#mr marlcaster

[rosesnink]

Life of a Spare

Author’s Notes 

This story was one of my favs to write so far! We know so little of Edmund, and he is certainly unexplored, but it was fun experimenting with him!! Also, warning, this contains SPOILERS FROM THE MAIN SERIES. If you haven’t read the last couple of chapters, YOU WILL BE SPOILED. You’ve been warned. 

English is not my first language, so please forgive any typos/grammar mistakes 

I’m making more of these, of characters like Holloway or Briar. Stay tuned for more! If you haven’t read the others, click here or go through my tag the cursed heiress for more content! 

Summary: We hear Edmund’s version of the events. 

Word Count: 5.3k 

Category: Fluff, angst 

Pairing: Edmund Marlcaster x Briar Daly 

Rating: PG-13 

Warnings: Discussion of death and grief, spoilers from The Cursed Heiress 

Book: Desire and Decorum 

June, 1796

Edmund Marlcaster was having his outfit fitted, for today he would be attending his mother’s second wedding. He was but six years-old.

He had never been a truly chatty boy, but seeing this stranger of raven dark hair and kind blue eyes being so… nice and going around like he was his new father irked him. Who the hell did he think he was? He had refused to talk or acknowledge him, and he didn’t even care if he hurt his feelings. What about his feelings?

The door was opened, and his lady mother looked pretty, at least in the boy’s mind: she wore a pale grey satin dress, with a beautiful headdress and a veil, and she knelt before him, kissing his forehead “Now, my boy, I know that you do not like crowds, but you have to be brave for Mama. Can you do that?”

“I—I think so.”

Henrietta sighed “I know how you must be feeling, but your father wanted this.”

He murmured “Why can’t it be just you and me? I can protect you… We don’t need that posh idiot.”

Something in Henrietta’s poised gaze softened “Oh, Neddy, how innocent are you. How I wish you remained that way, but alas…” She kissed his little hand and stroked his cheek “You’ve yet to understand, but women need a man to survive, and I’m afraid that you are too little for this.”

“I��m not!” He protested “I’m tall and strong! I can protect you, Mama!”

Henrietta smiled and kissed his cheek “My sweet boy. When you grow up, you will protect me. For now, I’m afraid we need Vincent. You needn’t treat him like a father, just be nice to him. Please? Do it for your Mama?”

He slumped his shoulders and nodded, hugging her. Henrietta smiled “Good. Now, let me see the beautiful smile the handsomest ringbearer will have!”

May, 1806

“Come along, Harry, or else you’ll miss it!” Edmund cried.

An eight-year-old Harry quickly ran, his chestnut brown curls reminding him of the chocolate his stepfather liked to drink. They both ducked under the fence and observed a seventeen-year-old Ernest Sinclaire give a flower and an apple to a rather pretty girl: long, untamed blonde curls, brown eyes and an easy smile. He looked rather flushed, and started to approach her. Edmund then gave the signal to Harry, who quietly spooked one of the cows, who interrupted the lovers, who were quick to say to the other goodbye.

Harry giggled “And that’s for stealing our apples!”

“Shh! Careful, he has a sharp hearing.”

After he left, they both leaped from the fence and laid on the ground, high-fiving “The border’s now ours!”

Edmund smiled and Harry sighed “Do you think I will ever be engaged to such a pretty girl like you have?”

Edmund frowned “Theresa, you mean? I mean, she is kind of pretty.”

“She’s gorgeous!”

Edmund laughed “Steal her from me then. I won’t complain.”

“Is she terrible?”

“No, she just… talks too much. It’s a bit overwhelming. Especially with gossip. I don’t have the heart to tell her that I am no interested in where does the eldest Holloway sister buy her rogue...”

Harry frowned “What’s a rogue?”

“A thing women buy to make their cheeks and lips look pinker… I think. I wasn’t truly listening.”  

“That’s a bit mean from you. A gentleman never ignores a lady, Ed.”

“Well, it’s not ignoring… I kind of go to my own world.”

Harry traced a hand over the sky “If I ever get betrothed, I will never ignore my future bride! I will always converse with her. We will be the best of friends!”

Edmund chuckled “Convince Mum to marry you to your best friend then.”

December, 1812

The Suttons had come over for Christmastime to celebrate with the Foredales, and Harry had been behaving oddly and like he had something on his mind. Something important and life-changing. Mr. Sinclaire had been his usual gruff self, only talking fully to the earl and avoiding the gossiping Theresa, whom Edmund had begged not to gossip about him on these holidays. It had certainly failed, as usual. She didn’t seem to hear him or make sensible choices.

He went up to his father’s study and saw Harry, sitting by the fire and deep in thought. Edmund cleared his throat and sat beside him “What’s on your mind, brother?”

“I think I’m in love.” He declared.

“Oh! That’s nice.”

“With your fiancé.”

He nearly choked on his own breath “What?! Theresa? Are you—are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He took a deep breath, taking all in as they took their father’s whiskey. He gave it a rather generous gulp and nodded, taking it all in again “So… Theresa.”

“I can’t get her off my mind, brother! She’s everywhere! I always want to talk to her, see her, be near her, listen to her, and I—I dream of her as well. It’s killing me. Because I don’t want to dishonour her or you, and I don’t have the heart to tell Father.”

“You don’t have to worry about me. I don’t love her.”

Now it was Harry’s time to be surprised “Whyever not? She’s smart, she likes to read and has the most beautiful laugh! And her smile, the way she excitedly moves her hands—,”

“Whoa, you’re truly in love, brother!”

He sighed “I do not know what to do, brother. I made my promise to Annie…” Then, he stayed completely silent. He had that scheming face on him, and Edmund wondered what the hell he was plotting. He turned to look at his brother “Are you sure you won��t ever fall for her?”

He frowned “Yes. Brother, what are you plotting?”

“As you know, the two of you are quite older than I. And Annie needs someone who can protect her from much older men.”

“Yes…”

“So, I suggest that you remain engaged to her and I to Annie until I am of age! I will propose immediately to Tess, and you can be free to marry whoever you want!”

Edmund pondered the idea “I mean… it’s not so bad!”

“I have some ground rules though.”

“Sure.”

He pointed at his brother “No kissing her or touching her for long. No one else can know of this. And… you must never set a date. Always postpone it. And whatever tells you about herself in romance regards, you must tell me at once. No other man must become close to her. And she can’t suspect.”

Edmund nodded “Alright. And you must control yourself, Harry! You can get carried over your romanticism…”

Harry flushed and nodded “Alright. We have a deal then.”

Autumn, 1815

Edmund had stormed off the ‘funeral’, and was bidding goodbye to Harry “When will you return?”

Harry sighed “A year and a half should be enough. Do you remember your promise?”

“I will never touch Theresa for too long or set a date, and I will never tell a soul.”

He nodded “Good. When I’m settled, I will send her anonymous poems. Tell her it’s you if she ever tells you or suspects it, alright?”

He nodded “I will.” He hugged his brother “Come home safe, soldier.”

“And you keep my future countess safe, brother-in-arms.”

“I will. You know I will. You have my word.”

They hugged once again before he drifted off into the deep forests, to perhaps return.

Edmund had noticed that Theresa was aware of Harry’s popularity and beauty, but he never complained. He tried his best to be kind to her, but he had been irritable. Now, he had big shoes to step in, and wanted to make Harry proud. He did. Telling his father couldn’t be. It ached him to see him grieve and see how his mother had become a monster, always trying to ‘man him up’ and make of him what Harry could be. If he told her, he’d lose her forever. And he needed her right now. The sweet mother who called him ‘Sweet Neddy’ and always told him the sweetest of things. How he wished he had remained clueless and innocent. Perhaps she’d still love him, like she had loved Harry.

March, 1816

He had been a brilliant heir, being an outstanding student, fighter, socialite and a gentleman that could rival Mr. Sinclaire’s reputation. He had been perfect in every way, and he felt like the waste, the breadcrumbs everyone tended to overlook. He did everything so well, Edmund could return to his shadow and not look back, but he was gone, and he had a duty now to Edgewater. He knew what the Dowager thought. That he was no Foredale and would never be, that his father’s seat belonged to her bloodline, not Henrietta.

And when he heard of Joanna’s existence, his initial reaction was to hate her. It felt like a cheap replacement of Harry, and the fact that she was arrogant and acted like she was better than everybody didn’t help. Sure, the girl had suffered, but so had he! More than anyone in that room. And it didn’t help that Joanna’s eyes were his father’s. Harry’s eyes. Her hair could be as red as the sun, but every time he looked into her eyes, he saw Harry, away, in the corners of France, risking his life for his king and country while this woman took his place like he hadn’t been dead for months. Technically, his body wasn’t even cold enough to name a new heir.

And when, in that garden party, his father named her heir, he was devastated. He had already buried Harry in his mind, now his focus on Joanna and her crass and grumpy behaviour. He suspected she didn’t know of it, and came to apologize, but looking at her just hurt, because he could see Harry in her. It hurt him that they were similar and shared blood. He was jealous of her, even. He had never minded much being Harry’s shadow, but Joanna’s? It was just too much. And that is what he told his mother in a sincerity attack “I just… it feels wrong. Harry’s body is yet to be cold, and now we have a new heir, and it isn’t me like he promised!”

Henrietta then looked at him fiercely “Then fight for it. Do you want that bastard to take your brother’s place?”

“No!”

“Then, you will ensure in your brother’s name that she never sits on that chair.”

He scoffed “How?”

Henrietta smirked “By showing to everybody that is just that. An uncultured bastard with no knowledge or regard for our family name. Do it for your brother.”

“…I will have that woman off my house, so help me God.”

Edmund Marlcaster never thought he’d fall in love, much less with Joanna’s best friend and lady’s maid. But she had been so attentive, kind, witty, and her eyes… despite her brown skin, she had two beautiful pale blue eyes, and my, was she enthralling. He knew that this wasn’t the plan, but the way she talked about Joanna reminded him of he and Harry. They were like sisters, and if he ruined Joanna, he’d ruin her as well. And she wasn’t deserving of that. Perhaps he could find her a job somewhere else?

No. No. She’d follow Joanna into death if it was required, like he would’ve followed Harry into danger if he had asked. It was a dangerous gamble, that he knew, but my, his knees went weak every time she smiled and called him “Edmund”. If Joanna noticed this bond between them, she seemed to mind very little, though sometimes she’d drop hints that he should make up his mind about who his heart was with.

And what was worse, he had started to grow fond of Joanna too. She was nothing like his mother described. She was intelligent, sensible, someone who inspired leadership and light up every room when she came in and someone with the strength of a thousand fires, matching her red, long hair. She was Foredale, through and through. And he was no match for him or his mother. He was fighting a battle that had already cleared out a winner before it began.

She was hiding something. And some behaviours about her were odd. He was no fool. It was like she knew something he didn’t, saw things he didn’t. And he started seeing it when she left Mr. Sinclaire’s dinner party with a face that puzzled him, and not because she had been out and alone with him. A secret dangerous enough to make her leave abruptly of her own debut. She had a face that very few would recognize: the face of betrayal. Of being betrayed to be exact.

And it became clear who the traitor was: her mentor, who was kicked out, blatantly ignoring his supposed loyalty for years. He wondered what his deed had been. A terrible one, for many agreed that Joanna’s loyalty on those who served her was rarely shaken. He had asked Theresa to make some rounds, and she only came back with speculation: that he had taken something from her. Something she had loved dearly. And Joanna loved very few things so dearly “Could’ve been his fiancé? He did die in mysterious circumstances…”

Briar bit her lip. He knew she knew something “It is not my story to tell, but… you’re onto something. There was always something irksome about Elias. I always warned Joanna not to trust him too much. I was in the right, which is much worse than being wrong when it comes to being so vulnerable before someone.”

“I have to say… nobody deserves to be betrayed so by someone who you grew up with and trusted.”

Briar smiled sadly “Joanna would be thankful for your compassion. I know she would.”

He nodded curtly and soon Joanna claimed Briar, who had to go. Joanna was yet to treat Briar like an actual maid. She was her closest confidante, and knew many secrets of her heart. And this was proven when she asked about that boy back at Grovershire. The look on ‘Joanna’s face proved that this wasn’t really the Joanna they knew, despite them being identical. Then, the races became a blur. A set of explosions, screams and many people rushing out. Edmund waited for Briar, uncapable of leaving without knowing whether she was safe or not. And there she was. He smiled at her tightly, not hearing Theresa in the commotion. When he saw Mr. Sinclaire coming out with a wounded Joanna in a charred armour, he knew that she definitely hid something terrible from the rest. Something lethal, capable of killing anything.

When she woke up, she pretended that nothing had happened and she was just fine. She even treated them like madmen for insinuating such a thing. Like they hadn’t seen her rush from up and her scars were gone. She should’ve been bedridden, but here she was, in the table in his card games, mocking the viscount, chatting with Miss Parsons and her aunt and sassing Miss Holloway. He was ashamed that he had to do such a dirty thing to Theresa. He had made an oath to Harry, and felt like wanting to gouge out his eyes. He gave him his word that he wouldn’t hurt Theresa. Joanna had been of course, judgemental, and within her own right. This also affected Briar. But he didn’t have the heart to disobey his mother, despite finding himself disagreeing with her every day more frequently.

Then, the fateful letter came, and Edmund was overwhelmed. He found himself in the room, a bottle of port half-emptied and his mind reeling: Harry, Theresa, Joanna’s face being showered with fear for the first time since they met, Briar’s heartbreak upon seeing him flirting with Miss Holloway and the disapproval of his grandmother. He knew he should’ve rejected the offer and stay in Edgewater, but now the memory felt numb. He gave the port another generous gulp and barked out orders to prepare his carriage for the morning: fuck the plan, he was going to see his father, the only person in the world apart from Briar who saw him as Edmund the man and not Edmund, the pretender to be the new Earl of Edgewater. His mother’s machinations may be damned.

All the ride, he had blackened out. He didn’t hear or feel the rumble of the carriage, or Theresa’s ramblings, or the driver hurrying up the horses, he wasn’t even there. He didn’t even feel real. He felt like his body, mind, story, wasn’t his, like he was just there to observe the events unfold. It sounded silly, dancing close to heresy even, but that’s how he felt.

When he had arrived, the sun was peeking onto the hills, and Edmund ran as fast as his legs allowed him to, his heart beating fast as he told himself “By God, let me be in time so I can tell him that Harry’s alive and fine, please. I beg you, Lord, to let me be in time.” He slammed the door open “Father?!” He looked at a weeping Joanna, holding his body in her arms “Is he…?” He asked, his voice cracking.

She got up, declaring “He is gone.” Then, surprisingly, she hugged him, and he hugged her back. Together, they wept as Bishop Monroe gave him the last rites, and only separated when the sun came out, the birds’ chirping as a reminder the end of an era. Joanna offered to accompany him, but he declined: right now he wanted to be left alone, and cry in his own way. Joanna simply nodded, numb as he was.

Edmund didn’t have enough strength for anything. Yet again, he was not the owner of his actions and own will, but somebody else. He didn’t hear the commotion between his mother and Joanna, or her breaking down in the doors, having a panic attack, fainting in the act. When he heard, he felt terrible for her. She was now orphaned, and with a dead fiancé and no prospects for her hand. How terrible must’ve been for her. Or to be a woman in this world. Indeed, they did not value them as they should.

As he wrote to Harry the news, he found himself crying silently as he finished off the letter with a lifeless flourish and giving it to the bishop, who gave his word that it’d get to him before anyone else. He wondered how he’d react. Poor boy. His position, gone to a woman who didn’t even want it anymore, his father dead and his mother hurting all over again. If he could now rip out his heart and throw it to the ducks in the lake to eat, he would. This was the worst of the times to be a man with feelings like his own.

When he returned to London, he noticed that Joanna did not return. Nor Mr. Sinclaire, or Prince Hamid, or Miss Parsons or Mr. Harper. Briar just said that they were gone within the morning without a word and most certainly told nobody about it.

Many rumoured that Joanna had eloped with either the prince or Mr. Sinclaire and the others were running away from something. He found it nonsensical. And he surprised himself by saying it out loud, and Theresa agreeing with him “Joanna is many things, sure,” she declared “but she is no coward who backs out. She’s a fighter, through and through, and she has her motives not to be here. The only thing I know is that it is important and that she’s got no option.”

“Don’t be silly, girl—,”

“Watch your tone, Your Grace,” Edmund blurted out. He straightened his spine “You have no right to talk to my fiancé that way.”

The duke was shocked, and Theresa smiled at him for the first time in months. Genuinely, no fakeness or pretense within them, just two people who were indeed promised to the other. She squeezed his hand as a ‘thank you’ and he nodded to her.

Joanna came back a week later, according to Briar, but nobody knew where she was, but she was in British soil again. He heard a commotion out there, flashes of unnatural light and yells and cries of war. Some sort of unrest was going on out there, and Joanna had ensured no one gets out of there until she arrived. He and Briar had been in the house, helping out the staff now under her command. “By God,” he thought “she looks so beautiful when she barks out orders.” She knew that something was odd, and that whatever Joanna had been hiding was now out and confronting her.

Edmund was preparing himself for an outing when he heard Briar’s wailings and came out to see what happened. She turned around, her face contorted with tears and horrors “Briar!” He was in a minute beside her “What happened?”

“Joanna… she’s dead. Murdered.”

Horror washed over his face. He held her close, comforting her. Joanna, who had always seemed untouchable, invincible and someone who couldn’t be defeated was now dead by murder… If Joanna could be defeated, there was no hope for them. It was clear that dancing close to power was a gamble that included death in its cards, and Edmund had now something precious that he couldn’t afford to leave behind. Briar needed him. Tomorrow, on his way to Edgewater, he’d renounce his claim and let his cousins fight to the death for it. That night, he and Theresa split up.

And his first act was leaving behind a letter to the dowager and asking Briar to be his wife no matter what. He was ecstatic when she said yes, and both quickly rushed to Gretna Green. He was surprised to see his mother there, and trying to understand and support him. Despite his doubts, he allowed it. He had lost enough for now. And he wanted to make amends. With his mother. With himself. With life.

And my, what a wonderful way to start this new life than to make of Briar his wife in full. She was, as usual, cheeky and seductive, and he was just simply at her feet. She had looked at him intensely as she took off her nightgown, her black hair falling all the way to behind her knees, a living goddess, putting to shame Nefatari and Cleopatra. Her pale blue eyes looked at him intensely as he allowed her to take over, to make him hers, and make her his in the way. Both slowly falling into bed, no worries or pain, just him and Briar. Just a man and his wife. A man and the most breath-taking woman he had ever seen, who burned as bright as seven suns. She was angelical fire, and he, a mere firework at her side. But by God, would he fight every day to be worthy of being under her sun. Being worthy of her smile, her laugh, of being in her arms, her touch, her kiss, as sweet as any French pastry he might’ve tried. Her sweet lips rivalled every single one of them, surely. And her body, the epitome of beauty, worthy to make a new statue of Aphrodite with her as a muse. Maybe he was no sculptor, but she was the perfect muse. He could watch her for hours, just existing. Talking, laughing, smiling, calling him ‘My Eddie’, never truly getting out of their love nest. No estate, no intrigues, no pain, no grief, just him, his wife, their bodies as bare as their souls and hearts, and nobody else in the world bothering her.

Kissing her temple as she slept, quietly like a kitten after a hearty meal, he closed his eyes, drowning yet again in her intoxicating essence, not caring for what waited them outside the controversial church.

Joanna was back. No. No. He was dreaming. Surely he was dreaming? That boy swore that he watched her die in Mr. Sinclaire’s arms, and yet, she looked very much alive with none but Harry beside her in those gigantic horses. He was quick to rush towards his brother, and for once, life was good.

He watched as the women, save his mother, fussed over Joanna, who told at least most of her journey first to Russia, then France, where she encountered Harry and talked things with him, and then to the Ottoman Empire for official business. That afternoon, she, as well, renounced her claim and gave it to Harry, thus restoring order in Edgewater.

He and Joanna sat by the fire, commenting many things, among them how she and Harry fought before they sat down to talk as they did now. She looked at him and asked “Do you love her?”

“I ran away with her to Gretna Green in the middle of the night right after leaving my long-time fiancée and renouncing my claim. ‘Course I do!” He was pretty offended that she asked. Joanna laughed, lifting her hands.

“Alright, very well, you definitely do!” She conceded.

They both laughed heartily, for the first time, and toasted for a better life. And as soon as everything was in order, she was gone to wherever her mother used to live before meeting their father. In the meantime, he got the best of news.

He was writing some letters to the Suttons when Briar knocked on the door, and hugged him. He smiled, dropping the letter the moment they made contact “Hello, beautiful. You’re cheerful this morning.”

Briar smiled, glowing like never before “That is because I have great news.”

He smiled widely “Oh?”

She took his face into her palms, looking at him directly “I… am with child, my love.”

He stopped for one second. His eyes shot back to her still flat belly, then back to her eyes. He stood in silence as he took it in. Then, he started laughing, and was soon picking up Briar and twirling her around “Edmund!” She cried.

He quickly put her down, covering her with kisses as he cried out of joy “Oh, my dearest, you can’t tell how happy I am right now! Oh, my lord, my heart is going to explode!”

Briar smiled, tears in her face again “I know the feeling.”

He hugged her, both laughing and crying, standing there for a few more moments, nothing else but them and their unbridled joy. Briar excused herself by going to write to Joanna the happy news, and he was quick to run towards Harry, who smiled widely and toasted to them and the happy news: he, too, was expecting to be a father soon.

1817

Edmund watched as Joanna fussed with his baby daughter, Joanna Jr. She babbled happily in her arms, and was delighted to see that Joanna was the baby whisperer, for every baby was calm and happy in her arms. She kissed her head, playing with her and telling her what a beautiful girl she was. Baby Edward slept in his own arms, a rather small but strong baby. He was a father, and an uncle.

Outside, Briar was picking up berries with Countess Theresa, who chatted happily of the ongoing gossip of the neighbourhood. Theresa had dropped her tattletale’s mask, but still liked a little bit of gossip.

“So, dare I ask what’s between you and Mr. Sinclaire?”

Joanna bit her lip “There’s certainly something, but I’ve yet to give it a name.”

He chuckled. He definitely did not miss being in that stage where one wondered what the hell was going on between them and the person who fancied him back. Baby Edward started fussing, and he was quick to start calming him down.

He sighed as Henrietta asked him to hand over her grandson. Taking his daughter back into his arms, kissing her temple, he closed his eyes, relishing in the pure bliss he found himself in, never wanting to wake up from this beautiful reality.

My name is Edmund John Marlcaster, firstborn son of Henrietta Foredale and her first husband, who died when I was but a babe. All my life, I was but a shadow, a hidden ace that no one seemed to remember. But I never felt like that with the earl or my dear brother, Harry.

I was sixteen when I became betrothed to Miss Theresa Sutton. She had this tattletale’s mask I shamefully failed to see, but my brother Harry was never fooled. He was always smarter, more charismatic, the perfect heir to the Edgewater Estate. And I? The spare. But my, did that save my life.

I was four and twenty when my brother was called by his king to secretly spy for him in France, faking his own death and confessing that he was in love with my fiancée in the process. I gave him my word to never touch her or hurt her, and I abided by it… until Joanna Mills came into our lives.

I must confess, I was not thrilled. I was angry, for I thought that she was a cheap replacement for my dear brother, who was away in France, risking his life for king and country. I was even talked into sabotaging her, all for avenging my brother’s memory. But I was outwitted, perhaps from the very beginning.

Again and again, she proved to be smart, cunning, charming, mysterious and intriguing, taking England by storm and shaking it to its core. During that time, I met my sweet, sweet Briar, who was then her lady’s maid and best friend. She caught me by storm and shook me to my very own core, and I was glad she did. She opened my eyes like no other, and I loved her, even when I wasn’t hers to take. I tried to fight it, but one can’t escape true love.

During the mourning for both my father and Joanna, who was like a sister now, I decided to take the reins of my life by renouncing my claim, leaving Theresa and making Briar my lady wife instead, and to this day, I’ve yet to regret it. I don’t think I ever will. I shall never.

A miracle happened on a sad autumn day: Joanna and Harry had come back, and Joanna restored back balance to the estate. She came back to her own life, Mr. Sinclaire following behind. I was clueless at the time of how hopelessly in love he was with her.

During that time, by sweet Briar became pregnant with our dear child, Joanna Jr., and my, was I overcome by joy. We had four more children: Annabel, Rachel, Alexandra and Francis. Joanna had given us by now my chunk of land neighbouring Duchy Karlington back and we soon moved there, living the life my mother had fought tooth and nail for. She was happy to leave behind her bitter and jealous self, devoting herself to our children and the quiet and delightfully uneventful life, away from court.

I am Edmund, a mere spare who was saved by such position. Being always put aside saved me from death, quite literally, and brought me freedom of being myself after many years sacrificing myself to the estate. The moment Harry accepted being the new earl, I knew that everything would be alright.

I am Edmund, and being considered not an option for a position of power was the best thing that ever happened to me. I am Edmund, the shadow that people happily overlook. Not that I mind. There is joy in not having society’s attention. My family’s attention and love is all I need.

My name is Edmund, and by being spared, I dodged the bullets life throws to those who crave for power. I am Edmund, the spare of Edgewater, and this is my life. It’s not magnificent or intriguing, but it belongs to me and my fate sings my tune. I am Edmund, and I have never been gladder of being a spare.

[sapphoschoices]

Ngl, the Desire & Decorum family is kind of wild it you really think about it and it's even worse if you marry Annabelle, get Briar with Edmund, employ Mr Konevi and adopt all the animals

Like there's MC

MCs younger half brother Harry Foredale

MCs older step brother/Harry's half brother Edmund Marlcaster

MCs childhood best friend, ex-ladies maid, and current step-sister-in-law, Briar Daly

Edmunds ex-fiance who is now his and MCs sister in law after marrying their younger brother, Theresa Sutton

Harry's ex-fiance who is now (in spirit) married to his older half-sister MC, Annabelle Parsons

MC and Harry's grandmother, Dowager Countess #1, Dominique Foredale

Edmunds and Harry's mother, Dowager #2, Countess Henrietta

MCs legal lavender marriage husband, Bartholomew Chambers

Their barrister??, Yusuf Konevi

A horse, an pug (which I'm pretty sure would not have looked like that at the time), and some random baby deer???

Plus if you get Mr Harper and Cordelia together, you then also have

MCs wife (in spirits) sister and the estates ex-master of horses, and they're married with a whole baby on the way

Wild

[princess-geek]

Mr Sincaire & Countess Beatrice Foredale (by @ladylamrian)

Thank you so much, my dear!

Read the fic here.

@jeanele  ❣  @missameliep  ❣  @regencylady1810 ❣ @i-put-the-sin-in-sinclaire   ❣ @whenyourheartskipsabeat ❣ @xjustin-ethansgirliex   ❣@noesapphic  ❣  @gardeningourmet  ❣ @paisleylovergirl   ❣ @dailydoseofchoices  ❣  @rhyssescups ❣  @storyofmychoices  ❣  @a-shining-lucky-star  ❣   @lorircreates   ❣  @lorirwritesfanfic  ❣ @walkerduchess   ❣@indiacater  ❣ @kinkypot ❣ @anotherbeingsworld  ❣ @hellooliviaolivia  ❣ @pixel-writer19   ❣ @sinclaire-ity  ❣ @darknessabovethelite  ❣  @brightningstar  ❣@ezekielbhandarivalleros  ❣ @marlcasters  ❣ @bhartigat81  ❣ @lyannacyrill706  ❣ @daddytyrilstarfury   ❣ @secretaryunpaid  ❣ @allisonreilynn  ❣ @fauxleaves ❣ @twinkleallnight  ❣ @kingliamrys  ❣ @iloveethanramsey  ❣ @surewhyynot  ❣ @yvettegolx  ❣ @itlivesinpixelberry  ❣  @chutchoices ❣ @electroniccreatorwerewolf  ❣ @spookycolorpeanut  ❣ @peonierose  ❣ @quixoticdreamer16    ❣@lilyoffandoms   ❣ @tessa-liam

[alj4890]

Escaping for a Moment

(Ernest Sinclaire x MC*Catherine Mills) in a Choices Desire and Decorum drabble

Thirty Kisses in Thirty Days Challenge with the prompt: forbidden lovers sharing a kiss in the shadows

Not quite sure who to tag for this one since it has been so long since I last wrote a drabble for this pair. Plus in cleaning out my drafts folder I lost my permatag list 🤦🏻‍♀️Tagging some who won't be too angry at me for doing so, LOL! @hopelessromantic1352 @twinkleallnight @tessa-liam @choicesficwriterscreations @krsnlove

Masterlist

"Enjoying yourself, my dear?"

Lady Catherine Mills stiffened at the sound of her fiancé's voice.

There was nothing that made her skin crawl quite like Tristan Richard's oily tone.

A scathing insult sat on the tip of her tongue to give the odious man the set down he so rightly deserved. One glance at her grandmother's stern demeanor instead had her forcing a smile.

"I am. Thank you, your grace."

The Duke of Karlington leered at her. He purposely moved closer and placed her hand within the bend of his arm. He enjoyed watching her suffer being trapped with him.

The Dowager Countess beamed at the pair. She was pleased beyond measure that her natural granddaughter had managed to capture such a prized suitor. There wasn't a young lady here who had done so well in such little time.

Nor with such a questionable background.

"You should dance and show her off, your grace." She prodded.

"What a marvelous notion." Tristan remarked.

He placed his hand over Catherine's, smiling all the more with her trying to avoid his touch.

"Shall we show them how it's done, my lady?"

Catherine knew she must say yes. It galled her to have to spend a single moment in this man's presence much less dance with him. The thought of his hands upon her body made her wish to find a chamber pot to wretch in.

If only she was allowed to marry the one man whom she so deeply loved. Mr. Ernest Sinclair was so many things to Catherine. He'd been her savior, her friend, and finally the one who stirred her soul like no other.

Why had they tarried so long that night before sharing the joyful news of their engagement? If they'd only found her grandmother sooner, Catherine would be eagerly taking a turn on the dance floor with her fiancé, Mr. Sinclair, instead of the fiend pretending to be a gentleman at her side.

Life seemed determined to be unfair for the young lady. Not only was she denied her true love, she also was denied even a glimpse of him. For reasons she assumed were because she was promised to another, Mr. Sinclair had yet to make an appearance this evening.

If it were not for Ms. Parsons and Prince Hamid being there to bolster her spirits, Catherine would most likely have dissolved into tears. Her heart ached for Ernest. She was near the point of throwing decorum out the window and running off to Gretna Green with him.

She no longer cared if her beloved father had intended to leave Edgewater to her instead of her stepbrother. Mr. Marlcaster wasn't a bad sort. Catherine could see that he truly had a kind heart when not under the thumb of his mother.

If her dear Briar believed he was all that was good in this world, then Catherine couldn't doubt it. Her friend had a way of seeing one's true nature. Mr. Marlcaster might fumble the finances and such, but he would be a good steward to the people of Edgewater.

She knew if she was to run away with Ernest, scandal would be forever associated with her name. Did it matter though? Her questionable birth already tainted her reputation, though she had no control over those circumstances. At least the new gossip would be something she could happily live with.

"Lady Catherine?" Tristan hissed. "Are you not paying attention?"

Catherine jerked her head away from the feeling of his breath on her ear.

The Dowager laughed at the notion.

"She is most likely lost in thought over the notion of marrying you, your grace."

Tristan's smile was one most ladies deemed charming.

Catherine found little to like in it.

"Is that true, my dear? Are you thinking about our wedding?" His voice lowered for her ears alone. "Or is your baseborn nature concentrating on our wedding night?"

Catherine jerked her hand from his. Trembling with suppressed rage, she pleaded for them to excuse her.

Blinded by angry tears, she wound her way through the crush of guests in search of an escape. Since the retiring room was filled with giggling ladies, she next hoped to find a quiet corner outside to try and calm down.

She shook her head when Prince Hamid asked if she needed him. After tripping her way to a side door, Catherine slipped outside and rushed deep into the shadows.

Her exit was halted by a pair of strong arms wrapping around her.

"Catherine?" Mr. Sinclair said softly to try and shush her cries.

"Ernest!" She twirled in his arms, her hands cupping his face as her lips immediately sought his.

Ernest deepened the kiss, holding her even closer within his embrace.

Catherine broke away to catch her breath. "I thought you were not coming."

"I could not stay away." He caressed her cheek. "I do not care what anyone thinks. I refuse to stand by and see you married to such a man as Duke Richards."

Though she couldn't see him well, his voice made her heart sing with his next words.

"You were created for me, Catherine. You are to be no one's wife but mine."

She sighed into the heat of his next kiss. Her hands moved along his broad shoulders, glorying in the fact that he was truly here and still wanted her for his own.

"My love," she breathed as his lips brushed kisses down her neck, "I want nothing more than to be Mrs. Sinclair."

"And so you shall." He fervently promised. "We will find a way out of your betrothal. The Duke of Karlington will not lay another finger on you."

The mention of her fiancé's name forced Catherine to reluctantly pull away.

"I should return before my grandmother sends the duke for me."

"I'll escort you back." Ernest pressed a kiss to the back of her hand before releasing her.

She took his arm, leaning closer than appropriate. She needed a few more moments near him if she was to endure the rest of the ball.

Once inside, notes were played to signal that the Allemande was about to begin.

"Would you do me the honor, my lady?" Mr. Sinclair asked in that proud proper tone of his.

Catherine looked up at him. Her eyes traced his handsome features in the nearby candlelight. Her first genuine smile of the night appeared upon her slightly kiss swollen lips. She could continue to play the part of a respectable noble as long as he was near.

"Thank you, Mr. Sinclair." She said with a polite tilt of her head. "I would love to."

As he took her in his arms to dance, Catherine felt both her hope and courage return.

She would find a way to freedom and celebrate it with the man at her side.

[i-put-the-sin-in-sinclaire]

You don’t need to know someone’s horoscope, you just need to know if they set Briar up with Mr. Marlcaster or Mr. Woods

[gutsfics]

anyway i didnt wanna decide who briar should marry so i just closed my eyes and hit the next button for a good few seconds & it landed on mr marlcaster. good for her

[lilymoonstars]

Desire and Decorum - Book 1 - Chapter 6 💎 - Dinner party from Hell

We’ve made it to the Town house in one piece and it’s time to have a word with Mr Marlcaster after he ditched us! This is not what we need before our first London dinner party. Can we keep the Edgewater name in tact? 

[storyofmychoices]

SpreadJoy #386: spreading positivity with quotes and @playchoices characters.

Quote in edit by F. Scott Fitzgerald

[playchoicesconfessions]

Sent by @spideytorchz

‘I like to hc my d&d mc as a trans guy who cant come out due to societal reasons but his close friends and his super accepting gay husband mr sinclaire all support him. I got mr marlcasters suit without a thought and wore it most of the book too lmao’

POST/CONFESSIONS DO NOT REFLECT THE MOD’S PERSONAL OPINIONS!

[faelicita]

I have my Desire and Decorum cast... finally!

I will be posting it in the next couple of days, hopefully with the very first chapter!!! 

[christinediamond]

Remember that we used to get annoyed with the other brother  yeah, good time lmao 

[rosesnink]

The Tattletale’s Mask

Author’s Notes: 

This story was certainly hard to work with, since we do not know much of Theresa, but I hope that I had made her justice and let people see where she comes from. This is dedicated to all those girls who are told that they talk too much or that they can’t do something: they’re wrong and you’re amazing. There is somebody who wants to hear what you say and who sees you and loves you for what you are. Never give up on yourself and know that you’re loved. 

English is not my first language, so please forgive any typos/grammar mistakes 

I’m making more of these with other characters like Harry, Edmund, and even Holloway. If you want to read the backstories of other characters like our Lady Grandmother or Roselyn Sinclaire, click here! 

Summary: We see how Miss Sutton lived the events that entailed in the series 

Word Count: 5.1k 

Category: Fluff, angst and everything in between 

Pairing: Theresa Sutton x Harry Foredale, Theresa Sutton & Edmund Marlcaster 

Rating: PG-13 

Warnings: Discussion of death and grief, misogyny of the era and spoilers from the main series The Cursed Heiress. Read under your own discretion. 

Book: Desire and Decorum 

December, 1801

“And remember, Little Tess, don’t talk until you’re required to, and remember to breathe when you do!” Her mother advised her.

“And to be a good woman of God,” her father added.

Theresa Sutton nodded, wanting nothing more than to please her parents. Despite them being different themselves: her father being of white skin and a minor priest from Moorfield and her mother being brown-skinned and the daughter of a former slave, she wouldn’t notice such differences until she started blossoming into a woman. Tonight, she’d be introduced to the Earl of Edgewater, the son of the scary old man. He seemed kinder and actually interested into the ongoings of their modest house. Or at least he was good at pretending.

With him, his son who was her age and the eldest, of blonde hair and pretty blue eyes, greeted one another and sat in the dinner table as the younglings were in a different table, commenting the meal “I hope you like the potatoes! They aren’t the best, but our cook made it with love!”

The eldest, Edmund, overwhelmed by so much chatter, simply nodded as Harry assured her, they were just fine. She liked Harry. He was funny and seemed to like her enough. She was aware that she was but seven years-old, but she always dreamt of finding a good man and marrying him. Not like her mother, who seemed always so quiet and unhappy in her marriage.

She liked talking. It helped her pour out her heart and made her feel like this house wasn’t much of a prison. And everyone looked so gloomy, and the outside felt so colourful! Soon, as they seemed to start talking politics, dismissed the children to their assigned room, where Edmund brooded as she and Harry played Truth or Dare.

“Alright, my turn! Truth or dare, Theresa?”

“Truth!”

He smiled “Can I call you Tessa?”

“Oh!” She replied. Her mother and father called her Tess, and her eldest brother called her Sissie, but no-one called her Tessa “I mean, why not!”

“Alright, Tessa, I dare you to…” he whispered in her ear and she looked at him “What? It’ll help!”

“Alright,” she shrugged and went over Edmund. Since he was rather tall, she tapped on his leg “I think that your hair looks well, and nobody here thinks that you’re a dumb trollop, whatever that means.”

His eyebrows shoot up “Oh!” He looked over his brother and smiled “Thank you. That was... very kind.”

She shyly went back to Harry’s side and she whispered “Is your mother so mean to him? He seems nice!”

“I’m afraid so. I think she means well, but does it the wrong way. Boys like to be complimented as well; you know.”

“You’re very wise, and you’re younger than I am!”

May, 1810

Theresa Sutton was rendered speechless from the first time in a while. She gaped at her mother for what it felt like centuries “Cat finally got your tongue, girl?” Her father rushed.

“No, no! I’m just… he’s so… much older.”

Her father waved his hand “Four years is nothing. I’m twelve years older than your mother and we get along just fine, don’t we, Jocasta?”

Her mother faked a smile “Indeed, dear. My point is, he is handsome, wealthy, his mother’s titled and he will be kind to you. Not everyone has that privilege, dear.”

“Besides, a tattletale like you can’t do better. He doesn’t like speaking and you do. The two of you will reach an agreement, that’s for sure.”

“But… I’m in love with Viscount Harry!”

“He is betrothed to his neighbour, Annabelle Parsons. For a few months now. I’m afraid that asking the earl to switch brides would be highly improper, and a viscount is too much for you, anyways. It’s either Mr. Marlcaster or maidenhood.”

Theresa balled her fists and sobbed “I hate you! You’re a vile man, father!”

“Ungrateful brat—,” He got up, ready to smack her.

Her mother was quicker and shushed him “It’s but a tantrum! She’ll see your way, leave her to me, Jerry!”

“Hmm. She better. No other man in his right mind will come knock for her hand again.”

As she rushed upstairs, sobbing uncontrollably, she tried not to slam the door as she threw herself into bed and continued the sobbing and despair into sadness.

She didn’t notice her mother coming in and caressing her back, a sympathetic look in her face, and observing her with empathetic eyes. When she looked up, between sobs and irregular breathing and buggers of crying, she asked “Why, Mama? Why are you agreeing on this?”

“When one is a woman, and is not of white colour, we have little saying in what we are. But times are changing, my dear. At least none of us practically belong to your father as property. I will tell you something, little dove: sometimes, the only power we withhold is the one over men. What you did there was a mistake: never tempt a white man’s rage. Instead, lure him with daughterly affection. Men mellow quickly with hugs, kisses and puppy eyes. They are weaker than any man! Simple, and sometimes quite naïve about us.”

“What would you have me do?” She asked, her voice hoarse.

“Men like their women innocent and clueless. In their eyes, be that, but the moment the door close… play your cards carefully.”

“Like Papa and James when they play poker?”

Her mother smiled, pinching her nose “Exactly, my dear. The world is our poker, and we are cards. Depending on the situation, we change alliances to survive. Sometimes you’ll be ace, sometimes you’ll be spades. Besides, Harry is even younger, and so is Annabelle. I know the girl. In normal circumstances, she wouldn’t even bat an eye even if Harry was bare before her.”

“Mother!”

“It’s true, my love. Annie is quite indifferent to men, and prefers to be among us. Let us visit her and discuss your respective engagements.”

“Do you… want me to find out why she accepted the betrothal?”

Jocasta smiled and kissed her head “My smart girl. Now, prepare yourself and give me your best puppy pout. You will get on your knees and beg for his forgiveness.”

“And then?”

“…You’ll plot your revenge by scoring your beloved viscount. Rome wasn’t conquered in one day. But if you’re smart and know which card become, soon he’ll be giving you over to the heir to an earldom.”

As she got downstairs, her father was reading the newspaper, muttering to himself. When he noticed his daughter’s presence, he frowned “What do you want, Tess?”

She got on her knees with a guilty look and grabbed his pantaloons “Father… forgive me. I have disrespected you and was a very, very ungrateful daughter. I should’ve known my place, and I’d be pleased to become Mrs. Marlcaster.”

Her father raised an eyebrow and she rested her head on his lap “It won’t happen again. You shall find me your best, most ardently devoted and loving daughter. Please, Papa…” She looked at him like she was a puppy and he just kicked her. His demeanour mellowed.

“Very well. I forgive you. You are young and naïve, but later you’ll thank me.”

She smiled at him and kissed his hand, and he beckoned her to go back to her room. Now that she crossed her father off her to-do list, there was something else to do: talk to Miss Annabelle Parsons. Her next stop tomorrow would be Hazelvale Manor.

“Miss Sutton! Be welcome!” Annabelle smiled.

Theresa started a long ramble about what a pretty decoration she owned and how Felicity’s house looked similar, hoping that she’d get bored easily. Annabelle was certainly good at pretending to listen, but she could read boredom well enough. She talked more of the gossip she had heard, until Annabelle finally snapped, in her own polite way.

“I’d like to congratulate you on your betrothal to Eddie.”

“Ooh, thank you!” She made sure to squeal and conspirationally whisper “And soon you’ll score the youngest for yourself! Exciting, isn’t it?!” She batted her eyes, and Annabelle looked uncomfortable. Disgusted by the idea, even. But that mask was off for a few seconds.

“I look forward… to unite our houses.”

“Great! We shall be sisters, you and I!” She took her hands and squeezed them as hard as she could.

If Mama is right, it shouldn’t be difficult to rip my Harry from you.

Annabelle smiled “Wouldn’t that be simply wonderful?”

Theresa couldn’t help a giggle, and thank God that, in her eyes, she was just being childish about it. But deep inside, she was hiding her machinations to take Harry from her.

A beautiful maid of rich blonde hair came in, serving the tea, and Annabelle gave her a pair of curious eyes “Whoa! That’s such a pretty hair!”

She smiled wistfully “I know.”

Theresa looked at her, her mask falling off just for a few nanoseconds. She looked at her like she wanted Harry to look at her. Like no one else in the world mattered, but he just left or blushed and avoided her ever since the engagement. Boys were so simple, yet so complicated when it came to express one’s feelings! It was exasperating.

“So, how do you imagine your wedding? Given that one day he’ll be heir, it should be a grand thing!” She wanted to strangle her so bad in that moment.

Why her? Why not me?

Supposedly, she should be thrilled of one day becoming a viscountess. She could tell by her eyes and mannerisms that she felt like a pig readying itself for slaughter. And she and Harry were closer than she’d like. She was aware that she didn’t have a right to be possessive, but the feeling was there and she couldn’t just ignore it. She wanted to shake her and scream at her, and demand why she accepted the proposal when it was obvious that it was the last thing in the world she wanted to do. She had at first thought she was just averse to touch in general, but it only seemed to be the case when a woman was around. She was hands-on and smiley, meanwhile with a man she was stern and mysterious.

She had heard many myths. That once upon a time, there had been a time where several women lived in the isle of Lesbos and engaged in romantic and emotional relationships among them, among them the infamous poet Sappho, whose book was deemed immoral and forbidden and burned down. She had also seen drawing of it in another countries, and some made her blush. And when they had been in the museums watching statues of Aphrodite, she had been wide-eyed and red. Could it be? That she felt that way with women the way she should feel about men?

Poor girl, she thought, unable to talk to someone or relate to it.

How lonely it must be, in such a poorly communicated world where one is trapped in a certain society full of rules, especially when one was a coloured woman. As her mother had told her, if women didn’t support one another, who would?

Theresa placed her hand on hers “If you ever need venting, I’m here.”

Annabelle blinked for a few seconds before nodding.

“I’m quite fine, honestly. I suppose the thrill will come the nearer the wedding is.”

They both knew she was lying. She would never find joy in it. Not as long as Harry was a man.

What a beautiful world would be, one with less rules on who to love, tasting the freedom of it, unbound and unapologetically, and shamelessly.

December, 1814

The rain had been pouring out like Heaven itself was falling, and Theresa needed some comfort, unable to sleep due to Henrietta’s hurtful remarks on how she chose to dress. Surely cream tulle was a sensible choice?

She quickly ducked into the library and started exploring where would she travel tonight, wondering whether Keats or Machiavelli would be good choices before drifting to sleep. She chose Keats and found herself engrossed in his work, deliciously scandalous with the right amount of salacious and fascinating tales. She couldn’t help herself with a snort, and when she looked up, she nearly screamed, were it not for her visitor’s quick hand covering her mouth. Such gesture made her cheeks redden.

“Forgive me,” Harry whispered, retracting his hand “but I heard a noise and thought we had an unwanted guest.” He observed her choice of reading and his eyebrows shoot up in amusement “I didn’t know you were interested in Keats.”

“I—I like the… gossip.”

Harry chuckled and took a dangerous step closer “You needn’t don your mask before me, Tess. I shall not tell a soul that you are smarter than you pretend to be.”

“I—I—that is—,” She sighed, chuckling “have you been spying on me, my lord?”

“Merely observing with attention.”

Her breath got caught “You ought to do that with Miss Parsons, not me.”

He took yet another step, and Theresa caught herself against one shelf, her eyes on Harry’s beautiful blue eyes, the same shade as the Edgewater colours “Why pretend that you are an airhead when you’re far more enthralling like that?” He asked, his voice musky.

“I don’t think you’d understand.”

He tucked one strand of hair in her ear and she noticed how unproperly dressed she was, in nothing but a nightgown and her hair down and unbound for rolling into the satin sheets. Their chests were inches close, and he too was in state on undress, only his shirtsleeves and pantaloons “Try me. I like to think that I am insightful.” His voice was a beautiful baritone whisper, a dangerous invitation. His fingertips now traced her neckline, as if checking her pulse, which was beating incredibly fast, and she looked away. His fingers caught her chin and made him look at him “Don’t. Don’t deprive me of your eyes. It’d be like depraving a lost man in a desert of water.” He whispered, so low she shouldn’t have to hear it in regular circumstances.

“Harry,” she breathed, her eyes on those beautiful lips she dreamt about in the high hours of the night.

“Tess,”

She had been so caught in the moment that she didn’t notice her book dropping slowly from her grasp, and its firm thud made her come to her senses and quickly ran away before he could even come to his own senses. She reached her bedroom and placed her hand on her chest, trying to get a hold of her heartbeats, that were as fast as a hummingbird. She swallowed hard and felt like she had run from Glasgow all the way here.

Locking the door for everybody’s sakes, she drifted to sleep, not before praying to God not to dream of Harry’s lips on her yet again.

April, 1815

Theresa had been comforting a crying Edmund, who silently dropped tears in her lap. It was a strange thing. Throughout their engagement, he had refused to even try to mellow her or try to win her heart. But he had proposed, and had wanted to make it look convincing. She had also noticed how Harry sent her gifts, shamelessly trying to win her to his side. She had always used his brother as excuse of returning the gifts. She wanted him badly, but she had grown up in a house close to God, always beseeching her to be a good and faithful woman even before marriage. If Edmund noticed, he didn’t care, for he was much more interested in hunting.

She had tried to even kiss him, even if it was chastely, but he always turned her away. The argument that followed was quite nasty “Am I not handsome enough for you?” She demanded.

“It’s not that.” He responded flatly.

“I am to be your wife. In these years, you have even refused to take my hand! As if we were committing incest of some sorts!”

He mumbled “What nonsense, Theresa!”

“Then what is it?! Is there another wench which I am unaware of?”

He looked at her horrified “Of course not! I am not a monster, Theresa!”

“THEN WHY WON’T YOU TOUCH ME?!” She cried out, exasperated. She took a deep breath “Sooner or later, we shall be man and wife. Everyone hopes that we start behaving like that. What is holding you back?!” At his silence, she quickly whispered “Do you… perhaps have issues… down there…?”

“My body functions just fine, Miss Sutton!” He declared, like she had just insulted him. Perhaps she had.

She bit her lip “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to insult you. I just… I want to understand why won’t you behave like my future husband! You proposed! You convinced my parents to marry us! Whatever had changed? Do you think I am a tattletale like the rest?”

“You’re not at fault here, Theresa. I… I made a promise.”

“I don’t follow. Do you want to remain celibate until marriage?”

There was a drowning silence, in which the country wind and their breaths were the only sound in the room “I do not… have talent in the amorous path.”

Theresa softened and placed her hand on his shoulder, and as usual, he flinched “I understand if you wish to remain innocent until our wedding night. I find it quite brave of you.”

He only nodded. Theresa was lucky that he didn’t flaunt himself in brothels and hoarded the maids’ bedrooms whenever he had needs. He was restraint and seemed to respect his promise to her. She didn’t know why, but she wanted to understand. She truly did.

“Now, let us go to get some tea.”

He gestured towards the door “Ladies first.”

Things had mellowed due to Harry’s death. She still donned her mask of a tattletale, despite the fact that he wouldn’t like it. This was the thing: men didn’t like women with minds of their own, with deep thoughts and ambition of their own. If she pretended long enough to be air-headed and only caring for gossip and a handsome, wealthy man and a good roof under her head, her life would be solved.

But neither Edmund or Harry were common men. They were men of cultures of their own. They were the sun and the moon, light and dark, Hades and Apollo. Harry was a promise of light, youthful beauty and arts and music flowing the room, as bright as the sun itself, meanwhile Edmund was peace, quiet nights where the lonely and unwanted souls could be free. They both completed one another, and now Edgewater had lost its sun the moment that dreadful boar had struck him down, like the comets had altered the universe with one strike.

There were colour with Harry, vibrant and inspiring people, lightening the way and the walls of the estate, and now he wasn’t here, and the world had fallen into darkness and wails of the ones who had found their purpose under Harry’s comforting light. She would no longer bathe into his sun, or feel his cologne, or see the ruffles of his beautiful hair, the chestnut that reminded her of the autumn paintings she loved.

Now, he just lived in her memory and the few portraits that had been made of him. Humanity was yet to find a way to immortalise somebody. Aged just seventeen, he had taken his holy light from them to perhaps never return.

March, 1816

Theresa had imagined Joanna in many ways before she arrived. Perhaps a female Harry, with his bright blue eyes and his chestnut hair. Instead, she had found a fiery, aloof and fierce young woman, with hair as red as fire itself, and with too many opinions for a world where one wasn’t allowed to have a voice. She admired her bravery and passion, that very much needed fire inside the now shadows of the estate. Light had returned to Edgewater, but with a terrible price.

She knew that Joanna didn’t like her, thinking of her a tattletale with no regard for anything save gossip. Perhaps it was for the best. But one thing was certain: she was a Foredale to the bone, and not even Henrietta’s schemes would take that away. She certainly knew how to get her way, and seemed more experienced in several things than the rest.

She was not a woman of her century, but rather advanced, perhaps too advanced for her own good. She didn’t demand attention with a well-practised nasal voice or to show off, she demanded it the moment she entered the room, without saying a single word, and it had nothing to do with her scandalous backstory, but rather her presence: commanding, alluring, poised, elegant and with a beauty that made men bow before her ethereal beauty, red, blue and white made a woman.

She had hopes that she’d finish what Harry had started. She truly did.

Late April, 1816

Theresa was aware that death always surrounded her, but she was not aware that it’d haunt whoever came too close to the vacancy of the head of Edgewater. It seemed like a curse; whoever dared to declare itself the heir, they’d have a horrible death.

Yellow fever. Boar attack. Murder.

No Foredale in power had any mercy in their last hours. The Earl had died with a terrible illness, Harry had been struck by a deadly boar, and now the duke had murdered Joanna, in her own prime, only for rejecting his affections, if they were even affections per se. They probably didn’t get past carnal possession. He was infamous for the death of any woman who had come close to him. Like yet another terrible curse that went back to the times of Henry VIII.

She had grown to love the woman, a mistake she had committed, and now she watched her be buried six feet deep, childless and without any clear prospect, her suitors devastated to watch her go before fulfilling promises made in hidden places and whispers. If someone deserved a happy ending, that was Joanna. And she herself had lost so much before yielding to death herself: her fiancé, her mother, her father and now herself. Those who had mattered to her, all dead in her arms. How terrible, to have death hovering over your shadow every time you opened up your heart and placed it before someone in your fist, hoping that they’d take care of it. They, unintentionally, had grabbed it and tore it apart before her eyes.

Poor girl, she thought. Poor child. So beautiful, witty, full of life, dreams and ambitions, now lying in the cold ground next to her loved ones, leaving other behind her, with their own hearts destroyed by her before them, even if she didn’t mean it either.

Theresa supposed that was what it meant to love and be loved: burn as bright as the sun and pray not to get burned, but not caring either when you’re into deep, lost in the flames of passion and longing.

She had burned not one, but four hearts, and one hadn’t bore the fire and left it to burn on its own. She’d certainly miss Annabelle, but didn’t blame her for fleeing before getting hurt again. Now the halls of Edgewater held too many memories of Harry’s laughter, Joanna’s bright smile and Vincent’s kind eyes. All of them gone before their time.

That night, after everyone went to sleep, Edmund had summoned her to the drawing room and beckoned her to take a seat “I know that it is perhaps not a good time, but Joanna would’ve wanted me, us, to be happy. I—,”

“You want to end this, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“…Thank God.” She breathed.

He frowned “What—,”

“Oh, don’t make of me a fool, Edmund. We were never meant to marry. I never loved you that way, and neither did you. You were bound by a promise, and my heart belonged to Harry all along. It’d be foolish of us to pretend this is going somewhere. And, perhaps, if we had been sincere with ourselves and one another, this wouldn’t have to be nasty.”

Edmund chuckled bitterly and asked “When did you become so wise?”

“I always have been. You were too focused on my tattletale role.”

Edmund closed the distance and kissed her cheek “You outplayed us all. You will have no trouble outliving this family, dear.”

She placed her hand on his cheek “I’d hate to see you die, though. I mean it. You have been a friend all along. You still matter to me.”

He kissed the inside of her cheek “As do you. I hope that you find a man who is worthy of you, Tessa.”

“As I do, Neddy. And if you have, tell her she has my blessing.”

December, 1816

So much had changed. She had changed. Everyone and everything had.

Joanna had come back from the dead, and Harry as well. Edmund had married Joanna’s lady’s maid, and she was to marry Harry. All because of a last-minute miracle that Joanna did. She had always been a curious thing. The moment they both had dismounted such big mares, Edgewater’s balance had been restored, and its pretenders were gone within the week.

And she was now expecting her first child, and would soon become Countess of Edgewater. If the Theresa from ten years ago heard of it, she’d call her a fool. Edmund was to be a father as well, as if both brothers had coordinated to have a child at the same time. It was certainly a curious thing both expectants had commented over tea.

Her life was as she dreamt once, and with a husband who saw her for who she was all along, she had been happy to drop her mask, leaving everyone dumbfounded when they saw how intelligent she was. This war with society was officially over, and she had won the fight.

My name is Theresa Marie Foredale, formerly Sutton, and I was born on a spring of 1794. My father is a reverend, and my mother is the daughter of a slave woman who could birth her in freedom.

Since infancy, I grew up and fell in love with Harrison Foredale, the heir of Edgewater Estate, but was betrothed in 1810 to Edmund Marlcaster, son of Henrietta Foredale of her first, tragic marriage.

From a young age, I realised that my talent for talking and having opinions was not an option if I wanted to survive, so I decided to don a mask of a chatterbox that only cared for gossip and status, but without letting go of my romantic nature. Why let go of it in the pinnacle of Romanticism? What a sin that would’ve been.

I chose my friends wisely, and played the game as well as I could. In 1815, my Harry died of a supposed boar attack, and I was now seemingly forced to make my engagement work, though we all knew it was a farce.

On the autumn of 1816, Joanna Foredale, who had been supposedly murdered by the Duke of Karlington stormed the doors with Viscount Harry by her side, everything changed. He claimed his spot as earl back, and he claimed me as his countess, and my, have I never been happier.

During a quiet night where we poured down our hearts, we gave to our burning passion in his bedroom, and that night, our future son was conceived. I still remember how painfully beautiful he looked under the moonlight and the last surviving candle, and how little we needed its flame, for we burned as bright as a comet in each other’s arms, the most beautiful and passionate of loves made into kisses and caresses. How he held me, looked at me and never let go of my hand in the whole night, calling me the most tender and loving names, calling me Tess, his Tess, like he had all his life.

We also had another seven beautiful children: Victoire, Vincent II, Dominique II, Charles, Anne, Lionel and Isobel Foredale.

Many speak of Joanna and her incredible deeds and passion that matches her fiery red head, but they will rarely speak my name: the countess and wife of Harry, who waited for him patiently and hopefully, as well as agonizingly for six years, and got him by a miracle that no one is yet to explain to me.

I am Theresa, the woman who fooled London’s Ton by playing a gossiping and nosy chatterbox, hiding underneath a woman of opinions, aspirations and sensible dreams behind that mask. But that was never a secret to my Harry.

They thought that a woman like myself, of brown skin and chatty and plain as day could ever aspire to countess, and I outwitted them all with patience and being observant. The fickle game of marriage within our high society was not easy, but in the end, I won it with sweat and tears, with rarely having the privileges my peers enjoyed. I am the first coloured Countess of Edgewater to grace its role, and I have done well by my name and status, giving it plenty of heirs and keeping alive its light.

It is my blood that resides in the current earl, yet all they talk about is her, her red hair and outwardly deeds. But I do not mind it. I know who I am, and that I was as relevant. We were sisters, allies and best of friends. She was remembered more often, but I have not fallen into oblivion just yet.

I am Theresa Foredale, the woman who outplayed all the rich, white ladies of Edgewater and got a prestigious status while the other sank. The moment I tied the knot with the earl was the last time I was underestimated.

My name is Theresa, the tattletale who won the game of marriages in London’s Season of 1816, loved by the people, Grandmother of Mayfair and who earned the love of an earl, and this is my story of going from an overlooked and underestimated reverend’s daughter to the Countess of Edgewater and lady of the House of Foredale, and I tell you this; to the little girl, brown of skin and told by the world to know its limits: there is nothing you cannot achieve if you wait patiently and believe in yourself and what you can achieve. If I, in 1816, could become a countess, I assure you, nothing can’t stop you of getting your way.

I may not be the most popular Foredale, but I am most certainly not irrelevant, for without me, a long line would’ve died. My name is Theresa, and it is up to you that you don’t make my years-worth work be done for nothing.

[sapphoschoices]

Sooo disturbing to be referring to Mr Sinclaire as "Ernest" like that's not who he issss stop it it's so jarring

Totally in contrast to how I feel about Edmund Marlcaster and Harry, like why does Edmund keep calling him "Viscount Harry" like thats your brother, why not just call his by his name? And after a certain point, it just feels weird for MC to call him "Mr Marlcaster " even if you actually befriend him (I haven't had the strength to not befriend him yet...). Like he's your brother in almost every sense of the word, you cried over your father's death together, I don't know if it's more historically accurate or something, maybe it is (this is not my area of knowledge) but it just feels so ingenuine and it feels odd, i do not like it

[princess-geek]

Mr Sinclaire Icons

Made by the lovely @ladylamrian. Thank you so much 😘😘😘😘

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[officialchoicestrash]

Me Deciding to Make the Entire Desire and Decorum Crew? It’s More Likely Than You Think!

Mr Yusef Konevi

Miss Theresa Sutton

Mr Edmund Marlcaster

Miss Felicity Holloway

Viscount Harry Foredale

Earl Vincent of Edgewater

Miss Cordelia Parsons

Viscount Westonly

Viscountess Lavinia

Dowager Countess Dominique

Mr Tristan Richards

Sir Gideon Payne

Mary

__________

For the main gang, click here!

[scgdoeswhat]

OMG Countess Henrietta being nice???? 😱😱😱

HELL HAS FROZEN OVER

That was short lived...

Okay, I love my fam