyskin's father. Interesting when compared to the verse version, you'll see.] As a brief recap of the situation: the king is first invited, even though by an order of the Lilac fairy the invitation does not mention the identity of the bride. In the prose version the king arrives, and it is said he "forgot" his own disordered love and just married a "beautiful widow queen". And this is the prose version's solution for the "cure" of the king's madness: because remember, in the prose version, while he did felt a desire for his daughter, he was "excused"/"justified" by a pressure and manipulations from the political and religious power... As such the solution is easy: find a queen who is indeed more beautiful than the daughter, so as to "reorient" the desire towards another woman.

[The fact the prose version mentions that the king married in-between, thus "smothering" his incestuous desire, explains the basis of the final twist of Demy's movie, where the character of the Lilac fairy and the "beautiful widow queen" become one and the same, and thus her actions to protect her god-daughter become doubled by her own desire to seduce the king and become his wife.]

Anyway, let's check Perrault's original prose... In this version the whole "We MUST invite your father" is not present. After the wedding is decided, we are simply given a majestic demonstration of all the kings from all the four corners of the world being invited - Donkeyskin's father almost comes by accident, simply because the prince's father invited all of his neighbor-rulers. And unlike in the prose version... He never remarried. We still have a single king here. The fact the king never remarried brings an element of danger here - even if we admit he "killed" his incestuous desire, it means he still doesn't have an heir, except the prince of another kingdom, which means his crown will go to his family-in-law... And else, it also means he is still "available" and that the danger is not fully done. All in all this is one of the reasons the prose version decided to add a "widow queen" to the story, to avoid the worrying possibilities Perrault left open.

Now, about the actual topic of the incestuous love, Perrault writes that the king did get rid of it... Well almost. Not quite. Again with Perrault nothing is as easy as it seems. On a first glance it SEEMS it is done with because he writes "The father of the bride / Who had once been of her in love / But had time to purify the fires / That had burned his soul / He had banished from it all criminal desire / And of this odious flame / The few that remained in his soul / Only made stronger his paternal love". A casual first-time reading seems to go: The guy had time to wait, without his daughter in sight. He fought against his own incestuous desires, he purified his soul, and he rather focused onto his fatherly love in a healthy way. Aka, the incestuous desire was converted by the guy's willpower into a healthy fatherly love. Okay... But if we read closer, we see that there is still a possibility of danger because Perrault choses the metaphor of the father's "fatherly love" being fueled by "the few that remained of this odious flame". Aka yes, her father smothered the incestuous desire and converted it in a regular fatherhood... But he still has a tiny bit of the perverse desire within her. AND overall it just shows a full cycle. Already before it was his fatherly love that turned into an incestuous desire. Now the incestuous desire it reconverted into a fatherly love. But we see that within this guy's soul, the two are intrincately linked, and they are just two facets of a same coin: so there is still the danger of it returning... Especially since he doesn't have a new wife like in the prose version.

And this danger seems highlighted by another interesting change: the fairy godmother only appears AFTER the father and the daughter were reunited to tell the entire story. Or rather she arrives at the exact moment the two reunite... Which leads to quite interesting implications. In the prose version we can imagine this being sort of a private revelation that only the prince and his family know about ; but here, the fairy godmother makes the tale basically right in front of everybody on the wedding day... The poem only mentions the fact that the fairy godmother, by telling the story of Donkeyskin, "completes Donkeyskin's glory" (which is a meta-textual pun, as in story she makes the girl admirable by telling all that she suffered, but in a meta-textual level she is the storyteller who is telling the Donkeyskin fairytale and thus making it a "famous" story.) But when you consider how the things are organized, the fairy godmother (who always worked to prevent the incest to happen, even if she kind of failed pretty hard at her job) literaly pops up as the king and daughter "embrace" each other (in their arms) to start telling the story "Oh yeah, and do you all recall when your old man tried to marry you?". She is almost embarrassing in public the king, she is warning directly the parents-in-law of Donkeyskin about her father, and also seems to remind the girl to not so easily forget what she had to go through...

Mind you, I am definitively reading way too much into this. I am not saying this did not exist - no, these underlying texts did exist certainly, because again those tales were meant to be read, and re-read and re-re-read, and since they were really short each sentence was carefully crafted. But what I am saying is that these underlying texts were never meant to be the final end or the obvious message of the story. They are meant to be little asides and disquieting implications you notice afterward. But the main message is that Donkeyskin is now safe - because she is married. I haven't really stressed that, but in the worldbuilding and aesthetic and mindset of this tale, we are speaking of an incestuous MARRIAGE. I think it is important to insist because we are not in a Basile tale where sexuality exists as a thing in its own right... We are in a galant, courtly, noble poetry here - we speak of weddings as the very symbols of love and sex. The incestuous king isn't like a real-life incestuous father: the king was seeking his daughter as a bride for a wedding, and can't "touch" her or harm her in any way if she doesn't agree to be his bride. I think it is a fact we tend to forget due to how real this subject is and his grave it is in the real-world... But it is a fairytale world, a literary 17th century fairytale world, and so here we have almost Barbie dolls-like characters that don't have much of a sexuality, and where all sex is replaced by marriages. (In "folk" fairytales sexuality does exist since we are in an uncensored storytelling, but in the "salons" and classical 17th century fairytales, all sex was reduced to double-entendres or innuendos, if not completely removed - we are in a Disney logic where it is the wedding that makes the children.)

As such, Donkeyskin is meant to be "safe" from her father when he arrives because he might still be alone... but she is married. To the prince. She is "taken" and thus the king can't marry her as he intended - and since he can't marry her due to a union already existing, his lust can't touch her, even if it still exists, because again the old king lusts for a "bride" not just a random woman. If he can't marry her, he is not interested in her - at least not in a romantic/sexual way - and as such, it explains why the old king's incestuous love can turn/be converted into a fatherly love. He doesn't see her as a potential bride anymore, only as her daughter he must act as the father of during her wedding to another. (It is truly an oversimplified, censored Disney-logic, and yet when you think about it with modern eyes it becomes a twisted psychanalytic Oedipian mess equalling how deeply psychofucked-up Snow-White tends to get in modern media when it comes to familial relationships)

So long story short - yes Perrault slides cynical jokes and a touch of darkness. Not by saying Donkeyskin is still in danger of being raped by her father, no, her finding her prince (and her working hard to make sure the prince would marry her) means she saved herself from her father's incest by becoming someone else's wife and preventing any wedding. (In fact there is something to say about how the fairy godmother fails at protecting the princess from the incest by suggesting extravagant gifts and repulsive disguises ; while the princess herself finds the only actual way to truly save her, by winning the heart of another prince and marrying him) And again, we are not working within the real-life workings of incest, we are here in a fantasized, simplified, childish "fairytale" working of incest where it all relies on a wedding and outside of a marriage ceremony nothing can happen. But the cynicism and satire of Perrault here lies in the fact that he still points out how the king basically only "returned" to being a good father because he was frustrated in his incestuous desire. The dark joke is that Perrault points out how basically any father who is too loving can become an incestuous predator if they don't control their own passions, and how in those men dominated by their own desires, fatherly love and incestuous love are just two sides of the same coin. Hence the dark irony of the king using "what little remains" of his "incestuous flame" to "rekindle the fire" of his healthy fatherly love...

Perrault was part of the Jansenite world of religious thinking. There's a lot of studies about Jansenite messages throughout his fairytales, but one of the recurring trends in it is how he depicts a world where humans turn into monsters because they are dominated by their emotions and desires to a point of destruction of all norms. This is why we have the predatory figures of the Wolf or of the Ogre(ss), and the vile figures of the wicked mother in "Diamonds and Toads" and wicked stepmother in "Cinderella". It is the whole point of showing what happens when men let their lust and gluttony turn them into beasts, and when women become abusers and self-destroyers when they allow pride and greed to dictate their behavior... But I digress.

A final point I could make about the verse Donkeyskin and how there's an implicaton of the king still being the hypocrite that he is... When the king sees her again he shouts great cries of emotions "Blessed be the Heavens who allow me to see you again, my dear child!", and he has this very obvious gestures of affection - he runs to take her in his arms, and he "cries with joy". This is of course meant to be placed in parallel with the beginning of the tale where the king is also depicted as having great cries of emotions and lots of tears and gestures of pain, in front of his wife's deadly sickness. Except in the beginning the narrator explicitely points out that when a man is grieving so hard and so intensely, it is usually because he wants to be rid of the chore as soon as possible and make all the needed rituals as fast as can be, to move on to something else... Which is proven when he also immediately wants to marry again once his wife is dead and buried. So here, Perrault implies a sort of same "fakeness" of the emotions by having the king be so expressive and dramatical in his reunion with his daughter... The same way he promised to his dying wife with teary eyes he would never be able to love again....

[fantasyescapes17]

Scandal (Part 3)

The Viscount's sister with an enormous dowry, beauty and unmistakable talent- you began the London season as the most desired woman in any room. But Jeon Wonwoo (a man who would rather hide in the library than dance at a ball) is beyond your comprehension. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but it embroiled you into a scandal with a man you could never love.

Genre: Wonwoo x Female!reader. Regency!AU (It's sort of Bridgerton-esque in the sense that I give zero attention to historical accuracy and prioritize aesthetics lmao) You are Joshua's sibling so your maiden name is Hong but the reader has no other physical characteristics.

Warnings: This part has some discussion around character(s) struggling with mental health and dark thoughts including one or two which are not explicitly (but could maybe be perceived as borderline) suicidal.

Word Count: 7k+

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Series Masterlist [Reading Candle and Manners, the earlier installments in this series first is strongly recommended as main character dynamics are introduced there.]

The Jeons' countryside estate was vast and spacious. Mr. Jeon Wonwoo was the eldest son of a rich noble family and although his wealth could not compare to the fortune possessed by a Viscount- it was still nothing to sneer at. The Jeon manor towered over a lake and was surrounded by a pleasant little garden and blooming green fields.  

It was more remote than you had expected. The estate was followed by swathes of farmland and the nearest village was well over a mile away. 

It was late evening by the time your carriage rattled up to the front entrance. 

Mr. Jeon helped you down and you were greeted immediately by a host of servants that lined up outside the front gates upon your arrival. The head housekeeper hurried forward to greet you; she was an older woman with greying hair and a kind smile. 

"Mr. Jeon!" she welcomed him warmly.

You looked at Mr. Jeon from the corner of your eye, and were shocked to see him give her a small smile. You had never seen him smile other than a mere dispassionate curl of his lip or a smirk. 

This was a genuine, warm smile. 

"Mrs. Betsy. It is really wonderful to see you looking so well," Mr. Jeon greeted her kindly before turning to you. "This is Mrs. Betsy- she has been the head housekeeper at the estate since before I was born."

You nodded simply. "Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Betsy."

She beamed at you. You realised immediately from the warm reception and big smile on her face that she had no idea of the circumstances of your wedding. The household staff were evidently under the impression your marriage with Mr. Jeon was… normal. 

"We always knew Mr. Jeon would find a young lady that could persuade him to marry," Mrs. Betsy gushed as she took Snowball from your arms and led you up the entrance stairs. "Of course- I never imagined- is it quite true, madam, that your brother is a Viscount?"

Mr. Jeon was not far behind and he cleared his throat. 

"Mrs. Betsy…" he said in a gentle warning tone. 

The housekeeper blushed. 

"My apologies, Mrs. Jeon. We are merely curious about the young lady that could capture our master's heart. Supper is ready; you must both be very tired from the long journey. I will show you up to your rooms and the ladies' maids will help you dress."

You were guided by the ladies' maids into a large bedroom that was beautifully decorated. The pastel-colored linens were fresh and the dressing table was ornate, spotless, and filled with everything you could need. 

Two maids worked quickly to help you dress for supper. 

"We have placed you in the master suite since the elder Mr. and Mrs. Jeon are settled year-round in London and rarely come down to the country," the maid informed you as she swiftly did your hair. "Mr. Jeon Wonwoo's room is adjacent and…" she trailed off and let out a giggle. "There is a connecting door between your rooms."

You looked towards the door and sighed in relief. 

Thank goodness. You would have preferred the bedrooms to be entirely separate, but that was wishful thinking. At least the servants did not expect you to share a bedroom with your new husband. A connecting door could easily be closed and you and Mr. Jeon could each retain your privacy. 

Once you had been allowed to change into an evening dress, you were guided down to supper by the maids. To your surprise, they turned away from the enormous dining room and instead led you into the garden. Underneath a large oak tree, the household staff had set up a small, intimate table, two chairs, and a number of twinkling candles. 

You swallowed nervously as all the servants left. 

Mr. Jeon stood and pulled out a chair for you. 

"I apologise if you are uncomfortable," he said quietly as you sat down and he took the seat across from you. "Mrs. Betsy took it upon herself to arrange what she believed would be a… romantic supper for our wedding night."

"She seems very thoughtful," you mumbled. 

Mr. Jeon nodded. "I did not think you would want me to inform the servants about the particulars of our marriage. They are unaware. But if this is uncomfortable for you, and you wish for me to ask them not to overstep-"

You shook your head. "It is fine."

Mr. Jeon relaxed into his seat. The distant chirping of crickets filled the silence of the evening. It would have been a very romantic dinner if the circumstances had been different. If you had actually married this man out of love, or at the very least some mutual admiration. The serenity of the garden at night, the way the candlelight cast teasing shadows over Mr. Jeon's sharp jawline and dark eyes….

He  reached across you to seize the bottle of wine on the table, and uncorked it in one fluid movement. 

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to your empty glass. 

"That is…" inappropriate, you caught yourself about to say. But it was not. You were alone in your home having supper with your husband. A little alcohol in his presence was nothing unusual or improper. "Yes," you corrected yourself. "Yes, please."

He poured you a glass and gave it to you silently. You sipped the wine and took a deep breath. 

"Mr. Jeon-"

He interrupted you. "You are free to address me by my given name. The servants will consider it strange indeed if you continue to call me Mr. Jeon in our home."

You bit your lip. Enough boundaries had been crossed between you both for one day, in your opinion. Intimacy of that level would not come easily. 

"Perhaps… in time."

Mr. Jeon blinked in surprise but did not press the point. He poured himself a glass of wine and sipped it quietly. You looked at the delicious food and then at the silent, brooding man sitting across from you. 

It was pointless to expect him to make conversation- you knew Mr. Jeon better than that. He was perfectly comfortable with silence. 

"Did you grow up here?" you asked lightly. 

He nodded. "Yes; my sister and I spent our childhood at this estate until I left for my schooling at Oxford."

"The housekeeper seems to know you well."

"She does."

The conversation died out. There was nothing left to do but sip your wine. The glass was soon empty and Mr. Jeon watched-but made no comment- when you reached for the bottle and poured yourself a second glass. 

Once the second glass had been duly ingested in silence, you could feel the light buzzing in your head and your tongue felt looser. 

"Of all the things I imagined about my future since I was a child," you began slowly, prodding at your half-finished  plate with a fork. "I could never have imagined that my wedding night would be like this."

Mr. Jeon raised an eyebrow. 

"Did you spend a lot of time as a child imagining your wedding night?"

You gave him a sharp look. "You are a man. What would you understand about what a young girl thinks about? Marriage is the singular most important event in a woman's life. Everything she does from the moment she is old enough to speak is all leading up to the eventuality of her marriage."

Mr. Jeon was silent. 

"Learn French, Latin and Greek- practice drawing, dress impeccably, smile the right way, practise the art of engaging conversation-" you trailed off and raised an eyebrow at your husband. "I am quite sure nobody has ever asked you to practise the art of engaging conversation, Mr. Jeon."

"Perhaps not," he remarked lightly. 

"I did it all. Every bit of it. Years of lessons, and practice and training to ensure that I was the most desirable young lady in the room. You might call it vanity, Mr. Jeon. But that is what young women are taught to value. Their beauty, their talents and their virtue."

"You still possess all those things," he told you quietly. 

"Yes," you said with a dry laugh. "And now I have no need of them. They are the most useless things in the world to me. They failed to protect me. For all their worth, they could not protect me from complete societal ruin caused by a momentary lapse of judgement."

Mr. Jeon's silence continued. 

"But," you said with a sigh. Your head was beginning to ache. "Of course, this is a waste of time. I will hardly find a sympathetic ear in you, Mr Jeon- a man who considers me so vain and spoiled that he believes I intentionally make my friends cry by attempting to outshine them at the piano."

"That is not-"

"And for your information," you cut him off with a frown. "I was not trying to make Miss Brooke feel inferior by playing the most difficult piece I knew. Miss Brooke was the last thing on my mind.  I was trying to flirt with you. All my attempts that evening had fallen quite flat and I thought at least an impressive performance on the piano would make you pay attention to me."

Mr. Jeon's ears had turned pink. He pressed his lips together and gently took your empty wine glass away from you. 

"I think perhaps you have had too much wine," he said softly. 

You bristled at the suggestion. 

"You need not worry, Mr. Jeon. I am under no delusion that I might have any impact on you. You are perfectly welcome to sleep in your own bedroom and go about your own business and seek… pleasure elsewhere, if you so choose. Please do not feel any compulsion to cater to my vanity. It is quite clear to me that our happiness is not to be found in each other."

His expression was unreadable. He swiftly corked the wine bottle and stood up.

"I think we had best retire for the night."

"That sounds excellent," you replied. You stood too quickly. Your legs felt shaky, but Mr. Jeon was by your side immediately and took your arm to steady you. 

"Careful-"

"I am fine," you mumbled. Your senses were flooded with Mr. Jeon all at once- his large, warm hands grasping your bare arms and his soothing scent invading your thoughts. You looked up at him. His dark eyes were watching you with a tinge of worry. 

"You will fall, if you are not careful-" he pressed. 

"I am fine. I can walk, thank you."

He released you. You stepped away from him and went upstairs to your personal bedroom, where you ordered the surprised ladies' maids to leave you alone before locking the connecting door between your bedrooms. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------

If the lack of marital relations on your wedding night did not make it abundantly clear to the household staff that something was wrong with your marriage, then your continued distance from your husband over the next few months was more than sufficient to send the message. 

Wonwoo threw himself into handling business and matters of the estate. His reasoning (though he never said so) seemed to be that the less you saw or spoke to each other, the less chance there was for conflict or arguments. He spent long periods of time away from home handling these ‘matters of the estate’ that you were told little about. On the rare occasions that he was at the manor, he locked himself in his study for hours on end. Sometimes it felt like you lived alone with the housekeepers and maids. 

There was nothing to do.  You were simply alone for the most part with nobody but Snowball and your increasingly melancholy thoughts to keep you company. 

Mrs. Betsy tried, the kind soul. She showed you the large library and persuaded you to take walks in the garden and engaged you in light conversation. She even insisted you accompany her on her weekly trip down to the village to buy supplies; but you found little pleasure in the activity. The villagers seemed wary of you and everyone involved appeared to think that the new wife of the local nobleman had no business walking around the vegetable market. 

Endless days turned to weeks and months. 

Nothing interested you. You received letters often; from Joshua, the Viscountess, your mother, and even Ella. But gossip from London was only a dull reminder of the life you had left behind. News that would have excited the old Miss Hong had almost no impact on the new Mrs. Jeon. Your responses to them were rare and brief. What could you even write about? There was nothing to report. Every day was exactly the same. 

Being alone with your thoughts was the worst part of this. Snowball was, of course, your companion- but his inability to converse or comprehend your emotions meant that even his presence could not drag you out of the downward spiral that you found yourself falling into. You were at the mercy of your own thoughts night and day. 

Was this life? Was this how it was to be? 

What were you even living for? 

The question cropped up in your mind often and you contemplated it deeply; not out of despair but as a genuine, genuine curiosity. You could not return to London society, but at the same time, you had no purpose here. You were married to a man who did not care to speak to you. Indeed, you were nothing more than a burden to Mr. Jeon Wonwoo. You ate the food he provided and sat in his drawing room and lived in his home without providing anything in return.

His home. 

For although the months passed, it only became increasingly clear to you that no length of time would ever make this place your home. 

You sat absently at the fireplace one evening, wrapped in a warm blanket and staring into the crackling fire while lost in your grim contemplations when Mr. Jeon entered the room. 

Snowball ran to greet him; the little Pomeranian had warmed up to your husband early on in your marriage. He gave her a little pat before turning to you.

“Have you had supper?” he asked you. 

You nodded. 

“Mrs. Betsy says that you have not moved from that chair all day,” he said slowly. You looked up at him. Mr. Jeon was in his riding clothes. He had evidently just returned from a journey. You did not know where he had been. His dark hair was tousled and his jaw clenched tightly. 

You blinked. “My apologies. Was I expected elsewhere?”

He stiffened. “No, I did not mean- are you well? The village has a doctor and if he is not competent enough, then we can send for one from the next town over.” 

“I am not ill.” 

“But you do not look healthy. When was the last time you left the manor?” 

The question should have made you angry. If you had been the same person you were before marrying Mr. Jeon, you might have issued a sharp retort about how your movements (or lack thereof) were none of his concern considering that he certainly told you nothing of his coming-and-going. 

But the anger would not manifest. It was as though the part of you that pressed the trigger on your characteristically quick temper had gone completely numb. 

“Two days ago,” you answered his question simply. “I took a walk about the gardens.” 

“I have told you before that if you wish to go anywhere, the carriage is always at your disposal,” he continued. “You need only inform the butler and he will have it brought out for you.” 

“I am aware.” 

You saw a flicker in his eyes; it was a brief flash of something that you could not place. A mixture of realisation, despair or perhaps even frustration. Mr. Jeon had always been a closed book to you. Living with him for months had done nothing to make his silences or intense looks easier to comprehend. 

There was nothing you understood about this man that you had not already known on your wedding day. 

“I insist that you go down to the village with Mrs. Betsy tomorrow. The weather is supposed to be pleasant,” he said. 

“Very well.” 

Mr. Jeon stood there for a long moment, watching you in silence before he turned and left the room. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

Mrs. Betsy was always in good humour. You were surprised that despite your long silences and reserved demeanour towards her, she never ceased her attempts to engage you in pleasant conversation. There were entire days when her voice was the only cheerful one you heard. 

She rambled on eagerly about the seasons’ cabbage harvest as you walked around the market with her. Cabbages were not a topic that interested you; but then again, nothing seemed to pique your interest of late. You held Snowball’s leash loosely in your hand. The spoiled little pup refused to move past the butcher’s stall, so you paused to purchase a scrap of meat for him. 

“Miss! Could I pet your dog?” 

You turned and saw a young boy of barely eight or nine with a bright smile on his face eyeing Snowball. He was accompanied by an older woman who looked horrified. 

“Fred!” the woman scolded him sharply before offering you a clumsy curtsey. “My sincere apologies, Mrs. Jeon, I am afraid Fred is a little outspoken. I will ensure he does not trouble you again-” 

“Not at all,” you reassured her lightly. “It was polite of Fred to ask permission before approaching. You are welcome to pet Snowball, Fred. He is very friendly.” 

You did not say what you wanted to say- which was that this young boy was the first villager who had treated you in a friendly manner. You could not blame them for their wariness. Your husband was the local nobleman and controlled their livelihoods, so it was natural that they feared offending you. Fred, however, was delighted to kneel down in front of Snowball and scratch him behind the ears. 

“Are you his mother?” you asked the older woman who stood back and watched Fred anxiously. 

She shook her head quickly. “No, Mrs. Jeon. My name is Sister Lynn. I work with the orphanage."

“I did not know there was an orphanage in the village.” 

Mrs. Betsy spoke up brightly. "Indeed, there is. It is small but very well managed. Mr. Jeon's grandfather established it many decades ago. Even now, it survives almost entirely on donations from the Jeon family. There are about 11 children there currently and Sister Lynn runs it  single-handedly." 

Fred looked up at you with a toothy grin. "We have a dog at the orphanage as well! His name is Tucker. He would love to meet Snowball!"

Sister Lynn laughed nervously. "Fred…"

"I think it is an excellent idea for Snowball to meet Tucker," you replied simply. "Lead the way."

Sister Lynn seemed anxious as you followed Fred to the orphanage. She was certainly not prepared for an unexpected visit from the wife of the orphanage's primary benefactor. The orphanage was a quaint little house on the edge of the village and you felt a sudden warmth emanating from the place the moment you stepped through the opening in the fence. 

"Everyone! Come meet Snowball!" Fred called out eagerly as soon as he entered the drawing room. 

But Sister Lynn had had enough. 

"No. First you will all stand in a line and introduce yourselves to Mrs. Jeon," she ordered all the children who came running up. The children hesitated and organised themselves clumsily into a  line in front of you. The youngest boy was no older than four, and the eldest was a pretty young girl who looked just over fourteen. 

They went in a line to state their names and ages- and for the first time in what felt like months you allowed yourself a small smile. Their clumsy curtseys and stammered introductions were the picture of innocence. For a few brief moments, the creeping dreary thoughts that had so thoroughly invaded your mind were kept fully at bay. 

Once the introductions were complete, the younger children ran to surround Snowball. Your Pomeranian, delighted at the attention, lay down on the carpet and freely offered his belly to the children for pets and scratches. 

"The children seem quite happy and well cared for," you remarked to Sister Lynn. Her eyes widened and she seemed almost relieved at your words of approval.

"They are a wonderful bunch, Mrs. Jeon," she replied warmly. 

"What happens to them when they become of age?" you wondered. 

"The boys usually leave for work- Mr. Jeon is usually kind enough to find something for them to do to earn their keep. The ones who are good at numbers are hired to help with accounting for the estate, and the Jeons have even helped others acquire jobs in London as clerks and bookkeepers."

You nodded. "And the girls?" 

"Some of the girls get married- others go on to become seamstresses or take other simple jobs. I wish I could do more for them. Some of them are very clever and could probably go on to become governesses if they only knew a little French and had someone to teach them drawing and music."

You raised an eyebrow. "You cannot find them tutors?"

Sister Lynn flushed. "The best tutors are teaching young noblewomen such as yourself in London, Mrs. Jeon. Even if we had the money I could never persuade anyone to come out to the countryside to teach our young girls. But they do a very good job of teaching themselves with books."

You nodded. "That is admirable indeed. I should like to see what they learn."

"Marie is our brightest one," Sister Lynn told you before calling over the eldest girl. "Marie! Escort Mrs. Jeon into the study and show her your books and writing, my dear."

Marie came over and curtsied prettily for you before guiding you into the schoolroom. She was an intelligent, soft-spoken young girl and she showed you some of the poetry she had written. 

"Your handwriting is excellent," you told her kindly. "As is your English. These are the books you use?"

Marie nodded at the shelf of textbooks. You pulled one down and frowned. 

"This geography textbook is almost 15 years old. Are you still learning from this?" you asked her.

Marie blushed. "It's the only one we have, Mrs. Jeon," she admitted shyly. "Sister Lynn does her best to educate us, but there is only so much she knows, and there is no school nearby which will accept girls."

You nodded. "I see."

Marie guided you into the next room. "And here we have the playroom-"

You froze. The playroom was a fairly large room filled with toys and drawing boards and unfinished art. But the first thing that caught your eye was a large wooden piano in the corner of the room. 

"You have a pianoforte?"

Marie nodded eagerly. She hurried over and pulled out the stool in front of the instrument. "It was donated to the orphanage by the Jeons' a few years ago when they redecorated their manor. They had no room for it-  and there was nobody in the family who liked to play. I taught myself a song from an old piano book I found. May I show you?" she asked hopefully. 

You nodded. 

Marie blushed but sat down in front of the piano and played a simple tune. She was shaky- her fingers were not always in the right positions and it was evident that she had no formal training. But it was a pleasant song all the same. 

"That was very well done," you told her. "You learned that yourself from a book?"

Marie nodded. 

Mrs. Betsy, who was standing a little distance behind you, gave you a smile. "Do you play, Mrs. Jeon? I am sure a Viscount's sister would certainly have been taught to play at least in her youth."

You bit your lip. "I do play.'

Marie's eyes brightened. "Would you play something for us, Mrs. Jeon?"

Sister Lynn was about to scold her for making an inappropriate request of her benefactress but before she could get the words out, you had seated yourself in front of the instrument. The keys were old and worn but it was evidently still an excellent instrument. 

It had been months since you had touched a piano but your fingers danced over the instrument as though you had practiced the tune just yesterday. It was pure muscle memory- some of the happiest times in your life had been spent in front of the piano, and for a moment you almost forgot where you were as you allowed your fingers to dance on the keys to their heart's content. 

The children burst into applause. 

You let your fingers fall from the piano and turned to see everyone watching you. Marie was staring in awe and Mrs. Betsy had a warm twinkle in her eye. You felt a sudden rish of adrenaline. 

For the first time in months, you felt alive. 

Sister Lynn rushed over to you. "Mrs. Jeon, that was the most beautiful performance I have-"

"I am afraid I must leave now, Sister Lynn," you informed the older woman briskly. "But there are some things I will require from you."

Sister Lynn nodded. "Of course, Mrs. Jeon."

"I should like a list of any textbooks in the schoolroom that are over two years old- I will have them all replaced myself, as soon as possible. And you will need to make room in the girls' schedules for extra lessons. I think French on Wednesdays, and music on Fridays would be suitable."

Sister Lynn looked bewildered. "Extra lessons? But who will teach them?"

"I will."

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

Teaching the young girls at the orphanage was, at the least, a welcome distraction that kept the melancholy thoughts from consuming you for a few hours every week. 

Mrs. Betsy was happy to ensure that the carriage was ready and waiting to take you into town every Wednesday and Friday. She could not accompany you herself, since her duties did not permit so much leisure- and perhaps it was for the best. Mrs. Betsy's presence was not unpleasant, but you were still uncomfortably aware that her loyalties lay with your husband. 

Marie was your star pupil. You could tell that the young girl admired you greatly, and she was a very fast learner. Hardly two months into your lessons she was reciting French poetry with a near-perfect accent and was a better piano player than Miss Brooke could ever hope to be. 

You returned from your lessons one Friday evening later that winter to find that Mr. Jeon was, to your surprise, sitting in the drawing room. He seemed tense. 

"I thought we might have supper together," Mr. Jeon suggested to you lightly. The words were calm, but you saw something in his eyes that was familiar. Something that was often reflected in your own eyes.

It was a familiar kind of sadness. 

"Of course," you replied. "I will dress and join your shortly."

You noticed the stiffness in Wonwoo's shoulders as he sat across from you in the dining room. You both ate in silence; not unusual for the few meals you shared. He looked up at you about halfway through the meal.  

"I received a letter from my friend, Mr. Kim Mingyu," he informed you slowly. "The social season in London has come to an end, as you know, and Mingyu will be stopping by our estate tomorrow evening and spending a night here before resuming his journey through the countryside."

You nodded. "Alright."

"You have no objection?"

You blinked at him. "This is your home. Why should I have any objection to you hosting your friend in your own home?"

"Because-" Mr. Jeon began, but stopped himself. "Never mind. I only wanted to ensure that we would not be causing you any discomfort. You need not dine with us if you do not wish to."

You nodded. "I am sure as old friends, you would have much to discuss. I would not want to be in the way."

"That is… considerate of you."

"Of course."

Mr. Jeon took a deep breath and turned his attention back to his meal. You watched him silently for a few moments. He was ever the brick wall; as always, you had no idea what went on in your husband's mind or what he thought about. 

But this silence… it could not go on forever. 

"I have been visiting the orphanage," you told him slowly. "A few times a week."

Mr. Jeon nodded. He did not seem surprised. "I heard. Mrs. Betsy mentioned it to me. And my clerk informed me of the books you purchased for the schoolroom."

You flushed- suddenly realising that you had spent money without consulting Wonwoo. You had been so accustomed to the Viscount covering all your expenses that the thought had not occurred to you that Mr. Jeon was now responsible for your finances. 

"I should have spoken to you-"

"Not at all, " Mr. Jeon cut you off. "If I had known that the schoolroom needed new books, I would have purchased them myself. And in any case- it is equally your money to choose to spend as you see fit."

You swallowed. "Right. Thank you."

He simply nodded. The rest of the meal passed in the usual silence, and you both went upstairs to your separate bedrooms. 

—------------------------------------------------------------

You were acquainted with Kim Mingyu from past social seasons in London. You had danced with the man at a few balls, and remembered him as a very handsome, charming and easy-going gentleman who had a reputation for capturing and breaking the hearts of London's young ladies. 

The Kim Mingyu that arrived at the Jeon estate on horseback the next evening looked nothing like the man you knew. He appeared, to put it simply, to be on the receiving end of  heartbreak for the first time in his life.  

"Mrs. Jeon," Mingyu greeted you with a stiff nod as he descended his horse. There was no smile on his face and he looked tired. "I apologise for intruding upon your hospitality at such short notice. I hope I am not disturbing you."

"Not at all, Mr. Kim," you greeted him politely. "You are most welcome."

"We will not disturb you. There are matters of business we wish to discuss, so we will be dining at the inn tonight," Mr. Jeon informed you as he laced up his riding gear. The stable boy brought out another horse for your husband. 

You nodded. "I see. Very well."

The two gentlemen rode out without further ado. One of the maids standing near the foyer was pink in the face and clearly suppressing a giggle. You raised an eyebrow at her. 

"And what is so amusing, Rosie?" you asked her lightly. 

Rosie blushed. "Sorry, madam. I was only remembering the last time Mr. Kim was here at the estate. It was when he and the master were on break from their studies at Oxford. They drove out to have dinner at the inn a few towns over but the elder Mr. Jeon had a manservant follow them and discovered that they had gone… well, certainly not to the inn."

You blinked. "Sorry?" you asked, confused. "Where had they gone?"

Rosie blushed further. "Miss, I really can't say- please don't make me. Mrs. Betsy would have my backside if she found out I was telling you-"

"Is Mrs. Betsy your employer?"

Rosie hesitated. "No, madam. You are.'

"Then tell me."

She twisted her hands anxiously and then spat out "They had gone to see some… ladies of the night. Mr. Kim admitted that it was entirely his fault and the elder Mr. Jeon was furious, so he had Mr. Kim banned from the estate."

You felt nauseous.

"Ah. Yes, I see," you replied awkwardly. 

Rosie's eyes widened. "I am sure that it is not where they have gone now!" she cried. 

You gave her a sharp look. "Of course not," you told her firmly, though you felt absolutely none of the confidence that you displayed. Regardless of what your husband was or was not doing, you could not allow a servant to gossip about it. "Mr. Jeon is a married man."

Rosie nodded. "Of course! Of course, Mr. Jeon is a very honourable gentleman and I am sure that even on that night in question-"

"Thank you, Rosie. That will be all."

You quickly walked away from the maid, who looked horrified. You had not seriously considered that your husband might be using ladies of the night, as Rosie called them, to satisfy his carnal needs- after all, the two of you had not even consummated your marriage. You had even told him on your wedding night that he was welcome to seek his pleasures elsewhere. 

You tried to push the thought from your mind as you had dinner and went to bed early. But sleep would not come. 

You laid awake for what felt like hours, straining your ears in an attempt to hear the noise of your husband going to bed in the adjoining room. It was almost midnight when you finally heard the sound of Mr. Jeon’s door click- followed by complete silence. You tossed and turned restlessly before rising and putting on your dressing gown and going downstairs. Sleep would not find you tonight. You passed by the drawing room and were surprised to see that the fire was still lit and there was someone inside. 

Mr. Kim Mingyu sat in front of the fire, staring into it deeply as though it held the secrets to eternal life. 

“Mr. Kim?” 

He jumped and turned to face you in a sluggish manner. Mr. Kim’s  eyes were unfocused; and as you took a step further into the drawing room your olfactory senses were assaulted by the pungent smell of whisky. He relaxed when he saw you, and turned his face back towards the fire. 

“Mrs. Jeon- I apologise if I woke you,” Mingyu mumbled. 

You shook your head. “Not at all. Is everything all right, Mr. Kim? Is there a problem with your accommodations in the guest quarters? I can wake the household staff if you require something.” 

Mr. Kim did not turn his eyes away from the fire. “No. I don’t need anything. I don’t deserve anything,” he said as his head fell back onto the armchair. “I am a monster.” 

He was evidently very inebriated. You crossed the room and stood precariously behind a sofa to keep some distance between you both, but be in a better position to address the man to his face. He slumped back in the armchair with a groan and turned his unfocused eyes to look at you. 

“A monster?” you asked lightly. “And what have you done that is so monstrous?” 

Mingyu chuckled. “Greed, Mrs. Jeon. I was greedy. I saw something that was not mine to take but I simply could not resist. I took advantage of her innocence, I knowingly crossed the lines of friendship and played with her emotions -and now she believes herself to be in love with me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “She believes herself to be in love with you?” 

Mingyu scoffed. “She doesn't know what she speaks of. She is too innocent to comprehend how valuable she is. She is too naive to understand love.” 

“I pity her,” you replied simply. “It would be very painful indeed, to be in love with a man like you.” 

Mingyu frowned. “What?” 

“I don't blame you,” you continued. “It is how you gentlemen were raised. All your life, people have told you that you are more intelligent and logical and rational than women so you have grown to believe it. You presume to think that you are guilty of manipulating an adult woman into falling in love with you; as though she was stupider than you.”

Mingyu frowned. “I never said she was stupider than me. She is certainly much, much smarter.” 

“Then if you had an iota of respect for this young lady, you would do her the courtesy of believing her when she says that she loves you.” 

Mingyu said nothing. He turned away from you and stared back at the fire. He was silent for a long moment and then he took a deep breath. 

"Those…" he said slowly, "may be the wisest words I have heard all day."

"I assume you had not consulted any women."

"You assume correctly," he replied. Mr. Kim turned to you with a small frown. "You are a clever woman, Mrs. Jeon. Far too clever to be wasting away in a remote countryside estate in a marriage you never wanted."

"And you are too clever to be running from a woman who loves you and finding meaningless comfort in the company of a prostitute."

Mingyu let out a hacking noise that was halfway between a laugh and a cough. "A prostitute? Strange words to call your husband," he remarked. 

You flushed. "I was not referring to Mr. Jeon. I am perfectly well-informed of what dinner at the inn really means."

Mingyu let out a proper laugh. "Oh, Mrs. Jeon. I have overestimated your cleverness, then. I really hope you do not think that Wonwoo is enjoying his time at brothels. I will be extremely concerned by how little you know your husband."

You stiffened. "He is not an easy man to get to know."

"Certainly not. He will go to any lengths to avoid talking about his feelings and he builds not just walls but fortresses around his true emotions. But surely you knew that before you married Wonwoo?"

"Our marriage was not… you know the circumstances in which we married…" you mumbled. 

Mingyu nodded. "I do. I also know that Wonwoo carries with him the burden of having ruined your life and stolen your happiness from you, perhaps forever. The man is drowning under the weight of his guilt."

You stared at him in disbelief. "I never once blamed him for-"

"You did not need to. Wonwoo may appear stoic, but he is a victim to his own conscience. In any case, I can assure you that he is not touring brothels while you sit here. He is aware of how miserable you are and it only serves to enhance his own misery."

You wrapped your dressing gown around yourself more tightly. 

Could it be true? If anyone, anyone could give you answers about what Mr. Jeon hid behind that sharp, unreadable face then you would have expected it to be Kim Mingyu. But how could it be possible? Wonwoo had shown no signs of guilt. He had never once apologised for any of the circumstances leading up to your marriage. 

In fact, your husband had gone out of his way to avoid you, to leave you alone in this empty haunting manor and let you wither away in loneliness. 

But what had you done? You blamed him for being distant and difficult but what efforts had you truly made to understand the man you married? You had simply drowned in your own misery and conveniently accepted the walls he put up between the two of you as fixtures. 

You were complicit in the ruin of this marriage. 

"It is late," you said shakily. "I must-"

You were cut off by a noise- you turned around and saw Wonwoo enter the room. His eyes looked tired and he carried a candle in his right hand. A small frown appeared on his face.  

"What are you both doing awake?" he asked doubtfully. "It is past midnight."

Mingyu stood up from his armchair unsteadily. "I was a little drunk and I sat down here for a while. I must have made some noise that woke you both up. Sorry; I'll be going to bed now."

He stumbled out of the drawing room. Mr. Jeon turned to you with a worried frown. 

"Are you all right?" he asked. 

You nodded. "Yes- of course. Snowball was growing restless in my room so came downstairs to let him out and stopped to speak to Mr. Kim when I saw him sitting here."

Mr. Jeon nodded. "All right. We should return to bed."

He turned to leave. The dim light of the fire lit up the profile of his handsome but tired and worn face. How had you not seen it before? Mr. Jeon carried a sadness within him too; one that had not been there before he married you, and which was growing darker and heavier day by day. 

"Wonwoo," you whispered. 

He froze. His face was turned away from you but you could see the way his broad shoulders tightened and his entire back stiffened underneath his white cotton nightshirt. 

You had never called him by his name before. 

After a long moment, he turned and looked at you. The remnants of surprise had still not faded from his eyes.  

"Yes?" he asked gently. 

"The… the children at the orphanage are putting on a performance for the village on Saturday evening. They have been practising hard all week. I thought, perhaps… it would be encouraging for them if you attended. If we attended."

Wonwoo stared at you. You saw the brief flash of emotion cross his face before he could control it and you knew that he understood your intentions. He understood that this was not a casual suggestion. This was not about the children, or the orphanage. 

This was you taking the first step in your marriage. 

"Of course," Wonwoo said finally. "That sounds wonderful."

You released the breath that you had been holding. 

"I will let them know. They will be very excited, I am sure."

Wonwoo nodded. He opened his mouth for a moment, and then paused, almost as though he had reconsidered what he wanted to say. Then he gave you a small, careful smile. 

"Good night," he said. 

"Good night."

—----------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I'M SORRY THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO END IN PART 3 BUT BEFORE I REALISED IT I HAD WRITTEN 7K SO PLEASE DON'T KILL ME, I PROMISE I WILL END IT NEXT CHAPTER (I think)

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 4.5/5

Book Blurb:

The special first edition hardcover will include a gorgeous, shimmering jacket with effects, brilliantly illustrated four-color endpapers, striking and detailed-stained edges, and a beautiful foil-stamped case.

Infused with magic and romance, this sweeping fantasy adventure inspired by the legend of Mulan follows a young woman determined to choose her own destiny—even if that means going against everyone she loves. The Three Kingdoms are at war, but Meilin’s father refuses to answer the imperial draft. Trapped by his opium addiction, he plans to sell Meilin for her dowry. But when Meilin discovers her husband-to-be is another violent, ill-tempered man, she realizes that nothing will change for her unless she takes matters into her own hands.

The very next day, she disguises herself as a boy and enlists in her father’s place.

In the army, Meilin's relentless hard work brings her recognition, friendship—and a growing closeness with Sky, a prince turned training partner. But has she simply exchanged one prison for another? As her kingdom barrels toward destruction, Meilin begins to have visions of a sea dragon spirit that offers her true power and freedom, but with a deadly price.

With the future of the Three Kingdoms hanging in the balance, Meilin will need to decide whom to trust—Sky, who inspires her loyalty and love; the sea dragon spirit, who has his own murky agenda; or an infuriating enemy prince who makes her question everything she once knew—about her kingdom and about her own heart.

Review:

A fantasy story inspired by Mulan? Oh hell yeah. Meilin is a girl being forced to be married to an abusive man by her equally abusive father but saves a prince... and discovers that maybe she can use her martial art skills to enlist in the army and pretend to be a man to escape from her forced marriage. Meilin yearns for freedom, but being a woman in this time gives her very few options. When she enlists in the army in her father's place the last thing she expects is to be in the same platoon as the very prince she saved. Prince Sky begins a friendship with her and a true partnership between them begins... but when she is captured by the enemy kingdom.... Meilin's secret is exposed and she meets Lei, a prince with his own agenda who seems to have a soft spot for Meilin. Meilin finds herself trapped between two princes, a prince who offers her everything she could ever want but that means going against her kingdom and everything she thought she wanted and the prince who was her partner and friend... yet puts duty and honor above all... even if it might cost him her. On top of that Meilin has begun hearing voices in her head and her own abilities have grown.... a much larger game is afoot and everyone is searching for powerful jade seals... and Meilin is not the only individual with gifted abilities and powers... and if her secret is revealed to all she will be executed. What path will she take and who can she trust when she is being pulled in every direction? This is the first book in a series and the ending has me beginning for the second book. This is definitely a unique and fun take on the legend of Mulan and I loved the twist and turn at every part. You feel for Meilin as she gives her trust to others and is constantly betrayed... all except for Lei who keeps playing her game and trying to warn her (oh how I loved Lei). Honestly I can't wait for the second book and i just know Meilin will be out for revenge (as she should). This is such a fun read and I would absolutely recommend it!!'

*Spoiler: Meilin and Len spend 40 days together and end up hooking up... only for Meilin to steal her jade back from him. She had helped Sky and co escape... only to later kill the third jade holder (the chancellor). Meilin has the voice of a dragon spirit talking to her and telling her to get the jade. Meilin is gifted with the ability to compulse people to do as she waants. Lei is captured during the battle against the chancelor... and when it is revealed to the emperor that Meilin is a woman he gives her two options: give up being a soldier and be forced into a marriage or be imprisoned, she picks imprisonment. Before this lei warns her not to trust anyone especially those closest to her (her two soldier comrades rat her out and betray her while Sky doesn't really do anything to stop what is happening), The book ends with both Lei and Meilin imprisoned by the emperor and Meilin vowing to get out and seize her fate.

Release Date: July 2, 2024

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Netgalley and Berkley Publishing Group | Ace for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[hils79]

Hils Watches In Blossom - Ep 9

Okay, remember a few episodes back when I said this:

*gestures at the screen* I WAS CORRECT

HAHAHA! Fuck.

Oh she's smart! Using seemingly innocent words so that he'll know it's her and not kill Pan Yue

These two are having a very subtle conversation and everyone else in the room is all ???? at a random woman being able to talk him out of fighting so easily. I love this.

I wasn't expecting to find a new blorbo in this drama, and if I was I assumed it would be Pan Yue. He has totally come out of left field and stolen my heart and my soul.

Yeah, I'd be staring at him if he was all bathed in light like this. God.

Such a good question

Oh my god is he preparing a dowry? I mean I'm rooting for you, my dude, but I don't think it's going to go in your favour.

That awkward moment when your best friend, who turns out to be a scary sect leader and who no one else knows is your best friend, shows up to declare his love. In front of the man you were supposed to marry but who currently thinks you are dead.

This drama is insane I love it so much.

Her face! God, I can stop laughing.

Pan Yue: Not in front of my salad my court documents

Don't give part of your engagement gift to another man! That's just rude!

Survived a face swap and attempted murder but going to choke to death because of shenanigans

Now now, boys. Place nice.

[evita-shelby]

Violent Delights

or the the 17th century knight!Jack x Eva that @justrainandcoffee inspired lol

cw: death, murder, suicide, angst

He hunts witches better than anyone else.

Something he inherited from his father’s cursed blood that led him to find the real witch hiding amongst the innocents.

John ‘Jack’ Nelson, or Sean O’Neil as his mother had christened him, had even been knighted in his service to the King in battle and then proved himself a better witch hunter than the Holy Inquisition.

Lands, a title and any woman of his choice. That had been his reward when he won the melee in the lord’s tournament for the birth of his daughter.

He chooses her.

Eve Smyth, daughter of a man knighted in battle and a foreign diplomat’s wayward sister. Dark eyed, sun kissed skin and a skill in healing. Beautiful and learned with a dowry sure to provide a comfortable living.

The Knight should have known better than to choose the intriguing woman who had given him her favor and did not shy away from kissing him even covered in blood and grime. He should have known from the way she bewitched him that he had chosen a witch.

But he hadn’t, not when he was married to her in a church in full view of God and his village and claimed her as a husband and came to love her as their first child came to be.

Eva had a knack for healing and an instinct that seasoned warriors would kill for. Jack should have known she had the makings of a witch.

Her bosom friend was their liege lady, a good woman with a jealous streak worse than Eve’s and always needing the tonics and tinctures she made.

Things that aided her with conceiving the heir her husband needs, to keep her youth as life saps it away and to make her husband want her.

“I have no need for any of that, except for the rose oil, if I have one sin it is vanity.” His wife would answer when he asked.

Jack would believe her, fuck her until neither could do more than lay there in their wedded bliss. Their son was but a babe at her breast and yet Jack the Witch Killer wanted nothing more than to have another one.

That was until the last witch he killed removed the wool from his eyes.

“You hunt us down when our sister sleeps in your bed!” The fiend had laughed as he drowned her for her crimes.

He has been cursed, insulted and much worse, but this one was the only one to hurt him.

When Jack returns to his home, he is resolved to confront Eve even if the Knight does not know what he will do once he knows the truth.

Their boy would be killed too just for the crime of being her babe. Their little son who had her dark eyes and her witch’s blood. Not that he could ever face the child after he kills his mother.

“I do not consort with demons, I am as Christian as you, Sean O’Neil.” Eve swears all of this with her hand wrapped around the gold locket carved with the heart that symbolizes the one breaking inside him. “I have never used my abilities for evil, I have broken no laws and every word and feeling I have for you have been true. If you still wish to punish me for something I did not ask for, you will must be the one to kill me.”

He cannot, and when he falters, his wife wraps her hand around his and plunges the knife at her own breast.

And just like Adam ate the fruit out of love for Eve, Jack joins his Evie in hell.

Two centuries go by and in a land far away from English ruled Ireland, Martin O’Feeney buys a locket and gifts it to his wife, Aoife, when he returns to Ireland in the year 1847 as a deserter.