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harmonyrae · 19 days ago

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A Devilish Duke

Synopsis: You must be cursed, doomed to be an old maid, no one will ever marry you. You’ve tried to restrain your rebellious nature, but when you meet the devilish Duke of Tartarus, you genuinely have met your match. His brazen behavior could completely ruin your reputation. So why aren’t you running away?

AN: I tried my best to be historically accurate - my Google history is crazy & I have 7 pages of notes. However, some modern terms are just way easier to use for a smoother reading experience. All photos taken from Pinterest.

Content Warnings: SFW (future works could have NSFW elements fyi), plot & angst, violence & blood, death of parental figures mentioned, Sylus is a brat, Simon Basset coded tbh

Word Count: 7k

Another season, another abysmal attempt at impressing the Queen. While you hadn’t tripped like last season, you certainly didn’t improve your reputation. Instead of stumbling over your own feet, you stumbled over your words. Why couldn’t you just curtsy like everyone else? Even Angeline Ashby has a better chance at finding a match this season, and she’s a lecherous cow.

The warm glow of the rising sun was the final straw, you weren’t sleeping tonight. You crawl out from under the blanket and shuffle to the wardrobe to find your riding coat. You braid your hair and tuck it down the back before grabbing your boots. You tiptoe down the stairs to the kitchen and sneak out the backdoor, crouching down for a moment to lace up your boots.

The hem of your skirt dampens with the morning dew. You pull your coat sleeves down over your hands, you can’t wait until the warmth of spring extends into the early morning hours. It’s the only time you can be yourself, when you can go for a ride without hearing your mother lecture you about using your fathers hunting saddle. You’ll always be grateful your father taught you to ride astride, you only rode side saddles when you absolutely had to.

The door of the stable creaks loudly and you wince as the horses whinny in response. You slide through the door and approach the first stall. You peek over the gate and see your mare, Misty, eating. The stable boy must have already come by, which means you don’t have to be as quiet.

“Misty…”

She shakes her head, strands of her silky black mane falling down over her face. She snorts, slowly walking up to the gate to greet you. You rest your hand on nose and she nuzzles closer. You take a few minutes to dote on her, giggling as she licks your hand in search of a treat.

“Come on girl, let’s get out of here, yea?”

She sighs and backs up to let you into her stall. You throw on her horse blanket before putting your fathers saddle on her back. Reaching under, you secure the girth before slipping the bridle over her head and attaching the rein. You adjust the stirrups, patting her side while whispering praises. You lead her out of her stall to the stable doors and out into the paddock, closing the door behind you. A subtle click, and the back gate of the paddock locks, the open field before you begging to be explored. You use the gate to step up and swing your leg over the saddle, tucking your skirt underneath before sitting down.

“Okay girl, let’s see where we end up today.”

You tap your heel against her side and she starts to walk, as she warms up you give the command for her to trot. The chilly morning breeze is a welcomed sensation, your mental anguish is finally silenced as the air whips past your ears. Another kick and she’s off, her muscles flexing under you, effortlessly carrying you far away from the stuffy manor you call home. You finally lean forward and tighten your hold on the reins.

“Go on girl! Go!”

Misty speeds up, galloping through the field as the sunrise paints the sky gold. Your eyes burn from the rush of air, your cheeks ache from smiling, you’re free. Or at least you’re feeling free, your reality is far less enjoyable.

You ride along the river, watching the water flow and break off in countless directions. You follow one of the streams and down a hill towards a large pond. Ducks waddle across the field towards the water, their babies close behind. You direct Misty to take a turn around a large oak tree along the bank and scream when you spot a man standing just an arms length away. Misty narrowly avoids him and neighs loudly, another horse lifts their head and responds, anxious hooves sinking into the wet soil next to their master.

“Whoa! Whoa girl!”

You try to regain control of Misty, but your skirt bunched beneath you causes you to slide. You release the reins and cling to her neck as one of your feet slips out of the stirrups. With one harsh kick of her legs, you’re falling. You close your eyes, bracing for a painful landing and yelp when you feel arms wrap around your torso, catching you.

It takes you a moment to realize the man you almost ran over has caught you. You’re laying on the ground in his arms, frozen. You cautiously look over your shoulder only to realize your hair has freed itself from your coat, the braid fully unwound, your wild curls covering the man’s face. You roll away from him and sit up, sweeping your hair over your shoulder in a weak attempt to mask your embarrassment.

“What were you doing? She could have kicked you, getting so close like that!”

When you finally lift your head, your stomach drops. Of course, only you would nearly kill the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. He sits up, resting an arm on his knee as he gives you a once over. His black dress shirt is unbuttoned, showing a tantalizing view of his toned chest, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His clothes are caked in mud, but his face is clean, aside from a smudge of mud over his right cheek. Silver white hair swoops down across his forehead and as he lifts a hand to wipe away the mud from his cheek you catch a glimpse of a small gold hoop hanging from his ear. A prominent nose, sharp jaw, plump lips, but nothing is as striking as his eyes. The deep crimson reminds you of red velvet cake or your favorite wine.

“A ‘thank you’ would have sufficed.”

No, his voice reminds you of red velvet cake with how rich and delicious he sounds. His words finally resonate and you instinctively scoff. Gorgeous or not, he shouldn’t have run up on Misty. You look around and don’t see her, panic slowly building in your chest.

“Oh really? You want a ‘thank you’ for scaring off my horse?”

He raises his brow, clearly surprised with your tone.

“If I’m not mistaken, you almost ran over me. And I could have let you break your arm, would that have made you happy?”

“Oh, you’re so right! Thank you so much, my knight in shining armor truly saved the day!”

You hear hooves approach and turn to see Misty slowly returning to you. She greets the other horse with a soft neigh. The other horse, who is just as gorgeous as their rider, responds in kind. You groan as you struggle to stand up, you may not have hit the ground, but sliding off of your saddle certainly strained your muscles. You gesture for Misty and she trots over, lowering her head to accept your pats.

“She looks fine to me. And you’re welcome.”

You whip around and glare at him. He brushes off his trousers and stands, his full height making you momentarily forget why you were angry with him. Thankfully, his smirk reminds you.

“So you’re not only daft, you’re insufferable as well?”

“Daft, no. Insufferable? Debatable.”

You roll your eyes and turn back to adjust Misty’s bridle. Not that it’s askew, you just need something to do with your hands.

“I imagine if you had been riding side-saddle that might have gone worse.”

You tense, the reality of your situation setting in. You were riding in a manner deemed “inappropriate” for a proper young lady. You’re only wearing your nightgown with a riding coat and boots. And you’re alone with a man in the early morning hours.

“I’m shocked, really. Your riding was impressive.”

As anxious as you were, your temper was still too hot to ignore.

“Oh? And what’s so impressive about it? That I know how to ride astride or that I know how to ride at all?”

“I’ve never seen a woman –”

“Ahh, so it is because I’m a woman. I swear if men would stop focusing on what’s between my legs and rather what’s between my ears, perhaps society could finally move forward!”

The man is stunned, but he doesn’t look away. His gaze burns straight through you, and you’re suddenly aware of every breath, every blink, every strand of hair billowing in the breeze. He steps closer.

“I was going to say, I’ve never seen a woman ride so skillfully. But please, continue making assumptions about my intentions.”

You shake your head.

“Arrogant as well. You’re quite the gentleman.”

You don’t wait for him to respond, reaching up to hold onto the horn of your saddle to jump up. Balancing on your stomach before pushing yourself up into a sitting position. Your feet aren’t even in the stirrups before you’re giving the command to trot, waving at the man over your shoulder.

“Next time, don’t run up to a panicking horse. Have a lovely day!”

You hear the man laugh as you take off across the field, back the way you came. You rush home, unsaddling and brushing Misty quickly so you can head inside to start a bath for yourself. If your mother catches you with your mud stained riding boots and nightgown, you’ll get locked in your room every night until the end of the season.

Thankfully, your mother doesn’t find out about your misadventure. She’s far too excited about the ball starting in a few hours. She spends extra time braiding and pinning your hair into the most uncomfortable undo.

“The Duke visiting this season will help you.”

“How so?”

“Well, everyone is talking about him. His choice to reside in his mothers estate, the ball he is hosting tonight will be the first time its doors have been opened in nearly 30 years. He’s lived on his fathers estate his whole life, no one’s seen him since he was a child.”

“So they won’t have time to talk about my failures if they focus on him.”

“I have faith this season will be much better for you than the last. Just… don’t speak when we are welcomed by the Duke. Just curtsy and smile. Your sister and I will exchange pleasantries.”

Cordelia was finally home. While you loved her husband, you hated being apart all winter while they stayed in his home in Verona. She would be attending the ball with Rafayel, which would surely be the next topic of conversation after the Duke’s affairs.

“Now stand up, let’s get your dress.”

She slips the dress over your head, careful to not undo her hard work. She adjusts the sleeves to sit just off your shoulders, given your smaller than average chest size, you could wear more unique styles without turning heads. Your mother encouraged it, claiming it gave you a “more feminine frame.” You slide on the matching gloves and face the mirror as your mother adds the final touches.

“What kind of theme is ‘red’? Has the Duke ever hosted a ball before? A color is not a theme!”

“I think it’s a grand idea, it’s simple. Understated.”

“You cried tears of joy at the Windleton’s circus themed ball last season.”

“I can appreciate all styles! Now shush, get your shawl and let’s go. Your sister is waiting.”

The carriage ride to the Duke’s estate was lively. Rafayel and Cora discuss the renovations they’re doing to their winter home in Verona. Rafayel promises your mother his opera will debut in the Ton first before taking residence at the Verona opera house. Cora quietly asks about the cut on your arm, which you hadn’t noticed until now. You must have cut it during the fall this morning. You try to distract her with a story about Misty, but she just gives you a sceptical look - she can always tell when you’re lying.

The Duke’s estate is larger than you had imagined. Your mother oohs and ahhs while Rafayel leans close to his wife.

“He’s the Duke of what again?”

“The Duke of Tartarus, he was born here but moved after his mother died. I heard he’s only been back a little over a week, I’ve no idea how he prepared to host a ball so quickly.”

“Money can make the impossible possible.” You mutter under your breath.

You stare at the manor in the distance, wondering why the Duke returned and what his plans were. You’re sure by the end of the night there will be plenty of rumors to discuss.

You take Cora’s arm as soon as you enter the manor, she’s always been your safe haven amongst the chaos. She pats your hand before looping her other arm through Rafayel’s. Your mother leads you through the crowd to stand in line to greet the Duke. You can barely see past the wall of guests to get a good look, so you settle for taking in the intricate details of his home instead.

Dark red walls, black and white wood floors, intricate iron railings line the staircase and second floor balcony, chandeliers with onyx crystals. Rafayel gasps and points to the ceiling. When you look up you see a breathtaking mural, creatures of fantasy dance across the vaulted ceiling as if they’re flying.

Tall windows, lined with velvet drapes, cover the entire south wall. Just outside you can make out a large garden and hedges so tall, you’re sure there’s a maze of some kind. You shuffle forward into the ballroom where a full ensemble plays and guests dance. Waiters float through the crowd, carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne.

“Oh! I see him. Oh he’s so handsome!”

You hear your mother whisper, rather loudly, and crane your neck to get a better look. Your hand flies up to your mouth to stifle a shout, your mother and sister stare at you in shock. You didn’t look at them, you couldn’t look at anything other than the Duke. The man you met this morning, the man you nearly killed this morning, is the Duke of Tartarus.

He stands in front of the crowd with a confident smile, his sharp features much softer in the candlelight. He bows to each guest before motioning for them to head to the dance floor and enjoy the affair. He’d changed out of his mud-caked trousers and undone shirt for a dazzling red velvet tailcoat, a matching waistcoat with a golden brocade pattern and black trousers. His white silk stock tucked neatly into his dress shirt. He looked radiant, truly noble and very different from the dirty wanderer you first met.

You turn to your mother and grip her hand tightly.

“Mama, I am feeling quite ill, I don’t want to embarrass you further by getting sick in front of the Duke. I will call for the carriage. I’ll be sure to send them back before I turn in for the night.”

Just as you’re about to let go and head straight for the door, your mother pulls you back. She loops her arm around yours and locks you in place beside her.

“You are not leaving the Duke’s party before greeting him. If you still feel poorly after, you may go. But right now, you will smile and curtsey and make a good impression with the Duke, do you understand?”

You whimper and nod. Cora places a hand on your shoulder, but before she can say a word you’re being pushed forward to stand before the Duke. You bow your head and stare at the ground, praying he won’t recognize you. The tall man beside the Duke clears his throat and gestures to you and your family.

“Your Grace, Baroness Raeton, Viscount and Viscountess Rafayel and Miss Raeton.”

You curtsy and as you stand you try to move behind your sister.

“Your Grace, it’s an honor to be invited tonight. Might I say, your home is gorgeous.”

“Thank you Lady Raeton.”

You hear those around you gasp softly and your stomach drops. You’re about to slide behind your sister even further when a pair of boots appear on the floor in front of you. You bite your lip and slowly lift your head. The Duke stands before you, his smirk now a full blown grin. He looks down at you and you swallow hard, forcing your knees to bend as you offer another curtsy.

“Your Grace.”

“Miss Raeton. Miss…”

He looks over to your mother who is surely in total shock by now, she stutters before responding.

“Seraphina, m-my daughter Seraphina.”

“Miss Seraphina Raeton. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing a smile. When you open them, you see the Duke reach out his hand and look down at your wrist.

“Your dance card, if I may?”

You lift your hand and turn your wrist for him to see your card, but instead of writing down his name he pulls the thread loose and takes the card completely. You stand there for a moment, your wrist still extended, before looking at him with wide eyes.

“I don’t believe this is necessary if I am going to be your only partner for the evening.”

You, your mother and sister all gasp. Rafayel tries to cover up his laugh with a cough. The crowd around you reacts similarly, either gasping at the Duke’s presumptuous declaration or snickering at your baffled expression.

“I will find you before the next song. I have a few more guests to receive.”

And just like that, you are dismissed. Your mother grabs your arm and nearly drags you off to the side of the dance floor.

“Seraphina Charlotte Raeton, explain how he knows who you are this instant!”

“Mama…” Cora attempts to calm your mother's poor nerves. “Sera, have you met the Duke before today?”

You slump against the wall and cross your arms.

“Well… no.”

“Then why did he say ‘again’ - ‘it’s a pleasure to see you again’?”

Your mother was attempting to whisper, but it came out as more of a shout. Those around you were clearly listening in. Cora and Rafayel stand in front of you, blocking their view.

“I may have… gone on a ride this morning and… seen him…”

“Seraphina please tell me you were not using your fathers –”

“Hunting saddle, yes, I was…”

Your mother clings to Cora, she fans her flushed cheeks with her other hand.

“Did he only see you riding or did you speak with him?”

“Mama… I don’t know if we should be –”

Your mother squeezes Cora’s arm and she gives you an apologetic nod - she tried.

“I… I might have almost… ran him over and then fell off Misty and he caught me.”

Rafayel snorts, earning him a slap on the shoulder from his wife.

“Sera… please tell me you were polite and amiable.”

When you don’t look her in the eye she turns to your sister.

“I am going to get some fresh air, Rafayel, won’t you join your mother-in-law for a stroll around the Duke’s garden?”

Rafayel looks between you and Cora, confused. Cora nods her head and he smiles, offering his arm to your mother.

“Cora, please… watch your sister. Make sure she doesn’t tarnish our family name any further tonight.”

She pulls Rafayel towards the door leading to the garden, leaving you alone with your sister. You turn and face the wall, balling your hands into fists. You can’t seem to fill your lungs and the enormous ballroom suddenly feels much too small. Cora’s hand settles on the small of your back and she rests her chin on your shoulder.

“Is Misty alright?”

You laugh weakly and rest your forehead against the wall.

“Spooked, but alright.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I called him daft.”

“Oh Sera…”

“And insufferable…”

“And don’t forget, arrogant.”

The Duke’s smooth voice makes you jump, you spin around and collide with your sister. She holds your arm and prompts you to curtsy.

“Your Grace.”

“Are you ready for our first dance, Miss Raeton?”

You stare at him like he has a second head, he surely wasn’t serious about dancing with you the whole night… right?

Cora nudges you with her elbow and you stumble forward, accepting his hand as he leads you to the dance floor. He stands across from you, hands behind his back, that cynical smirk as steadfast as ever. As the song begins, you panic, suddenly worried you’ll forget the steps to the simplest quadrille. The Duke reaches out, giving you the tiniest hint for your first step and as infuriating as he is, you’re thankful.

“You were not… serious about dancing with me… the whole night… right?”

“Completely.”

You grit your teeth and try your best to ignore the chill that runs down your spine each time your hand touches his. Half-way through your second dance, you decide you simply won’t talk to him. His snide remarks and smug expression wouldn’t bother you. You’d suffer through however many dances he wanted and then find a corner to sit in for the rest of the evening.

The Duke didn’t seem to mind the silence, he simply watched you. He steps up and lifts your hand to his shoulder, other pairs surround you as the waltz begins. The one dance you never enjoyed. Something about being led made you feel like a horse.

“Do you truly find me insufferable?”

He finally breaks the silence and you jerk as he draws you closer with his hand on your waist.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

“Well, this does appear to be a case of the pot calling the kettle black.”

“I beg your pardon? It appears no one taught you proper etiquette. Taking a ladies dance card? Dancing the whole evening when you should be receiving guests.”

“I’ve always felt the host should partake in the festivities. What do I have to gain from engaging in mindless chatter all evening?”

“So dancing with me in utter silence is a better use of your time?”

“It certainly is more enjoyable. Aside from the accusations.”

“Why did you take my card?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

You maintain your smile, to anyone watching you were having a pleasant conversation with the Duke. You shake your head.

“I wanted to spend time with you, sweetie.”

You gasp and attempt to pull away, intent on running straight for the door. You’ll walk home if you must. The Duke’s grip on your waist tightens and he keeps you close. You glare at him, onlookers be damned.

“Have you no shame? You’re being incredibly improper.”

“I would have thought a young lady who prefers to ride astride and speak her mind would appreciate a genuine conversation. You are proving to be a difficult study.”

You’re at a loss for words. This man is unlike any you’ve encountered. Bold, brash, shameless and entirely intriguing. You attempt to scoff, but it comes out as a pitiful huff. When you finally find your voice you look at him directly, feigning confidence.

“I should slap you for your brazen behavior, but given this is your soiree, I shall restrain myself.”

The Duke laughs.

“I do so appreciate your candor. If you’d like the satisfaction of watching someone attempt to do so, attend my bout tomorrow evening.”

“I… I don’t…”

“I’m sure your brother-in-law already knows the details. Young ladies are more than welcome, it’s not as barbaric as you think. And perhaps… I would like to see you there.”

You’re once again rendered speechless. The Duke spins you as the song comes to an end. You face him and curtsy.

“T-Thank you for the dances, Your Grace.”

“Sylus.”

Your skin warms just thinking of saying his name. He bows.

“Good evening, Miss Raeton.”

Misty was restless, she wasn’t used to you just sitting in her stall, she expected a ride. You run the brush through her mane once more.

“Sorry girl, not today.”

She snorts and you kiss her forehead before reaching for another apple from the basket you brought. After spending the morning in the sitting room with your mother in utter silence waiting for suitors - how never came - you needed a break. Spending the afternoon in the stable with Misty seemed like the best option.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Cora’s voice makes you jump, which causes Misty to grunt, but once she sees Cora, she’s as happy as can be. She paws the ground and Cora giggles as she opens the gate.

“Hey girl. I missed you too.”

Misty was a gift for both you and Cora from your father. You took to riding instantly while Cora preferred spoiling her with apples and oats. She holds out a hand and you pass her the brush.

“Are you sure you want to go this evening? I don’t like lying to Mama.”

You hike up your skirt and step up on the iron bar lining the gate, you rotate to settle yourself on the thick wood panel along the top. Holding onto the wood pillar beside you, you swing your legs. Lying to your mother was the least of your worries. Curiosity was getting the best of you, the Duke, Sylus, is too confusing. He acts more like a stable boy than a member of nobility.

“I’m sure. And we’re not really lying to Mama, I told her I wanted to spend time with you and Rafayel. I barely know my brother-in-law and I need to make sure he’s treating you well. Seems she’s just as eager to know.”

Cora leans against Misty and gives you a pointed look.

“Yes, but telling her we are visiting Monsieur Arnaud to discuss Rafayel’s opera is too far. Rafayel hasn’t had a chance to call on him and if Mama, somehow, speaks to him…”

“Then we can tell her that Monsieur was feeling poorly and we went for tea instead.”

“Why are you going through so much effort to see the Duke again?”

I laugh a bit too loudly.

“I don’t want to see him, I want to watch him lose. Rafayel said Sylus is facing –”

“Did you just… call the Duke by his given name?”

You nearly fall backwards off the gate.

“Did I?”

Cora nods, her teasing smile makes you blush.

“Rafayel said the Duke is facing the current champion, who hasn’t lost a match in two years.”

“What if the Duke is a skilled fighter? What if he wins?”

“I… He won’t. Surely.”

Cora continues brushing Misty and lets you simmer. Your foot twitches and you want to jump on Misty bareback and ride into the hills, away from the mess you’ve made.

“Mama is still angry with me.”

“She’s not angry, she’s worried. Mama knows you and Winnie will be… challenging to find a proper match. I have no doubt you’ll find someone, you’re quite a catch.”

You roll your eyes and snicker, Misty neighs and for a moment you think she’s mocking you. Then you hear the stable door open and look over your shoulder to see Rafayel with a hand over his nose.

“If we’re going we need to leave before sundown, clouds are gathering.”

“You can come in Rafayel, Misty won’t bite.”

Cora pats Misty who shakes her head playfully.

“Well, she might. If I tell her to.”

You stick out your tongue at Rafayel and he puts his free hand on his hip.

“It smells awful, I’m not going to the match smelling of horse shit.”

“Rafayel!”

You laugh at Cora’s scolding. She’s not even pregnant yet, but she certainly has a child. Rafayel is a handful, not that Cora minds. It’s been clear since the day they met they’d fallen in love instantly, you could only dream of being so lucky.

“Vulgar, but not wrong, you both should change.”

Cora gives Misty one last pet before reaching up to help you hop down. You kiss her on the forehead and toss the remaining apples in her feed bucket. You follow Cora and Rafayel into the house to freshen up where you spend far too much time contemplating what to wear to a boxing match. You dab your mothers scented powder over your collarbone and down your chest.

“And I’m supposed to think you don’t want to impress the Duke?”

You spin around and catch Cora sneaking into your room. She doesn’t let you respond, she just turns you back around and fixes your dress. The dark red linen was comfortable and the ruffled sleeves give you a hint of shape. Cora isn’t shy about reaching into the front of your dress to adjust your stay, propping your chest up like they’re on a shelf. You swat her hands away and tighten the laces of your boots.

“Sera! You cannot wear those!”

“No one will see, it’s not a ball or social event where I need to look like a perfect lady anyways.”

Cora shakes her head, but doesn’t argue. She simply grabs your arm and hauls you down the stairs to the entryway. Your mother chases after you and Cora as you walk to the carriage.

“If it rains, don’t let your skirts get wet. Don’t travel home if it starts to storm, I’m sure Monsieur Arnaud would let you stay the night. And be sure to thank him!”

You wave to her as the carriage sets off for town. Once she’s out of sight, you lean back in your seat and rub your temples. Cora rests her head on Rafayel’s shoulder and chuckles.

“And you wonder why I tend to worry over everything.”

Rafayel kisses the top of her head and sighs with a smile. Cora has been calm since marrying Rafayel, like her worries are less troublesome. He’s made her peace his priority and you’ll never be able to thank him enough for that.

The carriage enters town just as the sun sets, plunging the streets into a red haze of candlelight and shadow. When you arrive at the lounge you are escorted inside by two burly men wearing matching top hats. You’re taken all the way to the backroom, where a boxing ring is set up and rows of chairs are propped up on wooden palettes surrounding the ring. Almost all of the men wear top hats, you assume it is a sign of some kind of membership. There are a few women in attendance, most of them are serving drinks with too-wide smiles. You cling to Cora, who clings to Rafayel, who walks through the crowd with ease.

“Right here, best seats in the house. Not too close, wouldn’t want to stain your dresses.”

You raise a brow and he points to the edges of the ring where you spot dark stains.

“Blood?” Cora whispers.

Rafayel nods and urges us to sit. He waves down a man in a white top hat. He approaches and takes a small piece of paper from Rafayel. Once he leaves Cora crosses her arms and glares at him. He gives her a sheepish smirk and bats his lashes.

“It’s just a bit of fun, my love. I didn’t want the Duke to have no one betting on him. If he loses, it’s not going to hurt us.”

“You’re gambling?” Cora slaps your knee and shushes you.

Rafayel turns his attention to the ring and begins to clap. You turn to see a large man with a shaved head emerge from a side room. His arms are as big as your head. You swallow hard, this must be Sylus’s opponent. Sitting back in your seat you look at your hands and start to realize where you are and what you’re doing and the image this may be portraying, not that any of these men care, but you do.

“Sera…”

Cora taps your arm and nods her head in the direction of the ring. You look up and see another door open. You spot the top of Sylus’s head, his hair bright against the dark wood paneling of the room. The crowd around him slowly disperses, making way for him to walk to the ring. An unfamiliar sensation washes over you. Your cheeks flush, your stomach tightens, there’s so much pressure on your chest you want to scream.

Sylus’s opponent was bare chested, but he had not elicited the kind of response Sylus had. His trousers cinched tight around his narrow waist, a deep line running up his abdomen and chest, muscles flexing as he walked, his wide shoulders gave way to toned arms. You watch his chest rise and fall, mesmerized by even the simplest of movements. His shoulders shake with laughter as friends gather around him to wish him luck. He turns for a moment and you gasp at the sight of his back, defined muscles under soft skin. Cora shakes your arm, quickly reminding you where you sit. You let your eyes slowly trail up Sylus’s body and when you meet his eyes you don’t bother trying to look away. He’d seen you staring, and while you’d expect to be mortified you just… aren’t.

Sylus smiles and nods. You don’t realize you nod back until his smile turns into a cocky grin. He jumps up into the ring and rolls his shoulders. His opponent, Johns or Jonston or Jones or whatever, sizes him up. Sylus is well-built but definitely smaller. You roll your bottom lip between your teeth and shift uncomfortably in your seat, aware of how warm the room has gotten. Or is that just you?

A loud bell signals the start of the fight and the crowd cheers as the larger man - whom they’re calling Jones - hurls himself at Sylus. He lands a few blows to his sides before Sylus drops to the floor and rolls. The sudden movement surprises Jones and he stumbles to catch up with him. The fight continues like this for what feels like hours, Jones swinging wildly and Sylus dodging and rolling. Finally Jones roars and tackles Sylus to the ground, he slams his fists into Sylus’s face and you cover your mouth, a sob caught in your throat.

“There we go Jones! Knock him out!” “Show him who’s boss! Attaboy Jones!” “Duke’s got nothing on you Jones!”

The crowd jumps to their feet, arms waving, hands clapping. You stand to see what’s happening, dragging Cora to her feet since your hands are locked around her forearm. You watch Jones continue to throw punches. Sylus twists and knocks Jones to his side, landing a solid hit to his gut in the process. But as soon as he’s up Jones kicks him down again. Jones grabs a fistful of Sylus’s hair and presses his face into the ground. You see blood gush from his nose and when he bares his teeth they are painted red.

“Sera, we should leave…”

Cora has to shout for you to hear her over the crowds chants. You shake your head, but she still tugs on your arm. You pull free and turn to stand on your seat to see over the rowdy crew in front of you.

“Another minute and Jones takes the title once again!”

You stare down at the ring, Jones on top of Sylus, blood splattered, he’s barely fighting back. He opens his eyes and immediately finds you, not that you were hard to spot - standing on your chair was making you stick out like a sore thumb. He holds your gaze, his eyes wet with tears from the force of Jones’ punches. Your lip trembles as the noise of the crowd becomes deafening. And then…

“What! How?!” “Jones get up!” “What are you doing Jones?!”

Sylus throws his head back and blood spews from Jones’ nose, sending him flying backward. He releases Sylus and tries to steady himself. Sylus spins and pins him down instantly, his fists pounding into Jones rapidly. Thunder shakes the building as Sylus turns the tide in his favor. With one last brutal swing, Sylus knocks Jones out cold. The crowd, once cheering for Jones, goes completely quiet. Sylus stands and cleans the blood off his face with the back of his hand. With a single smile, Sylus earns the respect of every man in that room. Cheers of admiration ring out and you shake as you laugh, totally in awe of the man before you.

“Seraphina, get down this instant!”

Cora grabs your skirt, you hop down and she catches you. She wraps her arms around you and presses her face into your ear.

“What is wrong with you? Climbing on a chair like a child!”

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking. “

Cora grabs your arm and weaves through the crowd to stand at the bar.

“Rafayel went to get his winnings and speak to the Duke. He said to wait here.”

You nod and wave down the bartender. Ignoring Cora’s judgemental glance, you ask for a beer. The bartender laughs and fills a glass for you. You’ve finished your drink by the time Rafayel arrives, most of the crowd has dispersed as well.

“They’re closing the lounge because of the storm. There’s an inn across the street, we can stay there for the night. I just need to fetch something from the carriage. Stay here until I get back.”

Rafayel rushes out the door, pulling his jacket off to place over his head.

“I need to find the facilities, I’ll return shortly.”

Cora trails after you.

“Sera, I don’t think… Can you wait?”

You look over your shoulder and shake your head.

“I won’t be long.”

You wait until she concedes and returns to the bar. As soon as she’s sat down, you quickly walk to the side room where Sylus emerged from. You’d seen him return after the crowd had finished congratulating him. You quietly turn the knob and slip inside.

The room is dark aside from a few candles in the far corner. You take a cautious step forward to get a better look.

“Bold of you to come in without being invited.”

You freeze, your eyes searching for him. You see a hand reach out and pick up a glass off a small table, as you move closer, you see Sylus sitting in a high-back chair nursing a whiskey. He winces as the liquor burns the cut on his lip. He lifts a cloth and dabs the blood away.

“You’re insane.”

He chuckles and finishes his drink before standing. Your breath catches when you realize he’s still without his shirt. His hand wraps and bloodied rags sit in a heap on the floor next to the chair. You look up at him, your rage barely contained.

“He was larger than you, he could have killed you, and for what? A bit of fun?”

“I thought you wanted to see me suffer for my, what did you call it, ‘brazen behavior’?”

“Had I known what this would be, I never would have come!”

“Then I’m glad I didn’t divulge that information.”

“What is wrong with you? Do you enjoy mocking me? Putting me in situations where I’m bound to be flustered?”

“Your current state is completely your doing, unless you intend to admit seeing me in pain affected you emotionally?”

You take a step closer.

“The only emotion I have when I’m around you is anger. You are truly the most impertinent, ill-mannered, nonsensical man I have ever met!”

He takes a step closer, the warmth of his breath fans across your face.

“Then why were you so afraid when I was pinned down?”

Your pulse quickens and that familiar pressure in your chest slowly builds once again. Every harsh word dies on your tongue as you lose yourself staring into his eyes. You challenge him at every turn and he drives you insane, but you’re itching to know more about this man. You gasp for air through parted lips. Your vision blurs and only his lips are in focus. The dip of his Cupid’s bow, the plump center of his lower lip. The sensations you felt earlier crescendo and you feel yourself falling right into Sylus’s arms.

Your hands reach up to hold onto his face as his arms circle your waist. The moment your lips meet an intense warmth rushes through your chest and straight to your lower stomach. He groans into your mouth, ignoring the sting of the cut on his lip and the tenderness in his jaw. Your hand slides around his neck through his hair, keeping him as close as possible. He guides you backwards and cradles your head before your back hits the wall. His other hand slides down your shoulder, lightly grazing the skin of your collarbone. His tongue traces your lip and you gasp.

“Sylus…”

Hearing you say his name makes him more desperate. He spreads his hand across your lower back and pulls you flush against him. The firmness of his chest against yours sends tingles down your arms. You remove your hand from his face to trail down his chest and he shivers. His thumb traces your jaw and gently tugs at your chin, your lips part, and his tongue slides into your mouth. You whimper at the new feeling and grab onto his shoulder, searching for something to steady yourself. He moans into your mouth as he feels your fingers glide through his hair. You press your chest against him again, eager for more. But he pulls back.

“No. I won’t do this.”

He lets you go and rushes out the room, leaving the door wide open. You lean against the wall, trying to catch your breath. Your body burning and a strange warmth between your legs making you twitch. You touch your lip and let out a quiet sob. He just… left.

“Sera?”

You look up through tear-filled eyes to see Cora standing in the doorway. She takes a step into the room and as the light spills in she sees what state you’re in. She stops, her hand flat against her stomach. Her cheeks flush and she closes her eyes.

“Where’s the Duke?”

You take a breath, your body trembling with suppressed sobs.

“H-He left.”

Cora opens her eyes and stands tall, pushing her shoulders back. You’ve never seen her look like this and you don’t know if you should be afraid or in awe.

“I’m going to kill him.”

🐝❀🐦‍⬛

(If you want to be on the taglist for ALL Regency AU fics make sure to say so in your comment! Thank you!) 𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @alastor-simp @drama-trauma @0tterteeth @mysticcollectionvoid @godzillaglitter @godoffuckedupcats @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @hauntedbysmut @withering-dream @lostwingz2236 @simpfortheseven @freddy-2002-blog @kiude @tati-the-fangirl @mtcozylove

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kiasca · 1 month ago

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I have been craving a good #jayvik regency drama, so hear me out :

Viktor is a servant, Heimerdinger's accountant, he likes to tinker with anything that he can get his hands on

Zaun family is there too?

Jayce from an important house and he has to marry Mel?

No Mel bashing, they are not in love but their positions have "responsibilities" she is not happy with the arrangement either.

I fucking love Ambessa but she can be an ogre. (Oooh Ambessa in male riding clothes, yeees!)

They don't want to fall for each other that path only brings heartbreak but... Forbidden romance, diferents status, elopement?

I suck at writing, 😭 halp?

#arcane #jayvik #regency era au

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zaynessbeloved · 12 days ago

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A Duke's Promise

Synopsis: In a world of whispered expectations and carefully arranged futures, your life was meant to unfold quietly beside your sister’s—until the man promised to her began to look at you instead.

The Duke of Ravencourt was meant to be hers. Courted her with duty, danced with her out of tradition. But slowly—delicately—his eyes began to wander. To you.

Content warnings: Regency Era AU, Regency Romance, Slow Burn, Forbidden Love, Arranged Marriage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Tender Romance, From Courtship to Marriage, First Time Feelings, Mutual Pining, Letters as Love Language, First Kiss in a Garden, Longing Across Ballrooms, Dancing as a Love Language, Love Confessions, Marriage Proposal, Wedding Night, Honeymoon Seclusion, Flash Forward Epilogue, Loving Marriage, Reader is Pregnant in the Epilogue, First Time, Consummation After Marriage, Fingering (implied), Oral (female receiving), Breeding Kink (soft & emotional), Table Sex, Library Sex, Bath Intimacy, Hand Kisses through Gloves, Stolen Glances.

Pairings: Rafayel x reader

Word count: 6.5k

A/n: This story began with one idea: what if Rafayel existed in a Regency world of whispered courtships, candlelit ballrooms, and dangerously improper strolls through the gardens? And then… well, then it became everything. The fan fluttered. The heart raced. The gloves came off. Literally.

If you love yearning, poetry, burning touches behind closed doors, and the kind of romance that leaves you sighing into your teacup—then I hope you enjoy every soft, scandalous step of this journey. Prepare for aching glances, stolen kisses, and perhaps a few gasps behind a fan. Because this is the Season, after all.

With all my heart, —Lex

Chapter 1

The manor had not known this much noise in years.

Maids fluttered between corridors like startled birds, arms burdened with ivory silk, pearl-dotted gloves, and lace-trimmed slippers. Somewhere in the east wing, a heated debate arose about whether the new French ribbon complemented or ruined the eldest daughter’s gown. In the drawing room, their mother fanned herself with a fluttering hand and sighed dramatically into the air, as if managing two debutantes had taken five years from her life already—and it was only the first day of the Season.

And you? You sat near the window, watching the grey spring clouds roll across the sky, utterly untouched by the chaos. Or at least pretending to be. Your reflection in the glass looked pale, thoughtful, expectant. As if even you weren’t quite sure what you were waiting for.

“Would it kill you to act excited?” came a voice behind you.

Your sister. Eleanora glided into view like a well-practiced scene in a stage play—tall, elegant, every curl in place. Her dress had already been fitted days ago. Pale rose, delicate embroidery, soft gold accents. The kind of debutante gown that said: look at me, then look again. Her confidence wasn’t arrogance. It was simply… inherited.

“I am excited,” you replied without looking at her, chin resting in your palm. “I’m vibrating with anticipation. Can’t you tell?”

She rolled her eyes and sank gracefully into the seat beside you. “Mother’s convinced I’ll receive a proposal by the second ball.”

You blinked slowly. “That’s optimistic.”

“She’s not wrong,” Eleanora said, half-smiling. “There’s already talk. Lady Whitcombe swears the Duke of Ravencourt will be at the Astor Ball. And he—well, you know how long the arrangement has been in place.”

Ah. Him. You’d heard the name whispered since you were old enough to understand what betrothal meant. Rafayel Vale, the future Duke of Ravencourt. Promised to your sister since they were both children, in one of those quiet family agreements made with wine glasses and sealed with handshakes and fortunes. You’d never seen him. Never met him. But you’d heard of him.

They said he rarely came to town. That he’d been abroad for years. That he was... peculiar. Brilliant, but peculiar. That he collected ancient art and turned down nearly every social invitation. That he had no interest in courtship, except the one already chosen for him.

Your sister’s.

“I wonder if he’s dreadfully boring,” you mused aloud.

Eleanora snorted. “He’s a duke, darling. I’d hardly be expected to love him. Only not embarrass myself at dinner.”

You turned to face her then. “Do you mind it?” you asked quietly. “That you’ve never met him. That it’s all been arranged.”

Her expression softened, then faltered. Just for a second.

“I mind being married off like a trinket. But… I also mind not having a choice,” she said. “And choices, these days, are only afforded to girls who marry well.”

A pause. “You’ll have more freedom, you know,” she added lightly. “You’re not promised to anyone.”

No. You weren’t. Not the eldest. Not the heir-maker. You were the afterthought in pearls. But freedom felt like such a fragile thing when it was wrapped in expectation and painted in powder and rouge.

There was a knock, then the door creaked open.

“The carriage is ready, Misses,” said a maid, curtseying low. “Your mother says the ball waits for no lady.”

Your sister rose in one graceful sweep. You followed, smoothing your skirts and forcing a smile.You did not know it then. Not as you stepped into the carriage, nor as the first ballroom doors opened before you. Not as your name was announced or champagne touched your lips.

But somewhere in the city, a man named Rafayel Vale had also dressed for the evening.And the Season had already begun.

The ballroom glittered like a dream dipped in gold. Chandeliers bloomed overhead, throwing crystals of light across silk gowns and polished floors. Laughter curled around the violins. Perfumed fans fluttered like butterfly wings. It was the first ball of the Season, and every eligible family in London had come to play their part.

Your mother had insisted on white for your debut—soft chiffon, pearl beading at the waist, sleeves just off the shoulder. You felt like a porcelain doll being paraded across a chessboard. But Eleanora? She was art. A single glance at her, and suitors flocked like moths to a flame. Her rose-colored gown shimmered with every turn. Her laughter fell in just the right places. She danced as if she’d been born to do it.

She probably had. You didn’t mind. Not really. You sipped at your champagne near the edge of the floor, nodding politely to a young gentleman who’d just tripped over his own shoes trying to reach her before the next waltz began.

“She’s rather enchanting, your sister,” came a voice beside you.

You turned. A tall, freckled young man smiled at you, slightly flushed with wine. “But I find myself curious about the other debutante at her side.”

Your brows lifted. “Curious, or drunk, My Lord?”

He laughed, unoffended. “Both, perhaps. May I have the next dance?”

You hesitated—then took his hand. The music rose, and so did you. You danced. Twice. Once with the freckled gentleman—Lord Daniel something—and again with a kind-eyed viscount who fumbled through small talk but smiled at your wit. You laughed. You curtseyed. You did everything you were meant to.

But it was impossible to ignore how the room revolved around Eleanora. She hadn’t left the floor. A new partner every song. An admiring audience wherever she paused. You caught glimpses of her between turns—her eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, posture perfect. And then… a whisper.

“Did you see? Lord Ravencourt is here.”

The name slipped between fans like a secret.

“I thought he wouldn’t come.”

“He never does. But this Season—well, everyone knows why.”

“He’s to marry the Everleigh girl, isn’t he?”

“The older one, yes. They say it was arranged when they were five.”

“And is it true he—”

You turned too fast, looking for the voice, the source. But all you saw were swirling gowns and smiling mouths. No sign of him. Your heartbeat kicked just a little faster, for reasons you couldn't name. You’d heard the name all your life, but now… he was here. In this room. Breathing the same air. And yet—You couldn’t find him.

Eleanora laughed again, a musical sound that carried across the dance floor as she twirled in the arms of a dark-haired gentleman you didn’t recognize. Perhaps it was him. Perhaps not. You watched. And listened. But Rafayel Vale, Duke of Ravencourt, remained as elusive as his reputation. Just a name. Just a whisper. For now.

Another glass of champagne was placed in your hand—your third of the evening, perhaps fourth. The effervescence prickled pleasantly against your lips, the sweetness refreshing but not enough to cool the flush that had crept across your cheeks after so many turns about the ballroom.

You’d danced with no less than six gentlemen—each perfectly polite, each thoroughly forgettable.

“You dance with such elegance, Miss Everleigh,” said one. “Your sister is lucky to have you by her side,” said another. “Might I call on you this week?” asked a third.

You smiled, curtsied, responded with the appropriate level of civility. But your mind had long since drifted elsewhere—pulled by curiosity, by the weight of a name that kept brushing past your ear like a breeze you couldn’t quite catch.

Rafayel Vale. The Duke of Ravencourt. And still, no one pointed him out. No introductions. No dramatic arrival. You were beginning to suspect he hadn’t come at all—despite the whispers, despite the excitement that had rippled through the room like a pebble dropped into still water.

You were about to take your leave from the floor when you caught the flicker. A subtle shift. The orchestra hadn’t stopped. The conversations hadn’t paused. And yet— It was as if the air had gone still. You turned. There, just beyond the far end of the ballroom, near the top of the grand marble stairs, stood a man dressed in midnight black.

No one announced him. He didn’t need it. He stood with one hand loosely gloved, the other resting against the gold edge of the balustrade, and surveyed the ballroom below with the kind of expression that didn’t demand attention—but commanded it nonetheless.

He was beautiful in the way storms are beautiful—elegant, distant, dangerous. His hair was tied loosely at his nape, the soft wave of it brushing against the collar of his coat. His eyes, from what you could see across the distance, were sharp. Watchful. His jaw cut clean beneath the candlelight.

You didn’t need to ask who he was. You knew. The Duke of Ravencourt has arrived.

“Ah, there he is,” someone murmured near you, confirming it.

Your heart fluttered unexpectedly. He descended the stairs unhurriedly, greeted no one, and walked with the ease of someone completely uninterested in impressing. And yet, every head turned.

Even Eleanora’s. You watched her gaze snap upward, watched the moment his eyes met hers—just for a breath. Then, with unflinching grace, he crossed the ballroom and offered your sister a bow.

“Miss Everleigh.” His voice was low, velvet-draped steel. Refined. Controlled.

Your sister curtsied perfectly. “My Lord.”

And for the first time in your life, you stood mere feet away from the man who had, without even knowing it, been promised to your family since before you could spell his name. Rafayel Vale.

You didn’t speak. He didn’t look at you. But something inside you stirred—a thread pulled taut, a chord struck too suddenly. So this is the man my sister is to marry. So that was him. The man whose name had been sewn into the fabric of your family's future like gold thread. The Duke your mother spoke of in hushed tones. The one your sister had been destined for before she’d learned how to flirt or curtsy properly.

And yet, you didn’t linger on the sight. You watched long enough to see Eleanora extend her hand. Watched him take it with a bow too shallow to be entirely respectful, too intimate to be entirely proper. Interesting. But not your concern. So you turned away.

“Miss Everleigh.” You faced the gentleman with a smile just sharp enough to cut through the fog of champagne.

“Lord Renswick,” you greeted, dipping into a curtsey. “You’ve finally decided to brave the dance floor?”

He grinned sheepishly. “It’s hardly bravery when the reward is a turn with the loveliest debutante of the evening.”

You tilted your head. “Flattery, my Lord? We haven’t even danced yet.”

“I’m hoping to improve your opinion before I embarrass myself,” he said, offering his arm. “Shall we?”

You allowed him to lead you into the next waltz, your slippers barely whispering against the marble floor. You danced. And laughed. And when he stumbled, you teased. Another gentleman approached you before the music faded. Then another. The evening passed in a haze of pleasantries and compliments, silk gloves and careful steps, and smiles that never quite reached your eyes.

You were being seen. Not just as Eleanora’s sister—but as yourself. And still, somewhere behind the swirling figures and murmured invitations, you caught the occasional sound of his name.

“The Duke hasn’t danced with anyone else.” “He spent nearly the entire evening in conversation with her.” “They’re to be married before summer, I hear.”

You didn’t seek him out. But you noticed. He didn’t hover near the punch. He didn’t court attention. He simply existed, like a line drawn in darker ink than the rest of the room.

Eleanora had his company almost exclusively. They spoke often, heads bent slightly toward one another. She laughed in that polished way she’d perfected since finishing school. He only smiled once—or maybe you imagined it. He offered his hand to two other ladies for a dance. Out of courtesy, not interest. Both looked dazed when returned to their chaperones.

By the time the final waltz played, you found yourself near the windows again. A gentle breeze filtered through the open panes. The sky outside was deep and velvet blue, dotted with the promise of rain.

You pressed your fingertips to the glass, cooling your skin. Behind you, the ballroom glittered on. Your sister was still dancing. With him. So that is the man who will be her husband. You didn’t envy her. Not truly. He was distant, unreadable. A mystery, yes, but not yours to solve. You were only curious. Just a little.

The ride home was quiet at first. Outside the window, London twinkled beneath the night sky, gas lamps glowing like stars trapped in glass. The carriage wheels clattered softly over the cobblestones, a rhythmic lull that always came after a long night of dancing.

Inside, you sat across from your sister, your gloves resting delicately in your lap, your fan still tucked in your hand—more habit than necessity now.

Your mother sighed for the fifth time in ten minutes, fanning herself furiously though the carriage was hardly warm.

“Well, I’d say that was a successful beginning to the Season,” she declared. “Eleanora, darling, you were radiant. Simply radiant. And you, dearest,” she turned to you, “were charming. I heard Lord Pelham compliment your wit, you know. Wit, my love, not just your appearance. A rare thing.”

You offered a faint smile. “How generous of him.”

Eleanora chuckled softly, her face half-lit by the carriage lantern. She looked pleased—no, content. A strange softness in her expression, one you didn’t often see outside the confines of private moments like these.

“Six dances,” your mother continued. “Four requests for calling hours, and—oh! Did you see Lady Renswick watching your every move?”

“I did,” Eleanora murmured. “She nearly dropped her fan when the Duke took my hand.”

Your mother’s fan stopped mid-wave. Her expression turned reverent. “Ravencourt. Good heavens. I still can’t believe he came. I truly thought we’d have to drag him out of some crumbling estate by force.”

“He was...unexpected,” Eleanora admitted, her gaze turning briefly to the window. “Not at all what I imagined.”

You looked at her then. Not sharply, not with envy. Just with interest.

“What did you imagine?” you asked softly.

Eleanora tilted her head, thinking. “I suppose someone older. Colder. Not so… sharp. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does, it’s never empty.”

You hummed. “And?”

She smiled—small, knowing. “He watches everything.”

You raised a brow. “Even you?”

A shrug. “Especially me.”

Your mother gave a delicate gasp of delight and resumed fanning herself with renewed vigor. “Well, it’s settled then. We’ll expect him to call within the next two days. Perhaps earlier, given how much time he spent at your side.”

“I don’t think he’s the sort to follow expected schedules,” Eleanora said, almost absently.

You didn’t say it aloud, but you agreed with her. You leaned your head against the side of the carriage, watching the lantern light flicker over your gloves.

The Season had begun. Your sister’s future—the one stitched in gold and promise—was unfolding. And in the shadows of it… a man made of silence and storm had finally stepped into the light.

——

The garden smelled of lilacs and early rain. Sunlight spilled over the hedgerows in gold-tipped strokes, catching on the edges of your teacup as you sat beneath the shade of the wide ivory parasol. Bees hummed lazily between the roses. A soft breeze stirred the hem of your skirts, carrying with it the faintest echo of music from last night’s ball.

You swirled the honey into your tea absently, listening to the soft murmur of your sister and mother seated nearby. They were reading from The Society Pages, lips twitching with every name mentioned.

“Lord Eastmere danced four times with Lady Henrietta—that will certainly be remarked upon,” your mother sniffed.

“And here—‘Miss Eleanora Everleigh glowed in rose silk and grace, receiving the attention of none other than the elusive Duke of Ravencourt.’”

“They flatter,” Eleanora murmured, though her eyes gleamed over the rim of her teacup.

You didn’t comment. You let the sound of the page turning fade into birdsong and breeze. The first caller arrived before noon.

“Miss Everleigh,” the butler intoned with perfect composure. “Lord Renswick requests a moment of your time.”

You rose, smoothing the folds of your skirt, and offered a pleasant smile as the young Lord was shown into the garden.

He bowed. “Miss Everleigh. Might I say, the morning pales in comparison to your presence.”

You didn’t roll your eyes—though it was a near thing. “Good morning, my Lord. How kind of you to visit.”

He spoke of the ball. Of your dancing. Of how he hoped to see you again. You responded with grace, with interest even—but something inside you remained still. Unmoved. He wasn’t unpleasant. None of them were.

A second gentleman came not long after. Then a third in the late afternoon, with a bouquet of spring blooms and an awkward compliment about your voice. Each caller was welcomed, each given your attention, your politeness, your laughter in the right places. And yet…

With every charming smile and gloved hand pressed to yours, you found your thoughts drifting. To silence. To shadows. To eyes that hadn’t yet sought yours. By the time the sun began to lower, streaking the garden in amber light, the butler reappeared once more.

You glanced up, brushing a stray wisp of hair behind your ear. “Yes?”

He cleared his throat gently and bowed. “No further callers for the day, Miss.”

You nodded, not disappointed, not expectant—only thoughtful. “Thank you.”

You returned to your tea, now gone cool. Across from you, Eleanora had set aside her book and was absently turning the stem of a rose between her fingers.

“He hasn’t called,” she murmured.

You looked up. “The Duke?”

She nodded once. “Not that I expected him to arrive the next morning with a bouquet and a poem, but... he did say he’d be in town this week.”

You sipped your tea. “He doesn't seem the type to rush.”

“No,” she agreed. “He isn’t.” Her voice held no bitterness. Just observation. Eleanora didn’t chase affection—she expected it to arrive, eventually, on its own terms.

You glanced toward the garden gate. The warm breeze rustled the hedges, but no footsteps came. Still. It was early. Much too early to assume anything. By evening, the callers were gone. Your mother was content. Your sister, thoughtful. And you?

You were content to watch. To listen. To wait—not for him, but for the Season to unfold as it always did: slowly, elegantly, and with its own peculiar sense of order. If the Duke was to be part of your sister’s story, he would arrive in time. And if he didn’t? Well, that too, would be telling.

——

The gown was periwinkle this time, threaded with pale silver and pinned at the shoulders with clusters of tiny sapphires. You had said nothing when your maid fastened it, only watched your reflection in the mirror with mild detachment while she smoothed the folds. Your sister had gone through three dresses before settling on one.

“Do you think he’ll be there tonight?” she asked, not looking up as your mother arranged curls at the crown of her head.

You knew who she meant. “I imagine so,” you replied simply. “It is Lady Warwick’s ball.”

That was the third time she’d asked this week. He hadn’t called. Not once. Not even a letter. After all the glances, the evening spent in her company, the conversations in corners and near the card tables, the dance others noted… and still, nothing. The Ton had started to notice. Even the papers had commented on it, their tone careful, but curious.

Your mother tried to stay composed, but the tension in her voice betrayed her. “He’s a duke, darling. He’s dreadfully busy, I’m sure. Arrangements, estates, affairs of business—men like him do not spend their days penning sonnets and waiting in parlors.”

But it wasn’t poetry Eleanora wanted. It was certainty. And he, with all his poise and polish, had offered none.

Lady Warwick’s ballroom was suffused with gold light and the scent of blooming orange blossoms. The crowd was lively, the musicians sharp and practiced. By the time you arrived, the dancing had already begun.

You made your greetings. Smiled when expected. Allowed a young baron to compliment your hair. You even laughed once—genuinely, this time. Eleanora remained composed beside you. Her gown was elegant, her posture perfect. But you knew her well enough to see the flicker of restlessness in her eyes. Where is he?

You saw it the moment he stepped into the room. He was dressed in dark navy and silver this evening, a sapphire brooch pinned at his collar. He didn’t linger at the entrance. He didn’t pause for greetings. He moved straight through the ballroom, parting the crowd with nothing more than presence. And then, there he was. Standing in front of your sister.

“Miss Everleigh,” he said with a bow deeper than the one he’d offered last time. “I owe you an apology.”

Your sister turned. Blinked. “My Lord.”

He reached into his coat. From his gloved hand, he drew a small, velvet-wrapped box and placed it delicately in her palm.

“For my absence,” he said simply. “I assure you, it was not meant as discourtesy.”

You didn’t look away—but you didn’t move, either. A quiet statue at your sister’s side. Eleanora opened the box slowly. Inside was a brooch—silver filigree shaped like a crescent moon, a pale gemstone set in its center. Not extravagant. Not loud. But tasteful. Rare. Beautiful.

“You needn’t have,” she said, voice softer now.

“I did,” he replied. Then, “May I claim a dance, if you haven’t promised it?”

She hesitated—but only for a moment. “Of course.”

You stepped back as he offered his arm. She took it. They moved to the floor once more, the crowd subtly turning to watch. And you? You remained at the edge, untouched by the drama, your fingers gently clasped, your thoughts still clear.

He had returned. He had apologized. He had done what was expected. Nothing more. And yet, somewhere—deep in the space between music and silence—you felt the first ripple.Not interest. Just…a shift.

You didn’t watch them dance. Not because it hurt—it didn’t. Not because you were jealous—you weren’t. But because watching felt unnecessary. Predictable. Rafayel Vale had returned, and he’d returned to your sister’s side. As he was meant to. As he had been for years, in name if not affection. So you turned away. And smiled when another gentleman bowed before you.

“My lady,” came a smooth voice, warm like polished amber. “You’ve been standing far too long without a partner. Might I correct such a tragedy?”

You lifted your eyes. He was striking. Not in the brooding, storm-swept way the Duke was. No, this man wore charm like a perfectly tailored coat. Light brown hair, elegantly curled. A golden signet ring on his right hand. A smile that curled ever-so-slightly at the edge—like he knew something you didn’t. And his title?

“Lord Wessex,” he said with an elegant bow. “Second son of the Marquess of Clarendon. Though I’m told I’m the more tolerable of the two.”

Your brows lifted, amused. “You’ve quite the opinion of yourself.”

He grinned. “Only when justified. May I?”

You placed your gloved hand in his.

Lord Wessex was a skilled dancer. Not just in form, but in conversation. Where others had asked the same tired questions—What are your hobbies? Do you enjoy embroidery?—he inquired about the books you read. The places you wished to see. The way your eyes lit up when speaking of the sea, despite never having seen it.

He kept you laughing. Thinking. On your toes. And when he led you to the refreshments table, he didn’t hover or smother. He offered you a glass, nodded at your thanks, and kept the conversation moving like a current pulling you along.

“They speak of your sister and Ravencourt as though the match is already sealed,” he said at one point, gaze drifting toward the couple in question.

“It was arranged,” you replied lightly. “A long time ago.”

“Arranged,” he repeated. “That word always leaves such little room for choice, doesn’t it?”

You glanced at him. “You don’t believe in arrangement?”

“I believe in lightning strikes, not family bargains.”

You tilted your head, a little smile tugging at your mouth. “Then I suppose the Ton must frustrate you endlessly.”

He laughed. “You’ve no idea, Miss Everleigh.”

By the end of the evening, you’d danced with him twice more. Once by request. Once by invitation. Both times left your cheeks flushed and your thoughts pleasantly tangled.

And while your sister ended the night with the Duke beside her—the talk of the room once more—it wasn’t his presence that lingered on your skin as you stepped into the carriage. It was Lord Wessex’s voice in your ear, still echoing,

“Lightning strikes when you least expect it, Miss Everleigh. I do hope I’m standing close when it happens.”

——

The sun had barely settled above the rooftops when the butler arrived in the parlor, his expression neutral, but his voice carrying just enough weight to make the room pause.

“Lord Wessex and the Duke of Ravencourt have both requested to call this morning.”

Your mother nearly dropped her embroidery. Your sister froze, her teacup held midair.

You simply blinked. “Both?”

The butler inclined his head. “They await in the front drawing room, Miss.”

For a moment, no one moved. Then your mother clapped her hands together as if summoned by divine will.

“Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Eleanora, you look lovely. That gown is ideal. And you, dear—yes, you’ll stay. It would be rude not to.”

You almost laughed. Rude, of course.

The drawing room had been polished to near-blinding shine. Fresh flowers in the vases, just slightly overdone. The maids had barely finished arranging the tea service before the two men were escorted in.

Rafayel Vale entered with the same quiet command as he had at the ball. Dark coat, silver cufflinks, gloved hands behind his back. He bowed with effortless grace, and his gaze settled on Eleanora with a soft nod.

“Miss Everleigh,” he greeted. “Thank you for allowing me the visit.”

Eleanora curtsied, serene as ever. “You are most welcome, my Lord.”

And beside him—light, where Rafayel was shadow—stood Lord Wessex. Smiling, charming, a pale waistcoat and a sunlit presence. His gaze found you immediately.

“Miss Everleigh,” he said warmly. “I feared you might have forgotten me since last night.”

You raised a brow. “That would’ve been quite the feat, considering how many times you stepped on my slipper, my Lord.”

He grinned. “A bold accusation. Perhaps I should call more often to defend my honor.”

Tea was served. The Duke sat beside Eleanora. Their conversation was soft, low, and polite. Words about estates, travel, the architecture of Bath.

You and Lord Wessex? Laughter. Playful remarks. A small joke about your mother’s over-watered lilies. And a question about your favorite poet, which—unlike others—he actually listened to. He watched you speak with a kind of gentle interest that was easy to receive, easy to enjoy. The Duke, for his part, never once looked your way.

——

The party was held on the sprawling estate of Lord and Lady Pembroke, beneath cream-colored canopies and strings of flowers that fluttered like silk ribbons in the breeze. There were games set up on the lawn. Plates of sugared strawberries. Lemon water and delicate ices passed on silver trays. You walked beside Eleanora, both of you fresh-faced in pastels. She wore a lilac gown. You wore blue. And they were there. As they always seemed to be, now.

Rafayel Vale, tall and composed in a dark grey coat, standing close beside your sister beneath the shade of an old ash tree. Listening as she spoke. Offering a quiet smile when she made some soft remark. And across the lawn—your suitor. Lord Wessex, lounging like he belonged in every summer painting ever created. When he caught sight of you, his expression lit up immediately.

“Miss Everleigh,” he called, rising with one graceful movement. “You’ve saved me from the tortures of idle company. Walk with me?”

You glanced at your sister. She gave you the faintest nod. And so you did.

You walked the gardens with him, spoke of travel and philosophy and music you weren’t supposed to enjoy. He offered you a wildflower he plucked from the hedgerow. You laughed and told him it clashed terribly with your gloves.

And when you paused to rest beneath the roses, you found yourself glancing across the lawn. Rafayel was still there, standing just a few steps behind your sister now as she spoke to another couple. But his posture had shifted slightly.

His gaze was no longer on Eleanora. It was on you. Not direct. Not rude. But unmistakable. A flicker of awareness. A moment caught like a breath between pages. And then, as if realizing it himself, he looked away. Just as Lord Wessex turned to say something clever that made you laugh again.

The grand hall was glowing. Every window draped in silk, every chandelier lit to bursting. The air shimmered with perfume and warm anticipation. Music poured from the raised platform where a quartet played their first waltz of the evening.

You had barely stepped two feet beyond the threshold when he appeared.

“Miss Everleigh.” Lord Wessex. Handsomely turned out in dark green, his cravat pinned with a gold brooch shaped like a fox. His smile was brighter than the chandeliers. “I was hoping to steal your hand before some other poor soul got the chance.”

You lifted your chin. “You assume I’d say yes, my Lord.”

He bowed low. “I rely entirely on hope and your mercy.”

You let out a soft laugh—and extended your gloved hand. “Very well, Lord Wessex. Just this once.”

He looked triumphant. The dance was effortless. You moved together as if you’d done it a hundred times before. You knew he’d make a joke right before the turn. That he’d lean in slightly before the dip, just close enough to make your skin warm. But never improper. Never forward. He was a gentleman with a wild spark.

Afterwards, he offered his arm and guided you to the refreshment table, refusing to let a single foppish Lordling cut in. You spent the next hour beside him—talking, sipping chilled wine, laughing so hard once you had to hide your face behind your fan. He made it easy. He made you feel seen.

Across the ballroom, the Duke stood by Eleanora once more. They spoke in quiet tones. He escorted her to a dance. Then another—not hers, but another lady’s, whom he partnered with as expected. His face remained unreadable. His words careful.

But every time your laughter rang out or your gown brushed past the edge of the room, his eyes found you. Just for a second. A flick. A pause. A look. Not interest. Not longing. Not yet. But curiosity. Not because you demanded it. Not because you tried to steal it. Only because you were there—and something about you lingered, even when you were no longer in the room.

Lord Wessex offered you another dance before the night ended. And you accepted, with no hesitation. The Duke, for his part, asked none of you. But watched—just once more—as you danced away, your laughter drifting like perfume behind you.

——

The bell above the door gave a soft chime as you stepped inside. It was cooler here. Dimmer. The thick scent of paper and aged wood pressed gently around you like a familiar shawl. Shelves towered around you, heavy with worn spines and leather bindings. A world apart from ballrooms and fans and powdered smiles.

You pulled your gloves off delicately, tucking them beneath your arm as you wandered. Most ladies preferred the modiste. The milliner. Or the tea room on Hanover Street where the windows let in perfect sunlight. But here? Here, you could breathe.

You found yourself in the poetry section—of course. One gloved finger brushing the titles, searching for something half-remembered. Brow slightly furrowed. Alone with your thoughts. Until a soft shift of leather soles caught your ear. You turned, expecting a clerk. And froze.

He stood not three paces from you. Dressed in deep blue, no cravat, no gloves. Simpler than usual, though no less composed. The Duke. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The absurdity of it made your lips twitch—of all places. He regarded you with that same unreadable expression. As if trying to make sense of something.

“Miss Everleigh,” he said at last. Voice low. Measured. “This is… unexpected.”

You curtsied ever so slightly, regaining your composure. “My Lord. I might say the same.”

A pause. His gaze flicked briefly to the book in your hand—Keats, you realized. Then back to your face. “You favor poetry?”

“On quiet days,” you replied. “And rainy ones.”

Another pause. He nodded, almost to himself. “A fine choice.”

You waited, wondering if he would say more. He didn’t.

“And you, my Lord?” you asked, a touch of amusement laced through your words. “Are you here for poetry, or politics?”

His lips curved just slightly. “Neither. I prefer philosophy. Or… anything with weight.”

You arched a brow. “Is that so, my Lord?”

He looked at you for a long moment—still distant, but not unkind.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” he said finally. “But I’m not displeased.”

Your heartbeat ticked once. Then twice.

“Nor am I, my Lord.” you said simply. “But I should let you return to your… weighty thoughts.”

He inclined his head. “And you to your verse.”

You curtsied, slight but proper. He bowed in return. No lingering glances. No breathless goodbyes. Just two names exchanged, two minds acknowledged. And a silence that somehow said more than the words themselves.

——

It was one of those warm spring afternoons where everything felt too golden. The garden terrace was filled with soft laughter and the rustle of silk skirts. Ladies fanned themselves under shade trees. Gentlemen clustered near the wine table, discussing horses, Parliament, and who had worn what at last Thursday’s dinner. You arrived beside your mother, your carriage late by fifteen minutes—one of the wheels had needed adjusting.

“Smile, darling,” your mother said as she adjusted your glove without asking. “Your sister may be absent, but you mustn’t let that reflect poorly on the family. A touch of color in your cheeks wouldn’t hurt either.”

You smiled. You nodded. You adjusted. Eleanora had woken feeling unwell—no fever, but pale and weak, and your mother would never allow a less-than-perfect appearance at a public affair.

“You’ll attend in her place,” she had said. “Just be seen, dearest. And speak kindly if anyone asks after her.”

So now you stood in her shadow—only without her beside you to cast it. You moved through conversation with practiced ease. Three ladies asked after your sister. One older gentleman mistakenly called you by her name. You corrected him gently, no sting in your voice.

And then you excused yourself, moving toward the edge of the terrace where the rose-covered trellis offered a moment of quiet. You were just reaching for a glass of water when a familiar voice drifted behind you.

“Miss Everleigh.” You turned. There he was. Rafayel Vale. Alone.

Not at your sister’s side. Not deep in conversation. Not scanning the crowd for another lady to dance with. He stood a respectful distance away, one hand loosely behind his back, the other holding a glass of white wine.

“Your Grace,” you greeted calmly, offering a curtsy. “I’m surprised to see you without company.”

His lips twitched. “It seems the pattern of surprises between us continues.”

A pause. His eyes studied your face—not in a way that lingered, but in a way that noticed. “Your sister is not attending?”

You shook your head. “She’s unwell, my Lord. Nothing serious, only a passing fatigue.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.” His voice was quiet. Smooth as ever. But beneath it—something unreadable. Again.

“I hope you don’t feel... obligated to entertain me in her absence, my Lord” you added, careful. Light.

“I don’t.” The reply came quicker than expected. Not curt. Just honest.

Your brows lifted, amused. “Then what brings you to my corner of the garden, my Lord?”

A pause.

“Curiosity, perhaps,” he said. Then added, almost like a confession, “...You have a talent for appearing where I least expect you.”

You blinked. And then—smiled. Just a little. “I assure you, my Lord. I don’t do it on purpose.”

“Pity,” he murmured. “It’s becoming a habit I rather look forward to.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Because someone was calling your name—Lord Wessex, of course, waving from the edge of the terrace with that signature grin.

You turned back to the Duke. “If you’ll excuse me, my Lord”

He inclined his head. “Of course.”

You curtsied again. He bowed. And you walked away—toward the man who wanted you, and away from the one who had only just started to wonder if he should.

“Was that the Duke I saw you speaking with?” Lord Wessex asked, offering his arm as you returned to the center of the terrace.

“It was, my Lord.” you replied, fingers brushing the embroidered edge of his sleeve as you accepted.

“And how was His Grace this fine evening? Did he frown at you with poetic intensity?”

You smiled. “Polite. Curious, perhaps. But no frowning.”

He clicked his tongue, mock-disappointed. “How dull. I had hoped for at least a glower.”

You laughed, soft and warm, as he guided you toward a quieter corner of the garden path, where lanterns hung low and glowing between branches of wisteria. You walked in companionable silence for a moment. Then—

“You always find me,” you said lightly.

“I always look,” he said without hesitation. That stilled you—just a fraction. Not because it was dramatic. But because it was true.

The conversation drifted easily, like it always did. He asked about your favorite lines from the bookshop. You asked about his childhood summers spent on a windswept estate in Devon. He made you laugh with an imitation of a distant cousin who once proposed to a woman mid-faint.

It was easy, this thing between you. Not dull. Not predictable. But certain. And when he asked you for a dance under the stars, you said yes without thinking twice. You danced in the soft evening breeze, the music from the terrace drifting down like petals from above. His hand was steady. His eyes never left yours.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured as you turned.

“Apologies, my Lord. I hadn’t realized.”

“Quieter than usual. Not unhappy, I hope?”

“No,” you said truthfully. “Just… present.”

He smiled at that. “Then I’ll consider myself fortunate.”

Somewhere on the terrace, the Duke danced with another lady. He did not fumble. He did not charm. He did not smile too wide or step too close. He was composed, as always. Fulfilling his role. Bowing when required. Saying the right words. But when your laughter drifted once more across the lawn, his eyes—just for a second—turned toward the sound. And lingered.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.

.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!

side note: credits for two pictures used for the banner go to their original creators.

taglist: @syluslittlecrows

next part

#love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x you #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #lads rafayel #rafayel x mc #love and deep space #lnds #loveanddeepspace #qi yu #rafayel regency era #rafayel duke #regency era au

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muli-wam · 19 days ago

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Regency-era!Nanami who grew up in an extremely wealthy family, which in turn gifted him a fairly large amount of money as an inheritance after his father died.

Regency-era!Nanami who since being an only child, never had anyone to else to entertain him but himself, therefore developing a keen interest in exotic teas and flavored breads that the cook always prepared for him.

Regency-era!Nanami who finds himself in the bustling market of your small countryside town looking for a particular tea blend that's rumored to be the best in the region.

Regency-era!Nanami who avoids prying gazes of common folk wondering what such a stoic and wealthy man is doing in such a tiny village. In all honesty, Nanami was really here for tea, but also for his best friend who seemed to have a liking toward a certain lady he met at a ball recently.

He couldnt help but agree to travel the distance from his comfortable home since he would be getting tea out of it. Oh, not to mention the wild garlic that grows abundantly in your region, which is rumored to taste excellent when baked in bread.

Regency-era!Nanami who approaches a fruit stall adorned with colorful labels and price signs above the various fruits.

The sweet aroma of melons, berries, apples and a variety of different fruit fill his senses, and for a second, Nanami allows himself to drown in the heavenly scent before getting back to his original mission.

He needed directions on where to find his beloved tea, but just as he's about to ask, one of the apples you were inspecting rolls off the counter.

Quick to act, you dive to catch it, only to collide (ever so gracefully) with Nanami's arm as he too reaches for the same apple, believing he is helping.

Regency-era!Nanami who freezes, slightly flustered from the contact of both of your hands touching over the apple.

Regency-era!Nanami who's intrigued by your incessant apologies and sincerity. Your modest appearance captivated him, and he felt an unfamiliar sense of want toward your presence.

Regency-era!Nanami steps back, leaving you space while silently nodding along to your apologies—you haven't even taken the time to look at him yet, still scrambling to pick up runaway apples and shoving them into your basket.

Regency-era!Nanami who has an unexpected spark in his usually reserved expression. With slightly widened eyes Nanami studies your features when you finally look up at him.

The soft curve of your jaw, the way your eyebrows furrow in concern while you're internally cursing at yourself for being so clumsy. You were captivating, to say the least, and your mere presence seemed to make Nanami's words stuck in his throat.

Regency-era!Nanami who dismisses your apologies, insisting you're of no inconvenience to him. He raises a quizzical brow, questioning to himself as to why you're beating yourself up so much over this.

Regency-era!Nanami who comes up with a pathetic excuse when you ask him what a man like him was doing in your tiny village. He doesn't know why he didn't just say he needed directions and that he was visiting for a friend. No, instead he said he was here solely for apples.

So, to further prove his point, Nanami bought exactly one pound of apples. He doesnt even like apples.

But they reminded him of you.

What was this feeling? Nanami pondered this to himself for a brief second. Was it the longing for friendship? Yes, he had Haibara but he could be a bit much at times. Was it merely a small crush? Or God forbid...love?

Regency-era!Nanami didn't believe in love at first sight. He saw it in plays he attended, he read it in–barely tolerable–romantic novels, and had to endure his younger cousin gush about how positively in love she was with the officers that frequently passed through his hometown.

You were different though. You made Nanami's stomach feel ill, not in a bad way though. It was a pleasant yet uncomfortable feeling that he couldnt quite shake.

You were like a ray of sunshine in his dull life surrounded by money hungry people. You were the only tolerable thing to him, aside from his young cousin, Nobara.

Regency-era!Nanami who watches as you walk way while clutching your "rescued apples", a feeling of warmth you couldn't understand washes through you.

Regency-era!Nanami who longs to see you again, tea forgotten as he embarks on another mission: finding you.

Regency-era!Nanami who finds himself in God's favor when he spots you again, under less chaotic circumstances, talking with someone at a ball.

Regency-era!Nanami who finds himself and Haibara approaching you and your family. Nanami playfully scoffs when he sees a drop of sweat roll down Haibara's forehead. Nanami concluded that the girl he's been lovestruck about was your sister.

You and Nanami introduce yourselves (again), this time more calmer. Nanami seemed to be in a trance from you honeyed voice and the way you carried yourself. How effortlessly beautiful you were, and the way the glow of the ballroom lights casted the perfect shadows on your face, making you look like an angel.

At that moment Regency-era!Nanami considered that maybe, just maybe, he really is in love with you.

A/n: I've been obsessed with Pride and Prejudice recently and I thought nanami would fit so well as Mr. Darcy 😭 Nanami is so versatile I swear. Also I wrote this entire thing in a british accent 💀

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chrystal-ink · 6 months ago

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Shadow x Fem Reader regency au part 1: Reunion

Content warning: brief mentions of blood and extreme sickness. Also this is very long. This is my first time writing for sonic and friends so hopefully they are in character.

-Enjoy

The first ball of the season was a buzz with lords and lady's alike mingling after a long winter in the countryside. Old friends were sharing gossip that had been brewing since the end of the last season, newly Weds making their first appearance after their honeymoon's, and Yong lady's such as yourself beginning to mingle with eligible young bachelors in hopes of gaining their affection.

You fiddled mindlessly with your dance card as you listened to your dear friend miss Amy Rose gossip about the newest bachelors whom have made their intentions clear for this season. Many of which had not been very promising for finding a good match this season.

" And then there is Sonic Duke of Green Hill, a very noble gentleman indeed, I had the honor of meeting his grace many years ago when he saved me from a wild horse while I was at my family's manor in the country." Amy said, a hint of admiration in her voice. " He is known for his kindness and generosity why a few years ago he took in the newly Orphaned Earl Prower as his ward after his parents passed on"

"oh yes I remember hearing about that a horrible tragedy truly." You responded.

Amy continued singing her praises of the Duke of Green Hill but you were too distracted recalling the events of the past to listen properly to your pink hedgehog friend

The Robotnicks had been family friends of yours for the past two generations. they were one of the first families to welcome Mobians into high society. The Patriarch Gerald being a major advocate for all Mobians after his son adopted a young hedgehog not long after the birth of his daughter Maria raising the two as siblings, bridging the gap between Humans and Mobian alike.

Your early childhood was often spent playing with Maria and Shadow, their family manor being like a second home to you.

Shadow being one of the only other Mobian children around your age, had been one of your best friends. Having a kind heart and caring attitude, he quickly made his way, along with Maria, into a special place inside your heart. Many afternoons were spent in innocent bliss, not knowing the tragic fate that would befall you all in a few short years.

Not long after she turned twelve Maria would contract a terrible illness that left her bedridden for months. Your parents, fearing for your health, forbid you from seeing either Shadow or Maria. The only communication allowed between the three of you was letters. you would write to Shadow and Maria every day. Often giving up your playtime inorder to make the letters as perfect as possible for your best friends, alas letters could not cure your dear friend.

Maria passed away at the age of twelve only three months after her birthday. The entire Ton mourned her passing, Her funeral was the last time you would see Shadow. Both of you much too young to fully understand the concept of grief let alone death. You remember saying your goodbyes after the service ended, being gently pulled away by your mother seeing shadow disappear behind strangers and out of your life forever.

Viscount Gerald Robotic died not long after Maria. his heart not being able to handle the grief, leaving his Title to his eldest son, Maria's father. Shadow was sent away to boarding school where he would receive the best possible education inorder to become the next viscount. And you were left behind your childhood friends becoming distant bittersweet memories.

Many years later Maria and Shadow's eldest cousin Ivo, became jealous of the nobility his grandfather denied him and in a fit of Rage killed many members of the ton including Lord and Lady Prower, Lord rabbit, and finally Shadow and Maria's father, making Shadow the youngest viscount at the ripe age of sixteen.

It had been eight long years since Maria's passing you had wondered what Shadow had been up to in that time. you had written him many times over the years but none of your letters had ever received a response. you had given up hope on ever reuniting with your old friend your new focus was obtaining a true Love match and living out the rest of your days in a life full of love with your husband, your friends, and eventually your children.

"I hear his grace even raises wild Chao in a private garden isn't he just the kindest" Amy continued. "Oh I can only dream of catching his affections, say you'll help me please as one of my dearest friends say you will."

Giggling at your friend's request you agreed. " I'm sure that when the Duke gets to know your kind heart and loving demeanor he will fall head over heals for you."

"Oh thank you! " Amy exclaimed " I will do everything in my power to make it up to you I promise anything you want I'll do it fo-"

Your friend paused something behind you had caught her attention assuming it was the Duke himself you did not bother turning around. That was until you heard the words "Introducing Viscount Shadow Robotnick."

Turning around you saw your old friend descending the grand staircase appearing much more refined and elegant than in his youth. Your heart began to flutter at the sight of him old emotions stirring with new ones. Time had been kind to him he had grown into a very handsome man he looked powerful, and plastered on his face was a look of a serious nature if you hadn't known any better you would say he looked angry but his facial expression often hid his true feelings.

" I had No idea that the Viscount was back in town did you?"

"No, not a clue" you responded distantly

💎

Shadow descend the stairs well aware that all eyes were on him.

These nobles, always looking for some kind of drama, so bored with their own lives that they must make entertainment with the personal lives of others.

This is the first time he's made an appearance in society since his father's passing two and a half years ago, and for good reason his cousin's actions had brought scandal to the Robotnick name and in order to pick up the pieces he had to handle all of his affairs privately.

He preferred it that way honestly he found much of high society tedious with it's rules and restrictions. He found many of the members of the ton odious seeing others not as privileged as beneath them. He was here for one reason and one reason only.

He scanned the room looking for his target not sure what she would look like after so long. His old friend lost in a sea of silk and lace.

Then he saw her shining like a beautiful diamond in the corner.

"Y/n" he whispered to himself

She looked as if she's seen a ghost. Which she wasn't entirely wrong he had been missing from her life for eight years.

Feeling as if he had died with Maria, he shut the world out, Including her. Chosing instead to focus on his studies and become the greatest Viscount he could be. But she never gave up on him sending him letters every six months updating him on her life and sending him words of kindness. He kept every letter she sent him and had most of them memorized.

Still, responding to her had felt like an impossible task. Every time he began a letter he would have flashbacks of his childhood playing with y/n and Maria. It was hard to think about your memories together without the images of Maria flashing into his head.

Maria so frail and weak in her bed coughing up blood and bile and him not being able do anything at all for her until she died. She was as pale as her linen sheets the only color on her face was the beaming red blood she had coughed up. This image would haunt him for the rest of his life and send him into a panic attack.

It was unfair to y/n that she had lost both of her friends at once and yet she had remained kind to him. It had been over a year since she had sent her last letter, and he had felt her absence in spades since. The silence between them had grown deafeningly still and he could bear it no longer. He had read in the paper that your family had planned for you to come out this season, this is where he would make things right.

He figured it would be easier to speak with y/n directly rather than writing a letter. He was concerned about seeing her for the first time in years would cause more memories to flood back over him but this fear had been proven wrong, the moment he laid eyes on her he felt as if he was finally home, he saw the comfort and warmth that he had been missing since Maria had passed.

Hopefully he wasn't too late, hopefully she hadn't hated him. He needed to speak with her to tell her how much he missed her.

He began to make his way over to her when he heard.

"hey Shadow! It has been ages how are you!" ugh, Sonic Duke of Green Hill an old acquaintance from boarding school. Always so eager to greet and befriend everyone he saw, no matter how resident they were to him. He had excellent leadership skills though and he made a powerful ally to any family, still didn't mean he couldn't find him annoying at times.

"you never come to these things, are you here to find a bride?" Sonic inquired.

"No, I'm here to see an old friend." Shadow responded.

"You have a friend? I would like to meet them."

"why would you want to do that?"

"For proof that you have a friend of course."

Shadow didn't have time to argue so he allowed the Duke to come along. Weaving through the crowd, he searched for y/n hoping to find her before her first dance.

💎

You hadn't been paying much attention to the conversation between you and Amy much too distracted by the presence of your old friend to focus on anything else. You felt bad for your pink friend being forced to continue the flow of conversation by herself.

What was he doing here? Why did he only show up now, after all these years? Had he known you would be here? All your questions would soon be answered.

"don't look now but the Duke is coming our way!" Amy quietly exclaimed. "Greetings your grace" she bowed to him.

Instinctively you turned and bowed to the Duke when you arose you were face to face with the Viscount Shadow. Your heart began to race as memories both good and bad flashed through your head, you were not prepared for this.

steeling yourself you bowed to him a quiet " your grace" was all you could muster for the moment.

"Indeed it has" you responded

"Miss L/N it has been awhile" Shadow said his voice much deeper than in his childhood it reminded you of freshly melted butter on toast, comforting and warm but there was a sadness too it as well.

"You know the Viscount?" Asked Amy

"Yes, we were friends as children before we met, our families have been friends for years but we haven't spoken for a great while. Eight almost nine years am I right?" You tried to come off as if you were beyond it however it came out more dejected than you had hoped.

"Yes." Shadow replied "and I regret it every day"

A quiet and somber stare shared between the two of you saying so much but not enough. you two needed to have a conversation a real one but there was no good way for you to have it. If you two were caught alone together it would cause a major scandal one that could only be repaired with a marriage neither of you wanted. The only other option was to dance together however it was improper for a lady to ask a gentleman to dance, and despite your estrangement you knew Shadow did not dance publicly but perhaps he would with good reason.

"Well it would be improper for us to make your acquaintance and not offer you a dance, Lady Rose do you have any dance slots left on your card?" The Duke was much more observant than you had expected, although he did seem rather smitten with your dear friend and perhaps was using the formality as an excuse for a dance. Either way you were thankful for the offer.

Finally the dancing began you had taken your place on the dancefloor with your suitors for the night, many of the conversations fleeting and without much substance, often asking you about your hobbies, what flowers you liked, and how many children you wanted. All pointless to you at the moment, not when you had to think about what you were going to say to the Viscount.

You and Amy had only one slot left on your card a waltz near the end of the ball. You spent the most of the night in the same group discussing the new season and everybody's hopes for it. You couldn't help but smile seeing your pink friend and the blue hedgehog slowly forming a friendship. Friendship was the foundation of a happy marriage your mother would always say, unfortunately the only male friend you currently had was standing next to you and a broken friendship it was at that.

Shadow over the years seemed to have grown quite cold. Often shutting down the duke whenever he would address him as a friend. According to Shadow they were strictly acquaintances. You began to wonder weather or not Shadow had any close friends to begin with.

He had never been the most optimistic child in the world, often needing words of encouragement from Maria or yourself. Perhaps without Maria around his pessimistic attitude had taken over, not seeing the point in things such as friendship. Maybe that was the reason he hadn't responded for all these years. No. It couldn't be, there was no possible way he could ever be so heartless, right?

You would get your answers soon enough, you just had to be patient. You have waited eight long years what's a few hours more?

You stole glances at him through the entire night, he talked to others when he had to but he spent a good amount of time watching you, waiting for his turn, an unreadable stare adorning his face. He wouldn't dance with any other young ladies which surprised you, at this point it had become abundantly clear.

Shadow was here for you and you alone the rest of society be damned.

Finally it was Shadow's turn to dance with you.

You two took your positions you were much more nervous than him, you knew shadow could sense it so when you looked at him he gave you one of his rare smiles for reassurance, all these years later it still made you feel better.

The music began and as you two settled into your movements you prepared for a hard conversation.

"how come you never wrote me" you began, no sense in wasting time on useless pleasantries.

"I wanted to but-"

"No buts you abandoned me when I needed you, when we needed each other. I wrote you all the time and you never responded."

"I didn't know what to say."

"Anything would have done, an acknowledgement that you were there, a sign that you cared even a little."

"is that why you stopped writing, because you thought I didn't care?"

"what else was I supposed to think? I wrote you for seven years and I didn't receive any response. The only information I could get about you was through gossip circles and they are hardly reliable sources. I had to move on, life is moving forward and I couldn't wait around in the past forever. I miss Maria and I think about her every day but she wouldn't want us to put our lives on hold for her. And I couldn't put my life on hold for you either, I'm sorry my lord but I had to let go. The life we had was over as soon as Maria passed you left with her and it hurt too much to hold on to you when you didn't even have the decency to write me to let me know you were alive."

Shadow was silent for a moment, you couldn't tell what he was thinking, Weather or not he felt sorry or if was angry with you for speaking out of turn.

"What I did to you was wrong." He finally spoke "I made you feel as if you weren't important to me when that couldn't be farther from the truth. I pushed you away because I couldn't bear to lose another friend I cared about but in turn I lost you too. I regret treating you the way I did but I cannot change my actions in the past, I can only hope to do better in the future."

"I missed you Shadow"

It wasn't exactly an apology but it was a start. The hedgehog in front of you may not be as you once knew him. but you could still see the kindness he carried in his eyes, you heard the sincerity in his voice when he spoke to you, felt his caring nature in the gentle way he held you as you danced.

The silence once again returned but it was more comfortable than before. Music played as you continued your waltz looking into those crimson eyes for the first time in years the candlelight reflecting off of his black fur wrapping you in it's warmth. An undeniable electricity flowing through the both of you making making your heart flutter. Suddenly it felt as if you were the only two in the ballroom all the nobility and the rest of society gone as the two of you floated throughout the dancefloor even the orchestra players disappeared leaving behind their music for you two. You could stay like this forever.

"I missed you as well Y/N"

There was still much to discuss and you had yet to forgive him, but you were content for now. Seeing that he wasn't heartless and that he had, in fact, been thinking about you all these years brought an odd flutter to your chest.

Unfortunately the song had drawn to it's conclusion and you two bowed to each other signaling the end of your dance. Shadow offered his arm to lead you off the dance floor, and hesitantly you took it.

This was shaping up to be a very interesting season indeed.

#shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow x reader #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #shadow #regency era au #self indulgent fic #seriously let me know if im cooking at all #not beta read #sonic #sonic fanfiction #x reader #tw blood #tw sickness

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sunflowerlando · 3 months ago

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One familiar; One Desire: Chapter One

Chapter One

Pairing: George Russell x female reader & Lando Norris x female reader

Summary: On the verge of his betrothal, the Marquess of Somerset can think of little else but his future bride. She on the other hand has much different feelings about the situation at hand...

Warnings: None that I can think of for this chapter! Lando being a hopeless romantic and reader being chaotic?

Word Count: 1.7K+

A/N: It's heeeeeeeeere. Thanks to those of you who are interested, and I hope you like it! Hoping to get more out soon 💙

● Series Masterlist ● Story Moodboard ●

Lando Norris paced anxiously through the gardens; his hands picking leaves mindlessly from shrubbery as he wandered. His blue-green eyes heavy with worry and weariness… he had barely been able to sleep the night before, unable to stop his racing thoughts. He awaited the return of his father, the Duke, and his feet always seemed to bring him back to the rose gardens no matter how much he tried to distract his mind with other quiet pursuits. The rugged paths and overgrown bushes provided him comfort as he traveled the same routes he had his whole life.

As the oldest male and heir to his father’s household, Lando was by title the Marquess of Somerset and therefore anticipated to be the Duke’s first son to marry. Though he was incredibly anxious about the expectation of marriage, it was not due to lack of excitement. In actuality, the Marquess desperately wanted to marry and hoped his father was in the process of making arrangements. If all was done when his father returned from his journey, Lando would travel to Coventry the next day to finalize his betrothal to the eldest daughter of the second Earl of Coventry. This was why he could not focus his mind on anything else. What more could he be expected to think of but his future Lady and wife?

The Duke of Somerset was not a man to be pushed into a quick decision. The choice of the Earl’s daughter was not by chance, but one of strategy. With a new king recently taking the throne, marriage contracts with peaceful relations tended to be looked on more favorably by the King. The Duke and the former Earl of Coventry had been at odds with their support (or lack thereof) of the previous king. Then, four years ago, the former Earl was killed during a particularly awful battle and the title went to a new Earl. The Duke was hoping to foster an alliance with this recently appointed Earl. A marriage between the families would ensure a friendly relationship that could carry on to future generations, and Lando knew this was a major piece of the plan his father was working towards. Peace for their family and royal favor were excellent reasons for the Duke to approve this contract, but Lando’s interest in the Earl’s daughter was not tied to personal gain or political agenda… put simply, he was intrigued by what he had heard of his future bride.

The Earl’s eldest daughter was considered to be the most beautiful woman in Coventry, with a radiant smile and a gentle manner. Lando imagined her with the voice of an angel, a soft touch, and kind eyes. Those in the court that knew her said she was the nicest daughter in all the Earldoms, and she lived a life of duty and loyalty to her father and the King. She would set an example for the rest of his household, and Lando craved a righteous and sensible soul who radiated humility toward any nobleman who approached.

Lando was elated at the thought of waking beside such a woman. He could hardly wait to be the first to touch her intimately and take her virtue. Certainly, a woman of such character would bless him with sons and honor him in ways he could only hope for. He dreamed of having breakfast in bed, her caring for his household and him, and having a long life and happy marriage. His dreams were just yearnings for the romantic in him. In truth, he knew very little about his future Lady, only what others had told him - the vast majority of which was courtly gossip.

He could waste away the day doing nothing more than planning for his future wife. He tried to anticipate everything… every moment from the time when he would first place the ring on her hand until the moment when his first child was born. There was only one thing the Marquess of Somerset did not count on while he walked in the garden…

When your parents broke the news of the planned nuptials to you, you stormed to your room and slammed the door, leaving your father on the other side.

“You’re being ridiculous!” he called through the door as you huffed angrily. You had known you were to be wed eventually, and that it most likely would be a marriage of strategy and not of love once your father had become the second Earl. Your dog, Bo, was stretched out on a woven mat in front of the hearth, eyes watching you warily as you paced. You stopped at your desk and hastily began writing on a piece of parchment. Your maidservant, Abigail, came into the room, begging you to calm down.

“Calm down!? At a time like this?? I need you to take this and see that he gets it.” You said, referring to the note you had been penning to your beloved knight, Sir George Russell. Abigail took the parchment with a good many ill words upon her tongue. She had argued with you many times before and this was to be no different.

“I cannot, my Lady!” she insisted.

“And why not?” you demanded, your hand holding the note out to her trembling slightly.

“Because he is not here my Lady,” Abigail began, and knowing how upset you were, decided it would be better to give you all the information even though she had been told not to. “He was sent out this morning with others by your father.”

“For what?” you asked, leveling her with a stare that may have made others shrink, but Abigail had been your maidservant for many years, and you regarded each other as friends.

“Hunting.” She replied plainly. Your head spun… everyone else in the house had known about your betrothal ahead of you and they were busy making preparations for your future husband’s arrival.

“Hunting?” you repeated, quieter now, leaning against the edge of your bed as your mind raced with the activity of the last few weeks. Your father had insisted you visit the seamstress numerous times in the past week. He had showered you with new clothing and any other gift you had been wanting over the last month. Your eyes shot up to meet Abigail’s as the truth set in.

“He has sent Sir George out in preparation for my wedding feast…” you said dejectedly.

Bo’s ears perked up at the word feast, and he wagged his tail lazily. You shot him an annoyed look and he got up to rest his head on your lap. You patted his head absently, feeling drained of your strength. Your father did little without ulterior motives, and now his motive was very clear to you. He wanted you to become the Marchioness of Somerset and carry on his bloodline with an even higher rank. The Marquess would arrive before another sunset splashed across the sky, and at that time your betrothal would be announced before the entire household. Your heart sank as you realized Sir George would be camped in the forest overnight and there was little chance of getting word to him.

“I had hoped you wouldn’t get yourself so worked up,” Abigail said comfortingly. “I hear the Marquess is a good and loyal man that is very popular at the King’s court.”

“And what do you know of what goes on at court?” you said, eyes blazing again, before you realized you’d been too harsh. “Forgive me. I just don’t know how I have been so blind that I didn’t see this coming, especially now that I am of age.”

Abigail knelt down in front of you and reached to gently take your hand. You gave her hand a squeeze and she smiled. You had known her for years, and you considered her one of your closest friends. Abigail had watched over the years as you continually gave your heart to commoners that were ill suited for you. Before Sir George it had been the merchant’s son, Oscar, a nice man by all rights, but not of the right status and not someone that could weather your fiery outbursts. Sir George, as far as Abigail was concerned, wasn’t worth the price of his armor. He was a constant womanizer who was hooked on battle and violence; his knighthood having long ago gone to his head.

“My Lady, you knew this was expected. Ladies of the court marry gentlemen of the court,” Abigail said pointedly, giving your hand a small squeeze of encouragement.

“You don’t understand,” you whined, “I am in love with George!”

You stood up, beginning to pace the room again as Abigail got up from where she’d sat to comfort you.

“Marrying for love can leave you wanting, but marrying the Marquess would ensure that you are taken care of for the rest of your days and that any children would not have to worry. I think you should at least give him a chance” Abigail said.

“A chance?” you scoffed. “Tomorrow I will be officially betrothed and before the end of this week I am to be Lord Somerset’s wife!”

“Gives you a few days to grow to like him then.” Abigail responded with a grin. Having been your friend for so long, she knew how to push your buttons, but she also knew how to make sense of your feelings and help you reach smart decisions.

“No.” you stated pointedly, and Abigail knew the spark in your eye would mean trouble for the Earl and his house in the coming days.

You shooed Abigail from your room and tried to come up with a plan to get you out of what you saw as a grim situation. Your father had planned well, leaving you few resources by which to make a getaway. You could not leave this night, and you expected your father would have a full schedule planned for you tomorrow so that you would not be left alone even for a moment. You assumed Sir George and the huntsmen would be back before the arrival of the Marquess, so you had little hope for avoiding this wedding.

You laid in your bed, Bo curling up next to you, as you mulled over the possibilities. You had three days to give the Marquess a chance… or to convince him otherwise. You did not intend to be outmaneuvered in this situation.

Taglist: @the-holy-trinity-l @daemyratwst @linnygirl09 @cheyxfu Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

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veloursdor · 11 months ago

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I haven't done one of this in a while but...

Obikin AU set in the regency era where Obi-Wan is a Lord too set in his own ways and who has never felt the desire to be tied down to another, happy to continue the rest of his life as a bachelor.

Despite constant pressure from his grandfather (Count Dooku) to find a spouse and have heirs, Obi-Wan is content to stay as he is. He does not want to stop his dilliances, and even enjoys the fact that they have earned him a reputation of sorts.

(Every girl who is not looking to becoming Lady Kenobi is looking for a night in his bed. And he welcomes them all, uncaring of their marital status.)

Anakin is his housekeeper's son, his pageboy, and a constant presence in his life. He doesn't need to turn around to know that Anakin is nearby, always at the corner of his eye, never out of his sight.

(Anakin loves Obi-Wan, but knows it can never happen. His Lord is too marriage-phobic for him to follow Anakin to the altar.)

Obi-Wan's life is perfect as it is, and he loathes the idea of changing a thing from it, even if it means his family name dies with him.

But then, at a masquarade ball, he meets an alluring young man who takes his breath away. They dance all night — something he never does during the Season — until the bell rings midnight and the young man runs away without looking back.

Obi-Wan becomes obsessed with finding out the identity of the man he can't stop thinking about. But, at the same time, Anakin asks for his help, wanting to learn the ways to win a noble's heart, as the younger man longs to marry and fall in love, something that doesn't sit quite right with Obi-Wan, who always taught Anakin would forever live in his house.

#obikin #obikin au #regency era au #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #despite what it looks like #i have not seen bridgerton #i have seen the carriage scene from s3 and a couple of gifs from said season #but 't was enough to inspire this #[i am not sorry i laughed at the orchestra arrangement of that pitbul song while penelope gets fingerbnged in a carriage]#unlike the other aus i post in here this one actually has words beyond this in the wip document #[looks at my unfinished fslseaes chapter] it will be fine

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jejebean · 5 months ago

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In a Crowd of Thousands

Gojo x F!Reader || A Bridgerton / Regency Era AU ♔

Inspired by this song from Anastasia

A displaced princess taking refuge in a foreign land, and a Duke with manners unbefitting his station. While one of you cannot afford to tempt scandal, the other relishes it. Your paths crossed on a fated Summer's day long ago. Forgotten in the whirlwind of time, yet haunted, by your smile, by his eyes.

Content Warning: Reader's traumatic past, anxiety, unhealthy coping mechanism, Gojo's rakish behaviour.

Prologue | Chapter 01

══════════════════

Your POV

Focus on your breathing.

In, out.

‘What’s the worst that could happen? The Queen’s court being stormed and everyone thrown out or slaughtered? What are the chances of it happening twice?’

The corner of your lips lifts ever so slightly at the morbid thought.

You admit that there must be a healthier way to deal with your anxiety. Whatever adversity you might face from now on would pale in comparison. You might argue that it has made you stronger, but in truth, you feel so paper-thin at times.

Adorned with fineries, your maid keeps saying that you are a sight to behold. However, you feel anything but. The weight of all the jewels, the gown, and even the feathers on your hair, are all crushing down on you.

Breathe.

You know the rules by heart. Remember, you were a princess once, albeit in a foreign court.

You glance at the looking glass, and a young lady looks back at you. A perfect little debutante. An epitome of elegance, in her intricately embroidered white silk gown and carefully braided hair. Ready to step into the light, into society.

“Are you ready, my lady?”

No. I’m not.

“Yes, I am. Thank you, Nobara.”

One step at a time, one foot in front of the other, you walk down the stairs into the grand hallway of the Kamo’s manor house. It is all new to you, as you’ve been hidden away in the country with your numerous tutors and governesses. You can see the two figures waiting for you. The Earl, and the Dowager Countess Kamo; a frail and quiet old lady with her white hair styled neatly in court fashion. She is going to present you to Her Majesty the Queen today. The Dowager keeps to herself most of the time and practically disappeared from society when her son, the late Earl passed just two years ago.

“You look exquisite, Lady Kamo.”

The man standing next to the Dowager, extended his hand to help you down the last couple of steps. Your dear cousin, the new Earl, Kamo Choso.

“Thank you, my lord.” You smile, as you accept his steady hand.

He has been your constant companion and confidante, almost like an elder brother.

It is a warm welcome to have him by your side as you step into the marriage mart. With his long black hair slicked back neatly, you can clearly see the dark circle adorning his eyes. He has worked tirelessly to fix the estate left in shambles by the late Earl. You wish for him to find someone that could help lift his spirits. Alas, he would laugh and say, ‘I have more important things to do. Let us focus on you first little duck.’ In his eyes, you’re still that trembling little girl.

“Are you ready?‘ His voice, low, as to not agitate your already frayed nerves. The only one genuinely concerned for your well-being. He knows you too well for you to hide your nature.

“Not really, but the show must go on.”

“Try to relax, little duck.” He teases.

“You don’t suppose I’ve transformed into a swan today?” You gesture at the white plumage on your head.

“You’ll always be little duck.” He chucked. “Also, that’s Ostrich feather, dear cousin.”

You rolled your eyes. Very unbecoming for a lady, but with Choso, it matters not; you’re as he says, just a little duck.

…

The morning has been a flurry of white silk satin, and feathers scrambling in the debutantes waiting room. Young ladies desperate for perfection, and their mamas fussing over every little detail. You are grateful that the Dowager Countess who’s presenting you is lost in her own thoughts. It allows you a moment of respite in the chaos of the day. You blink back the fog of trance, as the royal footman calls out your name.

“It’s our turn, dear.” The Dowager turns to you and offers a kind smile. You can detect a tinge of sympathy in her voice.

“So it seems. Thank you, Lady Kamo.” You smile back, grateful.

Waiting by the great white door, there is a sinking feeling in your chest. You’ve only heard rumours of the Queen. How Her Majesty’s opinion is all that matters in this society.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Time slows to a halt as the door opens and you hear the court presenter’s voice booms like crack of thunder down your spine. You steel your gaze, as you remember your lessons. Your senses drone out the whispers of the Queen’s court.

One step at a time.

Slowly, walk with pride.

Curtsy with all the grace you can muster.

You cast your eyes on the carpeted floor as you lower yourself gracefully.

“Rise, my dear.”

And there she is. Her Majesty the Queen, right in front of you.

With her discerning hawk-like eyes, she studies your face, your figure, and your mannerisms.

“I remember your mother. You look just like her.” She paused. ”I’d say, well done.”

You are unable to breathe for a second, as the air in the room has stilled. You couldn’t believe that you’ve somehow managed to gain the queen’s favour. Has she somehow mistaken the mask you put on over your anxious disposition for serenity and grace? You don’t know what to feel.

On one hand, it will help garner intrigue from suitors. On the other, you are now the common enemy of the young ladies vying for the eligible bachelors.

…

Ijichi’s POV

In the morning of the presentation, across town, a butler is trying fruitlessly, to remind a certain Duke of his responsibility.

“Your Grace, we cannot break from tradition.”

“It is a stupid tradition, and I can do what I want.”

Slender fingers deftly reach for an arrow, playfully aiming at the poor butler.

The young man pulls against the taut string of the bow and at the last second, flicks his aim away and unleashes the arrow. The butler flinches as it hits the tree next to him, dead centre.

“You are hosting the first ball of the season. You are obligated to attend!”

“No, my mother is hosting the first ball of the season. I, can do what I want, Ijichi.”

“Your Grace, you promised the Dowager Duchess to open the ball. It is a mark of a gentleman to honour his words.”

The Duke curses under his breath.

“Fine. I’ll dance at the ball.” He paused. “But I won’t open it. Give that job to someone else.”

Satoru grabs another arrow and quickly aims it at the same tree. Despite having grown up amongst the highest rank of nobility, he possesses none of the genteel mannerisms expected of the young Duke. The butler is only grateful, that at least the master will somewhat behaves appropriately when he has to make a public appearance.

Ijichi hoped that if by some miracle, a young lady might catch the Duke’s attention. And Gojo Satoru might even begin to start acting in a way that befits his station.

But as he watches the Duke unleash arrow after arrow on the unsuspecting tree, he ponders his retirement from service.

Your POV

It is finally time for the first ball of the season. Your nerves have recovered a little bit since the presentation. The rattling of the carriage against the cobblestone street is strangely soothing. As you look out into the night, the twinking of the city light seems most enchanting. You only wish for Choso to escort you to your first debutante ball. However, his work has kept him chained to his study and likely so for the next few days.

Your carriage pulls towards Gojo Manor, one of the grandest in town. The manor is a sight to behold. With ivy-covered walls, illuminated in the dark, took your breath away. You can see beautiful young ladies chatting away excitedly, entering the manor with their chaperones. You can’t help but feel a little giddy. The future is after all, full of possibilities.

Carefully, you stepped out of your carriage, helped by the manor’s footman. A soft gasp could be heard as you stepped into the light of the manor. You are wearing a shimmering light taupe gown, embroidered tastefully with delicate floral designs. But the eyes of the ton are locked onto your neck; adorned with diamonds and blood-red rubies, the trademark of the house of Kamo.

‘Fit for royalty’ Choso teased, as he escorted you to the carriage with an apologetic smile. ‘All eyes will be on you, little duck. I guarantee it.’

‘I wish you could be there with me. It would feel terribly lonely with just Lady Kamo.’

‘You won’t feel so lonely when you have all the bachelors in the ton filling up your dance card.’

‘I’ll try and do you proud, Cho.’

‘You already have.’

…

You know Choso means well, but the pin-prick of a thousand eyes keeps you on your toes. It might have been too much. You steady your breath, with head held high, just as you’ve been trained for your entire life. The very picture of grace and elegance, as you walk into the majestic ballroom. Gentlemen begin to step forward as the Dowager Countess, your chaperone, makes the introduction.

You smile graciously as one name after another makes it onto your dance card. Praying, that your heart will not betray you, as it pounds deafeningly loud underneath. The whispers have started again, as the ever so envious mamas of the ton poured venoms into the ears of the impressionable daughters. Who can blame them, you think to yourself, as a woman’s place in this society is dictated by the turn of the seasons.

The night seems never-ending as you spin from the arms of one gentleman to another. Choso was wrong in one regard. The many gentlemen who vy for your attention do nothing to dissuade the feeling of emptiness in your chest.

“Ah, it is good to see you back in society, dear Lady Kamo.”

“Splendid evening, Your Grace. You have certainly outdone yourself.”

Ah. This must be the Duchess. She cut the most breathtaking figure in the room. Her hair was decorated with sapphires and white roses, the symbol of her house. You hurried over towards your chaperone, hoping to pay your respect to the hostess.

“Have you met my ward, the young Lady Kamo.” The Dowager gestured towards you as you curtsy. “And this, my dear, is our most illustrious hostess of the ton.”

“You flatter me, Lady Kamo.” The Duchess regards you with a warm smile. ”I see you have taken the Kamo name for yourself.”

“Your Grace, I am most grateful to be allowed the honour of your invitation to this marvelous ball.” You curtsy, as perfectly as you can.

“Nonsense, my dear. Do enjoy yourself.” The Duchess seems amused by how formal you are behaving. Quiet the opposite of her unruly son, she thought to herself.

“Tell me, Your Grace, is the Duke present at tonight’s ball?”

A slight twitch on the corner of the Duchess’s lips would have been missed if you were not so vigilant. Looks like the young Duke is a sore spot for her.

“Ah yes, the Duke is attending. Though presently, I cannot tell you of his whereabouts.”

The two ladies, you have learned, were old friends. As they catch up on the latest gossip, you shift awkwardly, wishing you could sink into the walls, away from it all.

“Oh, don’t mind us, my dear, do go and enjoy yourself.”

You take the dismissal as an opportunity to slip away. Just for a moment, you want to get away from the ever-judging gaze of the ton. You look around and your eyes are set upon a small bench in the garden, against what seems like a hedge maze and topiary display. It is clearly visible from the ballroom’s balcony, and not too far out. Surely, it is not too improper.

A moment of respite is all you need. Just a moment, and not a second more.

You wander out into the night with haste. As the sweet scent of the garden bloom fills your lungs, your spirit lifts. You can see one of the manor’s footmen is keeping a watchful eye on you as you sit down on the cool marble bench by your lonesome. Thankful for the precaution, you feel more at ease that the Duchess seems to genuinely care about the participants of her ball. You close your eyes letting your senses immerse in your surroundings. The cold marble seat, the sweet scent of roses, the rustling of the hedge wall tickling your back, and the gasps and moans of-

Your eyes shoot open. Surely, You must be mistaken? Try as you might to deny it, the voices are getting louder by the second. Your heart starts to pound in your chest. You contemplate your next course of action. You should rush back in right now, else you might be engulfed in the most shocking scandal of the century.

Who on earth-

No, that’s not important right now. You have to go back in.

You should. You must!

You will yourself to move, but it seems your knees have other plan. In a moment of haste, your world comes crashing down. The footman keeping watch on you makes his way over to assist you. A sudden thought flashes in your mind. If he comes closer, surely he’ll also notice the voices behind the hedge.

“I’m fine. Truly!” You call out. “Oh, how silly of me. Seems the hem of dress was caught on my heels.”

The footman stops on his track, and gives you a nod, as you try to wave him away.

‘Why exactly?’

You sit back on the garden bench as you try to compose yourself.

Why did you try to stop him? Why are you trying to cover for the people you know nothing about?

As you try to calm your heart, you notice that there is silence.

‘Good. Seems like they heard me and ran off. Now I can have my peace.’

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

You freezes.

The silky voice coming from behind you has chained you in place.

“You know, I’d expect this behaviour from a kitchen wench, but not a highborn lady such as yourself.”

‘Can he see me? It can’t be. No, there is still a hedge wall separating the two of you.’

You gather what courage you have left and answer.

“How would you know that I’m a Lady? Perhaps you are mistaken, sir.”

“‘Your Grace’, I believe, is the appropriate title.”

Ah, it all makes sense now.

”And I know the Duchess’s ball is tonight. No servants would be allowed to wander the ground needlessly.”

“And what perchance is this behaviour you speak of, Your Grace?”

“I won’t insult your intelligence. But you know full well that eavesdropping on someone else’s…activities, so to speak is beneath you.”

“You would do well not to assume-”

“I do suppose I have to thank you for your discretion, at the very least.”

“Ah yes, but you mean to insult me first with your accusations.”

You keep your eyes forward in a steady gaze, as the man seems tongue tied. You recall the Duchess’s behaviour from earlier when old Lady Kamo mentioned her son. The footmen being overly vigilant on the ball’s attendants. It is all because of this man. The Duke. Even from his voice, you can tell that he is a very proud man. Acting as he pleases, and brandishing his title and superiority.

“I believe the Duchess is looking for you, Your Grace. Now I must take my leave before I catch a chill —or worse.”

“What is your name?” He sounds a tad calmer this time, devoid of the smugness from earlier.

“I do not think it wise for me to reveal myself.” You stand up carefully this time. ”Let us forget this exchange, and I’ll spare you your blushes, Your Grace.”

“I do not believe it is fair since now know who I am. Tell me your name.”

“I apologize Your Grace, but you might recall that it was you who chose to reveal who you are without me needing to ask. Besides, I can’t just introduce myself to a Duke without someone to facilitate an introduction. You see, it is not proper.” You added the last bit just to get a rise out of him.

“Hah! You know full well that nothing about this is proper, you insolent girl.”

“I bid you Adieu, Your Grace.”

“Hold on-”

Feeling like you’ve made an enemy of the man, you quickly walk towards the safety of the ballroom. You hope that you’ll be allowed to slip away home early. You might be able to make up a cold, and that should allow you to dodge a couple more balls until Choso is able to escort you.

…

After hurrying to the powder room to pick off the bits of grass from your gown, you are now back in the lavish ballroom with your chaperone. The Dowager seems to be enjoying herself being back in society after a long mourning period. You feel slightly guilty for trying to convince her to cut the evening short.

“What’s wrong my dear, you seem a bit flushed.”

“Lady Kamo, I-”

“There you are! Lady Kamo, may I introduce to you, my son, the Duke, Gojo Satoru.”

Your head whips around towards the Duchess so fast, you are almost sure you snapped something in your neck.

And there he is, the Duke, finally in front of you. A beautiful man with silvery hair, and blue eyes so dazzling they —Those eyes. You draw a sharp breath upon seeing the Duke, and his mother must have heard it.

“Are you alright, my dear?”

“Yes. I’m perfectly fine, Your Grace.” You reply, with a timid voice, cautious. You don’t want the Duke to realise who you are.

You sneak a glance at the man, before fixing your gaze on his midnight blue lapel. Thankfully, the Duke seems disinterested. For now, at least.

“Pardon us, Your Graces, it seems that the young lady caught a chill in the garden.”

Oh.

Before you manage to utter a single word, the Duke steps forward towards you like a bolt of lightning with a mischievous glint in his eyes and takes your hand in his.

“Would you do me the honor of a dance my lady?”

He whisks you away to the dancefloor, without awaiting your response to the surprise of everyone around you.

“So, Lady Kamo is it?” He smiles at you, as he holds you close to him with a steady hand on your back, as if to prevent you from fleeing again.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“I’m glad that we finally get the chance to meet. Properly.”

“I suppose there is no avoiding it now.” You sigh.

“You are a strange one. Young ladies usually turn to putty in my hands.”

“Maybe I would, Your Grace, had I not discovered your recent activities.”

“Careful girl. I enjoy our banter in the garden, but my patience has its limit.” He is now staring at you intensely. You can’t help but look away, unable to meet his eyes.

“Apologies, Your Grace.”

There is a lull as you both dance, dazzling the ball’s attendant with a beautifully performed waltz. You can tell that the Duke is at a loss on what to say, now that you know his secret. His charms, you think, are superficial. They are merely a facade to cover up his deficient manners, and he is also protected by his title and rank in society.

Up close, he is quite handsome to be sure. But is that truly all there is to it? A pleasant face and a title. Is that all that matters in a suitor?

“Beautiful necklace. The ruby is the symbol of your house, is it not?”

“Your Grace is very knowledgeable.”

“Cut the formality. Don’t make this boring.” He hisses. “I owe you a great debt for not ratting me out to my mother. I’m just trying to make a normal conversation.”

“Well, you started it. Commenting on my necklace is a step away from talking about the weather.”

“You are something else.” He chuckles, as he guides you expertly through the end of the waltz.

“This season might not be so boring after all.”

══════════════════

Thank you for reading!

A/N: Omg…Gojo is going to be hard for me to write. Also, poor Ijichi is just trying his best.

See you in the next one! ♡

Tag: @sonotpattismith

#gojo x reader #gojo x f!reader #jjk #jjk fanfic #reader insert #my fanfic #bridgerton AU #regency era AU #In a Crowd of Thousands

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janeiscompletelyfine · 3 months ago

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Regency Era Poll 2

Yep okay I am really excited about this, I'm gonna write it! Question though uh...... idk what to do with the James/Lily/Regulus situation. So here's the poll. If it's Jily I'm gonna do the classic she hates him then she falls harder, if it's Jegulus I'm gonna do a fun angst thing, and I kind of feel like Jily fits better into the story but like Jegulus yk?

ALSO IF I DID JILY I would do Regulus as trans/ace I think (he's for sure trans.)

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lologoinsolo · 1 month ago

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Hello :)

Just read your ‘unedited blurb’ about the fourth born princess married off to the illegitimate son Lord Riley… now I’m hungry for words. Please don’t let the starving children in Australia die.

It’s so cruel to taunt us with these tasty little snacks and no sustenance. Needs our meats and taters to fight off the drop bears.

Part 2 of this, slightly more edited drabble.

You’re a good wife. At least you believe so. You do your duties, you run the house well enough, you speak kindly to the servants and maids and butlers. You keep a smile on, a genuine smile towards everyone. You do tend to splurge on fresh flowers that you place in nearly every corner of the estate but that’s just to brighten up the old walls. You do your absolute best to be as prim and as proper as a wife of the Riley name should be.

But it’s… it’s just not enough.

“Good morning, husband,” you greet upon the top of your stairs, your hand on the rail as you make your way down. You have a hard time catching him long enough to speak to him. He really does live up to his nickname as The Ghost. “I’ve asked the maids to prepare… your…” the words you would’ve said dies when he turns from you. Didn’t even nod this time nor give you the dignity of a short conversation. You sigh, eyes closed before you roll your shoulders and head to the dining area.

Your breakfast sits for you waiting to be eaten and the servants stand at the ready to indulge any desire you might have. The chef here is exceptionally better than the one at the palace but at least that dining room had your sisters. The seats were always filled and the lighter was constant. Your eyes flicker to the doors, hoping against hope that today will be the day your husband eats with you. But alas, across the table sits an empty chair that’s hardly been sat on and food that is getting colder by the minute. Like always.

You eat in silence, striking conversations with the servants is a hard thing to do since they just nod away to what you’re saying. “My husband works too hard.” Speaking aloud but the servant that’s pours your drink merely winces, “please, send his food to his study.” Putting on a smile, this one genuine yet sadder. “Oh, and make sure to warm it for him before you send it.” Giving one last instruction as they go to take his food away.

After breakfast, you make your way to the garden’s greenhouse. It’s your little spot of sunshine that you’ve payed a keen eye to. You love your flowers, this place didn’t have much save for weeds. You’re hoping that once these bloom then you can put them in the house. The large greenhouse isn’t just for soon to be flowers but also where you’ll read. You’ve made a small library for yourself, just the books you took from your home at the palace. Even now, reading seems to be the only way for you to escape a loveless home.

“Mornin’, my lady!” The booming voice of your bodyguard jolts you from your seat and you almost throw your book. You still don’t know why you need one, you never leave the estate anyways. “I ken ye’d be ‘ere,” he smiles and it’s as warm as the sun, a hand settles on his hip as he leans closer to you. “Readin’ yer books again, my lady?”

“Johnny,” your hand over your chest, your heart might have jumped out. The book that was almost thrown sits on your lap now. “Yes,” catching your breath, “I am reading… again.” You’ve never seen a man dress like him when you were growing up. Sir— or just Johnny, as he had asked, is dressed in clothing that speaks of his proud heritage. The green and blue kilt, the leather, and the two sharp looking axes attached to his hips. The term, “Scottish warrior”, comes to mind. It’s something that you’ve heard your father speak about. Granted your father had nothing good to say about them. He never had anything good to say about anything in general actually.

“Yer makin’ me lazy, my lady.” He sighs like you’ve turned away a crying puppy.

“How am I doing that?” It’s refreshing in how he speaks to you. It should upset you that he’s so open with you but you’ll take what you can get. At least he tries to keep his manners, you’ve heard him curse only once but he promptly apologized for it. “If you are bored of your charge then perhaps you should ask Lord Riley to relieve you of me.” Turning your face a little, you go to pull your book out in front of you.

“Cannae do that,” puffing his chest out. Far too prideful to admit any sort of defeat, “ye ken there’s a library that yer husband puts donations to?” You quirk a brow at him, when did Lord Riley start doing that? He continues on, “it’s very big compared to yer lil greenhouse. It’s in town and there just happens to be a nice little bakery nearby.” Trying to sound as convincing as he can. He’s kept up with your routines and needless to say. He wants to get you out of the cage you’re squeezed in. Plus, a little birdie told him that you have a sweet tooth that’s almost as bad as Simon’s is.

Rubbing at your chin in thought, “okay…” placing your book down. No harm in getting out, you just hoped it would’ve been your husband that would’ve been the one to do so. A flitter of a fantasy that maybe he would’ve taken notice to you keeping to yourself here but… maybe he just has too many things to work on?

“Thank you, Princess,” smiling down at you once more. His hand outstretched for you to grab and you take it gladly. He pulls you out of your seat easily and takes a small step back so you can walk in front. His eyes have always been on you since you came in. Watching your graceful figure moves about the halls like a feather. He’d think you’re a swan with how you move, a pretty little thing that’s nestled in these cold walls. It cuts him deeper in the chest that any knife when he knows why your husband isn’t paying attention to you the way you deserve.

He’ll have to speak to Simon again, maybe get him to build you your own library in the estate. God knows it took some long and hard convincing to get the man to make donations to the towns library. It’s worth it to see how your eyes light up though. You flutter around and talk his ear off about all the books, talking more than he’s heard you speak since you’ve came about being Lady Riley. He swallows thickly when your back is turned once more to pile on another book to your growing collection.

He can’t keep doing this, not anymore. Not to you.

#lolowrites #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #ghoap x reader #ghoap x you #regency era au #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #just wanted to say anon #you made me laugh so hard #what is a drop bear???

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harmonyrae · 14 days ago

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The Doctor's Wife

Synopsis: When you agreed to an arranged marriage to your childhood friend you never imagined it’d be like this. You knew what was expected of you, locking away your wild spirit to be a proper wife. The little boy you knew has grown into a handsome doctor, still as quiet and frigid as you remember. You’re both so different, how will this marriage ever work?

AN: I tried my best to be historically accurate - my Google history is crazy. I now have 10 pages of notes dude... Some modern terms are used for a smoother reading experience. Images from Pinterest.

Content Warnings: SFW (future works could have NSFW elements fyi), slightly suggestive, SO MUCH TENSION, angst & fluff & humor, religious elements (vows), Zayne is Mr. Darcy coded and I am unwell

Word Count: 6.5k

“I cannot believe you are going through with this… You were supposed to be more troublesome than I was! And here you are, avoiding the miserable experience all-together.”

Sera unwraps another curl and twirls it. She stares at you through the mirror of your dressing table, her glare speaking volumes. You wince as she tugs another wrap out, freeing the curl. You pick at your fingernails and sigh.

“Seems Mama learned from your mistakes - ow!”

Sera pulls another wrap out, harsher than she needs. You turn around to face her, forcing her to stop torturing your poor scalp. Your bedroom door opens and Cora and Theo enter. Theo sets down a cup of tea in front of you before shooing Sera away. She starts to gently unwrap your curls while Sera sits on your bed with Cora.

“But agreeing to an arranged marriage? Winnie…”

“We all know I wasn’t going to find a match without Mama’s intervention. You’re right Sera, I am more troublesome. This is easier and… and I want… this.”

Cora nudges Sera and she crosses her arms, agreeing to let the matter rest. When Cora meets your eye her smile wavers. She straightens her back and takes a deep breath.

“Has Mama… spoken to you?”

You squint at her, your brain foggy after the many conversations your mother has had with you lately. From the proposal of the arrangement, the fitting of your wedding dress, confirmation of the special license, she notices your confusion and continues.

“About… what… ahem… about marital duties?”

You laugh so hard you bump the leg of your dressing table, nearly spilling your tea. Your sisters simply stare at you, all wearing serious expressions. When you realize they want an answer you clear your throat and fold your hands.

“You are referring to intercourse?”

“Winnie!” All of your sisters shout in unison.

You burst into another fit of giggles, prompting Sera and Cora to stand and huddle around you. You look around at them and grin. You missed this, saying something to rile them up. It’s who you are, not at all sensible and rather wild - as your mother would say.

“Winifred, how do you know about… that?”

Cora inches closer and whispers, you know she is worried you’ve been indecent. You’re starting to wonder if the truth may be worse.

“I read a book.”

“What kind of book?! And where did you get it?”

Sera doesn’t bother whispering and Cora slaps her shoulder. Theo finishes unwrapping your curls and begins pinning them back, she leans forward, just as eager to know.

“Zayne could read his fathers books, I did not see a reason why I could not. So I stole one. Brought it home to read, forgot about it and found it a few years ago. I’ve read it quite a few times now. It’s all rather fascinating.”

Your neighbor being a doctor was extremely helpful, especially with Ellie being sick so often when she was young. Zayne always accompanied his father on his visits and quickly became your friend. He was a quiet child with his nose in a book while you ran wild, catching frogs and building dirt castles. But when you’d spend afternoons at his home, he would suggest the library. Zayne would read out-loud and you found yourself mesmerized by the content. You regularly requested the medical books and he was happy to comply. Your insatiable curiosity pushed you to steal one of them to read for yourself.

You point to the loose floorboard at the end of your bed and Sera spins, diving down to fish out the book. She holds it up and her brow furrows.

“It… It’s about childbirth?”

You nod and chuckle as she opens it, flipping through the pages with a grimace.

“Apparently, one cannot properly explain the intricacies of childbirth without explaining how the child came to be in the first place. Our bodies are fascinating, no?”

“Does your future husband know you stole one of his fathers books?” Cora teased.

When your mother told you Zayne’s parents were arranging his marriage and were requesting you - you were stunned, but not against it. You cried when he went away to university. Then argued when he came home just to leave for medical school a few weeks later. And you spent weeks in bed anxious he would never return from the battlefield where he served as a surgeon. He is one of your dearest friends, his company agreeable, his livelihood secure, you didn’t see a reason to decline.

“Well, his father never asked for it back when they moved last autumn. So I assume not.”

“Explain to me once more how Zayne gained his title?” Theo asks.

“The Earl of Akso died without an heir and he had no living male relatives. The Queen had to grant the title, and the estate, to someone and she chose Zayne.”

“Why Zayne?” Sera exclaims, earning her harsh stares from both Cora and Theo.

“He was a sawbone.”

“A what?” All of your sisters shout in unison, once again.

“A surgeon in the army. Apparently, he was the most trusted when it came to amputations. He never lost a patient who needed one. His superiors recommended him to the Queen. He was granted the new title and the land as a reward of sorts for his service.”

“So he is an Earl and a surgeon. He would have had every young lady in the Ton vying for his attention. Why would he want an arranged marriage?” Theo asks.

Cora urges Sera and Theo to step back. She extends a hand to help you up and leads you to stand in front of your mirror. She retrieves your dress and comes up behind you, resting her chin on your shoulder.

“Have you seen him since he returned?”

You look down and adjust your stay, pulling the strings tighter. Cora sighs and taps your arms, you raise them and she slips the dress over your head. Cora smoothes out the ivory silk, fluffing the ruffles around the collar while you straighten the lace sleeves that fan over your fingers. She turns you around and swats your hands away so she can button the front.

“Can we return to the topic of how this book prepares you for this evening?”

Sera holds the book up and smirks. You feel your cheeks flush.

“I know what is expected of me. It does not serve me to be anxious over it.”

Sera frowns and drops the book to your bed. She walks over to hold your trembling hands.

“To be anxious is to be human, Winnie. You’re getting married today. You’re going to be a Countess. That is certainly worthy of a bit of anxiety.”

She smiles sweetly and you finally allow your shoulders to slump forward. Cora pulls you into a hug, Sera wrapping her arms around both of you. Soon, you feel Theo at your back. You close your eyes, allowing your sisters to hold you in their safe embrace. The creaking of your door makes you jump and you look up to see your mother watching you all. Her eyes fill with tears and she rushes forward to join. You chuckle as she lets out a muffled sob.

“My sweet girls.”

The hug does not last long, Ms Jennings arrives to announce the carriage is ready and your mother pulls you towards the door. You glance over your shoulder to look around your bedroom.

“Mama, please make sure my books are stored properly before they are sent. And my dressing table, I still want it, even if there is one for me at the estate, I want this one. And –”

“My dear, Ms Jennings already made arrangements with Ms Lucas at Akso manor. We must get to the church, come now!”

Sera grabs your mothers arm and leads her out of the room. Cora and Theo follow closely behind, allowing you a moment to yourself. A moment to say goodbye to your childhood. Whatever your future as the Countess of Akso may hold, you doubt your wild spirit will be welcomed. As you close your bedroom door you feel as if you’re locking a part of yourself away.

The ride to the church wasn’t long, but due to Cora’s condition you had to make several… stops. When you arrive, Rafayel is pacing outside of the church. Cora giggles as she tries to calm him, making the rest of you giggle in return.

“I was certain the carriage's wheel snapped or a wild animal attacked! What happened?!”

“Darling, you know I’ve been getting sick more frequently, especially in the morning.”

“Did you drink the ginger tea? Your mother said she would make you a cup before you departed! Why did you not drink it?!”

“Rafayel! I did drink the tea! I… I still…”

Cora’s smile fades as her breathing turns heavy. She rushes around the side of the church with Rafayel right behind her.

“She is carrying more than one child, I’m sure of it. She was not nearly as ill when carrying Leonardo. Poor girl can barely eat.”

Your mother has been speculating ever since Cora and Rafayel told her. Sylus and Caleb stand just inside the church doors waiting for their wives. Caleb quickly circles around Theo, his hand placing hers on his arm. Just like Rafayel and Sylus, when Caleb found out Theo was with child she was suddenly made of glass. Caleb leans close and whispers in Theo’s ear.

“Did you know Winnie’s betrothed was a military surgeon? Nearly fainted when he walked in. That’s the doctor!”

Theo gasps and tries to peek through the doors.

“The doctor who saved your arm? I must remember to thank him!”

Your mother places a hand on your back and you pause. Sylus and Sera walk into the chapel hand in hand, followed by Caleb and Theo. Rafayel and Cora shuffle into the corridor and your mother pats Cora’s damp forehead with a handkerchief before they stroll down the aisle to their seats. You straighten your collar over and over until your mother grabs your hands.

“I’m so proud of you darling.”

You force a smile. You weren’t particularly nervous about the marriage, but the thought of standing in front of a crowd made your stomach drop. You clutch her hand and she leads you through the door.

You let your mother lead you, focusing on each step and keeping your breathing steady. However, all of your willpower disappeared as soon as you looked up at the altar. The little boy you knew was long gone, in his place stood a tall gentleman with a frigid expression. While he may look intimidating, you were not easily frightened. Especially when he looked so incredibly handsome. His dark hair was the same, longer and more fringe across his forehead. Dark eyebrows framed brilliant green eyes, his mouth set in a barely there smile. His pressed black suit clung to his trim frame, his shoulders rolled back to keep his chest held high. He met your eyes only once while you walked and swiftly looked away. When you arrived at the altar you were sinking your nails into your mothers hand.

“Winifred… please.” Your mother whispered.

You loosened your grip, but remained frozen in place. The priest, Father Hartford, nods and steps forward, looking between you and Zayne before addressing the audience.

“We are gathered together here today, before God and this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy Matrimony. This union, an example of the promise betwixt Christ and his Church, its purpose honourable amongst all men. These vows are not to be taken lightly, or to satisfy men’s carnal lusts; but taken reverently, soberly; considering the causes for which Matrimony was ordained. If any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else forever hold his peace.”

You look over your shoulder at the small audience, Zayne’s family sit quietly and yours follow suit. Your mother digs her elbow into your side and you face forward to see Father Hartford staring at you. You flash a smile and lower your head.

“I shall now ask both of you, if either of you know any reason, why you may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, confess it now.”

You quickly look up to see Zayne eyeing you. He returns his gaze to the floor. Father Hartford continues.

“Zayne, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as you both shall live?”

“I will.” Zayne says quietly.

“Winifred, wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as you both shall live?”

Hearing the word “obey” makes you shudder, but you grit your teeth and swallow your pride.

“I will.”

“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”

Father Hartford steps forward and your mother passes your hands to him, he guides you forward to stand in front of Zayne. He releases you and motions for Zayne to step up. Zayne reaches out and takes your right hand. You shiver as his skin touches yours. Father Hartford begins to quote the vows and Zayne repeats them.

“I, Zayne, take thee Winifred, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance.”

Father Hartford turns to face you, quoting the vows again. Keeping your eyes locked on Zayne’s hand, you repeat them slowly.

“I, Winifred, take thee Zayne, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance.”

Father Hartford then turns to pick up a small case, opened to reveal a ring. The thin silver band holds a stunning sapphire with two pearls on either side. You gasp and glance around to give apologetic looks to those around you. Zayne’s timid smile brightens as he picks up the ring and carefully removes the glove from your left hand. His voice shakes as he quotes his final vow to you, sliding the ring on your finger.

“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

He holds your hand and turns, both of you kneel before Father Hartford who begins his lengthy prayer. Of course he has to thank every saint, today of all days. He finally looks down and motions for you both to stand.

“As Zayne and Winifred, have consented together in holy wedlock, witnessed before God and this congregation. I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” The rest of the ceremony is a blur, Father Hartford sings one final hymn to bless your future children and everyone signs the register as they file out of the chapel. You barely realize you haven’t let go of Zayne’s hand once since receiving your ring. You keep waiting for him to let go, but he doesn’t. You exit the church and walk past your families, Zayne helps you into his carriage. He sits across from you, finally releasing your hand. The door closes and the carriage pulls away, headed back to your family home for the Wedding Breakfast.

Your eyes stay focused on the ring on your finger, gently stroking it through your glove. Zayne clears his throat and you jump. When you look up, you see him watching you.

“You look… lovely today.”

It feels like the words were painful to say, but you nod and thank him for the compliment. The rest of the ride is quiet. Zayne stares at a small notebook he pulled from his breast pocket and you watch the winding streets pass by. Arriving at your home - well, your previous home - Zayne helps you out once again and you hold his arm while you walk inside. He isn’t pushing you away, but his indifference is confusing. You’re not sure if he’s happy or irritated.

The liveliness of the Wedding Breakfast doesn’t help ease your nerves. Your mother and Zayne’s mother engage in, what you like to call, a polite argument over a “motherly duties.” Sera joins in and, in her kindest tone, tells Zayne’s mother that a woman can do anything she pleases. Cora decides not to comment, since the argument started over her performance with Rafayel in Verona. She sips her ginger tea by the window and watches Rafayel and Sylus play with their children.

“Sylus, Sephie has her feeding soon, don’t tease her with cake!”

Sylus puts the cake down and gives his daughter an apologetic look. She starts to tear up so Rafayel tickles her to stop the waterworks. Persephone bursts out into a fit of giggles which causes Leonardo to throw his hands up in excitement, tossing cake crumbles all over the floor.

The past year has been overwhelming with two babies squealing and babbling. Between Theo getting married and both of your sisters having babies early in the summer you didn’t have much time to yourself. You had completely forgotten your debut was coming up. Your mother seemed to be equally overwhelmed, it was clear she wanted to marry you off quickly and quietly if possible. A notion you welcomed, no balls or promenading? Perfect.

Sera takes Persephone away for a feeding. Sylus offers to hold Leonardo for Rafayel, who curls up behind Cora to massage her shoulders. Caleb and Theo watch Ellie play the piano. Your mother avoids Zayne’s mother by leaving to “check on the kitchen staff.” Zayne’s mother and father collect another slice of cake while telling Zayne about their plans for their new life in Prague. You enjoy your people watching time, since sooner than later you’ll be ushered into the carriage with Zayne and taken to his estate. Your mind starts to wander as you twist the ring on your finger.

What if Zayne is disappointed in your… performance? He went to university in a big city, surely he partook in certain… activities… Isn’t that how men bond while away at school? Will he expect you to bare a child quickly? What if you cannot have children at all?

“Winnie?”

Zayne’s soft voice brings you out of your spiral. He extends his hand.

“Are you prepared to leave?”

Taking his hand you stand and are guided to the front door. You hadn’t realized everyone had already gone outside to see you off. Your mother lunges at you, pulling you into a hug. She’s not usually so expressive with her emotions. Your sisters wrangle you into another group hug before you give your niece and nephew a kiss on the forehead. Sylus, Rafayel and Caleb shout their goodbyes. Zayne’s parents wish you well and Zayne helps you into the carriage. And just like that, your old life is left in the dust kicked up by the carriage wheels.

A few quiet minutes later, you convince yourself to start a conversation. Zayne sits on his side of the carriage, scribbling in his notebook. You try to see what he’s writing, but the carriage jostles you around too much to get a good look. You clear your throat, earning you an inquisitive glance.

“Do you recall when I was angry with you for leaving for medical school?”

He hums softly.

“Well, I was not truly angry. I should not have shouted at you as I did. You were traveling abroad to study and I was… possibly…”

“Jealous?”

His accuracy is almost painful, but true.

“Perhaps. I never had the chance to apologize before you were sent away…”

“There is no need.”

“Well, I was worried… is all… You went away and I wasn’t sure you’d… come back.”

“The medical centers were well protected. I was never in too much danger.”

You scoff loudly. He raises a brow and you cross your arms.

“I heard of a doctor from Madrid who died serving at one of those ‘well protected’ centers. You don’t have to make it seem safer than it was for my sake.”

“You’re right. I also don’t have to talk about it all.”

You open your mouth to argue, but decide against it. Maybe talking about his time as an army surgeon was not a good idea. You tap your foot and search for a new topic.

“Oh, I saw you quite enjoyed the macarons. Rafayel bribed a baker at a coffeehouse in Verona to give him the recipe. Private box seats every season. Rafayel said it’s completely worth it. Mama’s cook has gotten very good at making them. The first few batches were horrendous! But now, they are almost always served at tea. I can… try to get the recipe… if you like… or–”

“Thank you. That is very kind.”

His short answers leave you questioning your previous relationship with him. It had been so easy to talk to him, not that he offered many words back then, but he was just… different. You decide to just look out the window for the remainder of the ride. It’s not long before you see lights in the distance. You scoot over and pull the drape back to get a better look.

The huge three-story manor was more like a palace than a house. Set at the center of a large plot of land with a dense treeline at the edge of the meadow. A large garden, a barn, a stable, the buildings kept popping up. From the carriage you see the crisp white window panes against dark brick, thick ivy covering walls and corners of windows.

“Is all of this… how much… where…?”

You can’t form a sentence, the fact this is your new home completely baffles you.

“Several acres past the treeline. I’ve been told there’s a lake and separate servant housing, but have yet to see it for myself. The entire west wing is at your disposal. Speak with Ms Lucas in regards to any furniture you may need. A bedroom has been made up for you, she will show you where it is once we arrive.”

His words slowly sink in and your chest tightens. How could you discuss these things with your sisters without hesitation, but now you can barely breath?

“Are we not… we won’t be…”

“I do not expect anything from you Winnie. I will be quite busy as my father is leaving for Prague tomorrow, so I will be the only physician in the city. You may live as you please, I will not interfere. I only ask that you inform me of any events you wish to attend or host. Ms Lucas will show you where my study is, that is where I will be most often if you have need of me.”

“Zayne, we are married…”

“Yes, and I see no reason for that to interfere with our lives.”

The carriage comes to a stop in front of the manor. An older woman approaches and waits for the coachman to open the door. Zayne hops out and offers you his hand. You don’t bother to take it, he’s sending you to a separate WING of the house?

The woman steps forward and Zayne gestures to her.

“This is Ms Lucas. Ms Lucas, this is Winifred.”

“Please, call me Winnie.”

She curtsies - that will take some getting used to. Zayne straightens his jacket and starts to walk for the front doors. He calls out over his shoulder before entering the house.

“I shall see you at breakfast.”

And just like that, he is gone, disappeared into his labyrinth of a house. Leaving you alone with Ms Lucas and your questions.

“What do you mean you haven’t –”

“Sera!”

Cora tosses a biscuit at Sera’s head. She glares at her and Sera grumbles under her breath as she picks up the biscuit to dip in her tea. You set your cup down and cover your face with your hands. Theo instantly leans over and wraps her arm around you.

“Perhaps he is being considerate? It was an arrangement after all, you did not court or even have a moment to speak before your wedding day.”

Theo offers a reasonable explanation, but it does not settle your discontent.

“Are you upset he hasn’t fulfilled his marital obligations or that you wish for him to pursue you and he has not yet?”

“Sera, you really must try the strawberry macarons Mr Tribble made this morning! Here!”

Cora shoves a puffy pink macaron into Sera’s mouth. Sera tries to push Cora away and gives a muffled shout as crumbles fall from her mouth. You stare at your hands to hide your flushed cheeks. You and Sera have always been so similar, making it much easier for her to read you. Sera finally tosses etiquette aside to speak with her mouth full.

“I will not hold my tongue any longer! Are we not all married? Do we not care about Winnie’s happiness? She clearly brought it up to ask us for help!”

Before Cora can shove another macaron into Sera’s mouth you reach out and take her hand.

“Sera’s right… I… I don’t trust anyone else. I just… I don’t know what to do…”

“You’ve been married a fortnight, have you not spent time with him?” Theo questions.

“We have breakfast and dinner together. I spoke with him in the library once and he showed me where he placed his books from university. I inquired about which book I could read and he suggested I start with a book on anatomy.”

“Perhaps he’s impotent!” Sera shouts.

Cora throws her head back and groans while Theo covers her mouth in shock.

“Sera, are you intent on causing me such pain?”

Sera takes Cora’s hand, but doesn’t hide her amusement.

“I have not heard either of you offer a reason for his behavior beyond him being ‘considerate’ - if he’s a man with a pulse he surely has interest. Sylus could barely wait until we were in the carriage before he –”

“I do not wish to know what Sylus did or did not do!” Theo groans.

You find yourself laughing, it’s been so long since your sisters have sat down for tea. Aside from the more intimate topics of discussion, it is like you were children again. Cora clears her throat and shakes her hand out of Sera’s grasp.

“Have you not considered attending a ball? Even if he does not speak to you, he may dance with you? And if not, you have an opportunity to make friends with other married ladies.”

“Why would I do that? I have you all. And I don’t like balls, the dresses are too stiff!”

Cora leans back and rests her hands on her stomach, in just two weeks she has gotten larger and can barely walk. With your fascination and your sister’s current condition, you found more books on childbirth in the library. You discovered birthing twins is rather dangerous. Your attempt to subdue your anxiety was an utter failure.

“My love, Rafayel and I winter in Verona. And once the children are older we may spend more time there.”

“And Sylus’s dukedom is a day and a half away. His responsibilities there mean we do not visit nearly as often. Especially since Sephie was born.” Sera offers.

“Caleb opening the orchard was a brilliant idea, but we were wholly unprepared for how busy the season was. If he is not preparing for the upcoming autumn, he is attending military academies to assist with drills. And this season, we have two garden parties and a gentleman who is determined to host his wedding by the lake.”

“You’re going to allow another wedding on the property?” Sera exclaims.

“No, ours will be the only wedding the estate hosts. Until our children are grown, of course.”

Theo’s wedding in the orchard was the most talked about wedding of the season. The apple blossoms in full bloom, an onslaught of military men in uniform, the Queen herself in attendance. You sigh, relieved no one else will have the privilege to such an experience, Theo deserved it. And you doubt Caleb would let anyone take that away from her.

“I mean to say…” Cora continues. “We will not always be here. You need friends, Winnie.”

“I thought I married one…”

You sit in silence as your sisters look to each other for who will speak next. Bowing your head, you stir in another teaspoon of sugar and listen to the soft clink of the spoon against your cup.

“You mentioned… he hasn’t walked the grounds yet?”

You look at Sera, her usual lighthearted demeanor replaced with a look of concern. You nod.

“Confront him, demand he takes you on a walk. Bring a picnic and only ask questions about him. The more you know, the better prepared you will be when you flirt with him.”

Tea spews from your mouth in a mist, Sera chuckles as Theo and Cora dab at your damp dress with their napkins. Cora glares at her while Theo tries, unsuccessfully, to hide her smile.

“Is that not what you want?”

Sera crosses her arms, you’ve missed her direct approach. Cora leans forward to argue, but you lift your hand and she pauses.

“It is.”

Sera leans back, savoring her victory. Cora and Theo exchange glances, but don’t argue. Sera’s plan was not bad, you only doubt your ability to captivate Zayne long enough to gain his attention. Let alone his affection.

Two days pass before you finally put the plan in action. Requesting your own cook, Mr Maddston, to learn to bake macarons meant he would have a few failed batches. When he presented you with the perfect cherry macaron, you giggled with excitement. He prepared lunch and packed a basket with a blanket. Now you just need to convince Zayne to join you.

“He returned home before noon from an appointment. He should be in his study.”

You give Ms Lucas a hug, something she was still getting used to. You are unsure what kind of treatment the previous Countess showed her, but you would break through her rigid exterior sooner or later. You rush down the hallway towards Zayne’s study. You take a breath and knock. When you hear Zayne welcome you in, you quickly open the door, if you wait you might lose your resolve.

“Oh… hello.”

Zayne looks surprised, you were a few hours too early for dinner. He closes his book and wipes his ink-stained hands on his handkerchief. You enter the room and hold the basket in front of you. Zayne eyes the basket. He’s curious, good.

“You have not yet walked the ground.”

Once again, he looks rather surprised. It is not a question, but a statement.

“Correct. I have not had the opportunity.”

You step closer so you are directly in front of his desk. He cocks his head and you smile.

“We shall remedy that. I have a picnic and the sun is exceptionally warm today.”

“Winnie… I –”

“I would rather not go alone, so please.”

You watch his expression change from indifference to concern to acceptance. He stands, straightening his jacket.

“Of course.”

He follows you out of the house and into the garden. He stays by your side as you weave through the gap in the hedges into the open field and towards the dense treeline. Your white linen dress billows in the breeze and the fresh scent of wildflowers washes over you. You stop suddenly and Zayne watches you bend down to touch the ground. Before he can ask, you slip off your shoes and leave them behind, striding across the field barefoot. You look over your shoulder to see him standing next to your shoes, staring.

“Come on then!”

You wave your arm and beckon him to follow. The ground is soft beneath your feet, the grass and flowers tickling your ankles. Zayne jogs to catch up with you.

“You should not wander through a field without proper shoes, you may hurt yourself.”

You stop once more and turn to look at him.

“This is the best way to truly walk the grounds. Off!”

You look down at his feet and he stammers.

“I… I beg your pardon?”

“Your shoes. Off!”

He looks at you as though you’ve gone mad. After he realizes you are quite serious, he reluctantly obliges. Leaving his shoes behind, you start to skip towards the treeline.

Once you’re in the forest, you slow down allowing Zayne to catch up. You walk side-by-side, you’re not sure what you want to ask first or if you should just enjoy the silence. A branch snaps behind you and you squeal, bumping into Zayne. He rests a hand on your shoulder to steady you. When you look back, you watch a young deer hop through the foliage.

“Oh! Do you think they’re looking for their mother?”

“It’s possible. Or a patch of berries.”

His voice is soft, like when he was young. He was just stating a fact, a thought, nothing special, but this is the Zayne you knew. The Zayne who indulged your whimsy and even encouraged it at times. You’d missed him desperately.

“Do you still despise hunting?”

You look over to see Zayne nod.

“Then our deer friend is safe here. Good.”

The sun peeks through the dense canopy. Patches of flowers line the path you follow. When you don’t hear Zayne’s footsteps beside you, you turn to see him kneeling to pick a few wildflowers. The butterflies in your stomach flutter as he stands and presents the small bundle of white to you. Taking the bouquet, you pluck one of the flowers out and tuck it behind your ear.

“Thank you.”

He nods and continues walking, leaving you to catch up with him.

“What was your favorite thing to study? In medical school?”

Zayne looks over his shoulder, he slows down so you can match his pace before answering.

“We learned mostly from watching and then practicing. The simpler the procedure, the better. However, I did enjoy studying more complicated procedures not commonly performed anywhere other than the battlefield.”

“Like what?”

“When I learned how many officers died during amputations, I worked to better the procedure as a whole. Make it safer for the patient and more streamline for the surgeon.”

“I heard you never lost a patient when performing an amputation. That’s rather impressive.”

“Yes… well… the patients may disagree. They’d prefer to return home with all of their limbs.”

“You gave them a second chance at life. What they chose to do with it is their decision. I find it rather impressive how you went from reading your fathers books to saving lives.”

You spot a small smile forming and grip the basket in your hands tightly. Looking away to hide your flushed cheeks, you spot the edge of the lake.

“Ah! The lake! Shall we stop here to eat?”

Zayne nods and helps you spread out the blanket. You sit and pull out the dishes, Mr Maddston has outdone himself. Two pigeon pies, stewed sweetened fruit stowed in glass bottles, pastry biscuits, one large cold plum-pudding, a few slices of bread and cheese, a tin of mixed biscuits, two cherry macarons and a large glass bottle of tea with two cups. Zayne chuckles at the feast set before him.

“Are those…?”

“Macarons? Yes, cherry. Mr Maddston said he’s going to try baking different flavors. So, expect a new macaron with your daily tea.”

Zayne smiles, a genuine one that lingers. Your cheeks warm as you watch him gingerly take the macaron and take a bite. His look of sheer bliss fills your heart with pride.

“Enjoying your dessert first, doctor?”

His ears turn the lightest shade of red. You pour him a cup of tea and as his fingers graze yours you hesitate. He catches the cup before you drop it and reaches out to hold your hand fully.

“Are you alright?”

You nod and try to laugh off your flustered appearance. You both fall into a comfortable silence while you eat. You occasionally stop to ask a question about his schooling or his parents. Or even to reminisce about your childhood. Once you both are sufficiently stuffed, you lie back on the blanket.

“Thank you for joining me. I know you’re a very busy man.”

“Thank you for convincing me. Or rather forcing me.”

You scoff and cover your eyes with your arm.

“Well, I didn’t know how else to spend time with you.”

The silence serves as a brutal reminder that your direct nature is not always appreciated. You sit up and turn to Zayne. He focuses on his hands as they fold his napkin into a tiny square.

“I apologize, I only meant… I… I’ve…”

“It’s alright. I did not realize you desired my company. I did not wish to… to…”

As you both stumble over your words, you look out to the lake. The sun shimmers across the water, a pair of swans float by and one of them flutters their wings splashing the water onto their mate. They swim around each other and nuzzle their necks together.

“Swim with me!”

You jump up, cutting Zayne off and extending your hand. He sighs, unsure if you’re serious. When he doesn’t take your hand, you turn on your heel and take off towards the shore.

“Winnie!”

As Zayne gets closer, you pick up the pace. Leaping over fallen branches and ducking to avoid low hanging ones. When you finally stop near the water's edge, Zayne nearly collides into you. He breathes hard, the hair on his forehead damp with sweat. You begin to lift the skirt of your dress and feel Zayne grab your arms.

“Winnie, what are you doing?!”

You laugh breathlessly and pull away to continue removing your dress.

“Zayne, we are married. There is nothing improper about me swimming in my chemise in front of you. However, I must ask…”

You toss your dress over a nearby log and wade into the lake, the cool water soaking the hem of your chemise, making you shiver. Looking over your shoulder, you notice Zayne’s ears are considerably more red. You turn and kick your feet to splash him. He stumbles back and you giggle as he steadies himself. Your heartbeat quickens as you watch his expression become a tad mischievous.

“Are you going to join me?” 🐝❀❄️

(If you DO NOT want to be tagged in ALL REGENCY AU fics, just leave a comment. Keep in mind, each story hints at the futures for each pair sooooo…)

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @alastor-simp @drama-trauma @0tterteeth @mysticcollectionvoid @godzillaglitter @godoffuckedupcats @kiude @tati-the-fangirl @mtcozylove @3fingersofscotch @stxrrielle @angelicspaceprince @hebreeee @beykyuns @sylusgirlie7 @goblynn @moonberry69 @laddelulu30 @mariojins @zhongtar @emneedshelp @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @hauntedbysmut @withering-dream @lostwingz2236 @simpfortheseven @havenhope-art @lly5duck @freddy-2002-blog

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ofstarsandvibranium · 11 months ago

Text

Unexpectedly Yours: Part 14 (Final)

Fandom: Ted Lasso (Regency AU)

Pairing: Roy Kent x F!Reader

Summary: Lord Roy Kent still has yet to marry. He hates the notion that marriage is a way to ensure your status in society. You have delayed your debut to society for years because of the same idea. So what happens when two people who hate the idea of marriage are constantly drawn to each other?

Series Masterlist

Today is the day. Your wedding day. Quite honestly, you didn't think this day would be here so soon. You delayed your debut for so long and you were sure you weren't going to be married any time soon. Now, not only are you to be married today, but you're marrying a man who infuriated you in the beginning. A man who frustrated you, still does, but you came to love him and found him endearing, selfless, charming, and kind.

Despite that, you're still nervous.

Everyone is waiting for you. Roy and the bishop are at the altar, both of your families are standing on their respective sides, talking amongst themselves. You're just outside the doors your father watching as you're pacing back and forth.

"Darling, I must apologize, but I don't understand why you're nervous. You said you love him, yes?"

"Yea, I do, it's just...will I make a good viscountess? I know mama's done her best to make sure I know the duties I need to fulfill it's just...what if I'm terrible at it?"

Before your father could respond, Keeley peeks her head out, "Everything all right out here?"

"Wedding jitters, I'm afraid, Keeley," your father responds.

She nods in understanding, stepping out and gripping your hand that isn't clutching the bouquet, "It's alright. I felt the same before I married Jamie. You'll be fine. If you trip or anything, just say the word and Jamie and I will distract them all."

You can't help but snort at whatever nonsense your two friends might have come up with, "Thank you, Keels. I'll be fine."

"Maybe...do you want me to get Roy for you?"

"It's bad luck for-"

"You can stay on this side and he'll stand on the other. The door will be slightly open so you can hear each other."

You nod and Keeley quickly excuses herself to get your soon-to-be husband. Your father steps away to speak with the coachman to give you two some privacy.

"You okay?" you hear Roy's gruff voice through the crack in the door. His hand peeks out and you immediately grab it, "Yes. Just nerves."

"That so?"

"I know you said I would be a great viscountess...but I'm still not sure..you truly want to marry me?"

"Yes. Of course, I do. And you?" you don't see him, but you can tell he looks worried.

"Absolutely," you reply in a whisper.

"Then nothing else matters. Whatever you need help with, I'm there for you as well as Clara. You're not alone in this, Y/N. You'll never be alone in this." Your hand raises as he brings it to his lips and kisses it. You don't see it, but you feel it and it brings you a smile to your face.

"I'll see you shortly?" he asks.

You take a deep breath, "Yes. I'll catch my breath for a moment and be right now."

"Alright...I love you," he says earnestly.

You bite your lip in a grin and reply back, "I love you too."

You hear his steps fade as he walks further up the aisle and back to the altar. Your father joins your side and smiles, "Ready?" he offers his arm to you.

You take a deep breath and loop your arm around his, "Ready."

__________________________

While the wedding itself was a small affair, the luncheon was anything but. All of Richmond's society had come to see you and Roy, the viscount and his new viscountess.

As you two mingled, walking around the gardens of Roy's home, your hand never unraveled from one another's. You kept each other close as friends, family, and others greet you and give you your wishes.

It was odd to hear people now address you as "my lady", but you soon had to get used to it.

Once the wedding cake was cut and guests shovel the sweet dessert into their mouths, you and Roy allow yourselves to rest for a bit on a bench underneath a nearby tree. You lean your head against his shoulder after he wraps his arm around you.

"You know, if someone told me months ago, I would be marrying you, I would've had a doctor check on them."

Roy snorts, "I know what you mean."

You sigh, "We won't end up like the duke and duchess, right? You'll still love me even after I'm old and grey?"

"As long as you continue to love me when I'm a grumpy old geezer."

You pull back slightly to smirk at him, "You're like that now."

Roy rolls his eyes, "You're infuriating."

"But you love me all the same."

He looks back at you with loving eyes, "I do." He leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips. You lean more in to further the kiss, but you hear someone clear your throat and you immediately break apart.

You look to see Cece and Phoebe standing there with huge smiles on your face, "We told you you'd get married and live happily ever after!" Cece exclaims with joy.

You chuckle, "Yes, you young ladies were right."

"I hope I find someone who loves me as much as Uncle Roy loves you, Aunt Y/N!"

Roy groans, "God help me when that day comes."

You snicker and pat your husband's leg, "You still have time, love," you proceed to stand and gather your cousin and niece's hands in yours, "Now, how about a dance?" you look over your shoulder, "Roy?"

"I'll be with you in a bit," he waves at the three of you and watches as you and the two girls head to the dance floor.

Clara then occupies your spot, "Look at you, all lovestruck and happy. Never thought I'd see the day."

"Fuck off," Roy replies with a grunt, but a hint of a smile on his face.

His sister looks out onto the dancefloor, and smiles as you dance with her daughter and your cousin, "I told you, you deserve love and happiness."

"Suppose you're right, but I know that woman won't make things easy for me."

Clara laughs, "She never made things easy for you."

"Yes, but that's why I love her," he watches you move along the dance floor, your laugh is all he can hear above the music. He loves you. Truly. Deep within his soul, he firmly he believes, he was always, and, unexpectedly, yours.

#roy kent imagine #roy kent x reader #regency era au #regency au #ted lasso imagine #f!reader #fem!reader #female!reader

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zaynessbeloved · 12 days ago

Text

A Duke's Promise

The Duke of Ravencourt was meant to be hers. Courted her with duty, danced with her out of tradition. But slowly—delicately—his eyes began to wander. To you.

Pairings: Rafayel x reader

Word count: 6.3

Chapter 2

You had begun to enjoy the Season. Not in the frantic, wide-eyed way most debutantes clung to it. Not for the gowns or the gossip columns or the secret notes passed behind fans. But because of him. Lord Wessex.

He made every event something to look forward to. He remembered small details—your distaste for overly perfumed rooms, your preference for lemon over raspberry, the way you avoided dancing directly after supper to keep from tripping on your gown. He made you feel seen in a space that often demanded you simply be beautiful. He never once asked for more than your company. And you were beginning to give it freely.

The soirée at Lady Redgrave’s townhouse was a grand affair. Chandeliers hung like upside-down stars from the ceiling, and the air buzzed with the scent of roses, honeyed wine, and conversation layered in silk.

You arrived on your mother’s arm, Eleanora at your side again, at last recovered. She looked radiant, as always, in pale mauve and pearl combs in her hair. The room greeted her warmly. People remembered. So did he. Rafayel Vale appeared as always, dark and composed, offering his bow to Eleanora first, and exchanging the expected pleasantries.

You stood nearby, speaking with Lady Thorne about her dreadful pianist, until Lord Wessex arrived and promptly stole you away with a smile and a whispered, “Save me from another story about her poodle’s cough, I beg you.”

You laughed, let him lead you away, and the evening began. You danced once. Then again. You shared a drink near the window overlooking the gardens. You teased him about his horribly dramatic cravat. He told you you looked like the moon in blue silk. It was warm. Familiar. Effortless.

But across the room, someone else was watching. Not constantly. Not openly. But enough. You hadn’t noticed the Duke’s gaze as you passed. Not the first time. Or the second. Not when you threw your head back in laughter. But Eleanora did. You found her later, seated near the refreshment table, her glass untouched.

“You’re glowing tonight,” she said lightly as you approached.

“Am I?” You sat beside her, smoothing your skirt. “Perhaps it’s just the champagne.” She didn’t laugh.

“He keeps looking at you,” she said softly, almost idly. “The Duke.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Not in a scandalous way,” she added quickly. “Just… often.”

You glanced over your shoulder instinctively, but he wasn’t looking now. Speaking with a Viscount. Expression unreadable.

“You think he does it out of interest?” you asked, voice low. Eleanora was quiet for a long moment.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I do know this: I want more than presence.” You looked at her.

“He is kind,” she said. “Proper. He does what’s expected. But it feels like he’s fulfilling something… not choosing it.” That struck something in you. Not just about him—but about her.

“You deserve to be chosen,” you said softly.

She smiled, just a little, and looked down at her glass. “Don’t we all?”

The ride home was quiet. Your mother had fallen asleep across from you, her head tilted slightly, fan still clutched in one hand. The carriage swayed gently beneath you, candlelight flickering in its brass sconces.

Beside you, Eleanora sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, her expression unreadable. You didn’t press her. She would speak if she wished. The city lights slipped past the window in golden blurs.

Back at the house, you helped her unpin her hair in her room—just as you had as girls. Gowns loosened. Jewels set in velvet. Stockings peeled away from tired feet. The silence remained comfortable until she broke it, voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you think something is wrong with me?”

You paused. “What?”

Eleanora sat before the mirror, brushing through her curls slowly. Her reflection didn’t meet your eyes. “With me,” she said again, quietly. “The way he looks at me. Or rather… the way he doesn’t.”

You walked over, gently took the brush from her hand, and began to move it through her hair yourself. A ritual older than either of you could name.

“Eleanora,” you said softly, “there is nothing wrong with you.” She didn’t answer for a while. You saw her eyes flick toward her own reflection.

“I think the Duke is... trying,” she said. “In the way one tries to like something they were told they should enjoy. A book. A song. A person.”

You slowed the brush. Let her speak. “He’s polite. Generous. And yet, when he’s beside me, it’s as though he’s already half a room away. His mind elsewhere. His eyes…” She hesitated. “Drifting.”

You swallowed. She turned slightly to look at you over her shoulder.

“I don’t know where they drift. And I don’t think it matters. But I’ve felt it, and I’ve had enough of pretending not to.”

You met her gaze. Open. Honest. Strong. “So what will you do?”

She stood slowly. Turned toward her dressing gown, folding it neatly. “I want someone who chooses me. Not out of arrangement or expectation, but because they can’t help themselves.”

Then, a small breath of laughter. “And I saw at least three men tonight who looked at me like I’d hung the stars.”

You smiled at that. “You did look stunning.”

“Well,” she said with a soft shrug, “I think I’ll let someone else tell me that next time.”

She hugged you before bed, soft and tired. And as she disappeared into her room, you stood in the hall a moment longer. Not thinking about the Duke. Not really. Only about your sister. And the quiet courage it took to walk away from something most would chase until the end.

——

The Marquess of Windham’s estate was famous for its winter garden—an indoor marvel of lantern-lit paths, glass ceilings, and the scent of citrus and jasmine that lingered no matter the season. The event was smaller than most. More curated. Fewer eyes, fewer expectations. Enough space to breathe between conversations and laughter.

You wore ivory silk that night, stitched with soft green thread and tiny crystal accents that caught the light like dew. You hadn’t worn the dress before. Lord Wessex had told you, weeks ago, that green suited you. You hadn’t forgotten. He found you easily, as he always did.

“There you are,” he said, as if your absence had been a problem he meant to solve.

You smiled. “Here I am, my Lord.”

He offered you his arm, and the evening unfurled with a sense of calm delight. You laughed together. Walked along the stone path beneath the glass roof. He told you a story about a terrible painting his brother once commissioned that ended up resembling a spoiled ham. You wiped a tear from your cheek from laughing so hard.

It wasn’t a whirlwind romance. It was a quiet glow. A lantern between two hands. And that made it all the more real. Later, as the music resumed, you danced once more—spinning gently beneath the low-hung lanterns. You felt his gaze on you, as always. Safe. Attentive.

Until, at the edge of a turn, another gaze caught yours. Just for a second. The Duke stood near the musicians, a glass of champagne in hand. Not speaking. Not smiling. Watching. You hadn’t noticed him arriving. You hadn’t even known he would be attending. But there he was. And his eyes—his eyes—did not drift away this time. They stayed. Not cold. Not guarded. But different. Focused.

You didn’t stumble. You didn’t react. You simply turned, as the dance required. But something in your chest shifted—just enough to notice. And when the dance ended, and Lord Wessex stepped back with a smile and a joke about needing a rescue from Lady Redgrave’s latest tale of gout, you caught it again. A flicker across his face. A glance toward the Duke. And then—

“He’s watching you.”

You blinked. “Who, my Lord?”

Lord Wessex arched a brow. “Come now.”

You didn’t answer right away. Because you didn’t know what to say.

“Should I be concerned?” he asked, voice still light, but something beneath it more serious.

“No my Lord,” you said after a moment. “There’s no reason to be.”

And that was the truth. There was no reason. Except for the look you couldn’t forget. And the one he hadn’t meant to give.

——

The garden was quiet in the early light. The gravel path crunched softly beneath your slippers as you walked beside Eleanora, your shawl wrapped tight around your shoulders. Dew clung to the grass. The sky was still deciding whether it meant to be grey or blue.

You walked often like this in the mornings. Ever since you were girls. But lately, the silence had taken on a different rhythm—less shared imagination, more quiet reflection. Eleanora carried a small sprig of rosemary, plucked absently as you passed the herb garden.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” she asked lightly.

You nodded. “I did. It was lovely.”

“Wessex certainly seemed to think so.”

You smiled at that. A small thing. “He always finds me.”

She looked over, her expression unreadable for a moment.

“He always sees you,” she said. “There’s a difference.”

You glanced at her, surprised.

“You noticed, didn’t you?” she added quietly, turning her eyes forward again.

You didn’t ask what she meant. You both already knew. You let the silence stretch a few steps longer.

“Yes,” you said softly.

She was quiet. Then, with a dry little exhale: “He does it more now.”

“Do you think it means something?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Eleanora tilted her head toward the hedge wall, running her fingers along its edge.

“I think... It means something. But not something he’s willing to say aloud. Not yet.”

You swallowed. “He shouldn’t.”

“No,” she agreed. “He shouldn’t.”

Another beat of silence. Then, she stopped walking. You followed suit.

“I don’t think I feel much for him anymore,” she said, looking down at the rosemary between her fingers. “Not enough to fight for something that was never truly mine.”

Your heart ached for her—not out of pity, but admiration. For her honesty. Her clarity.

“And you?” she asked, lifting her gaze. “Do you feel anything… for him?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

“No,” you said. Then quieter, “I don’t think so.”

But something had changed. Something had cracked open. And though it hadn’t spilled yet, you both knew it might.

“He looked at you like he’d finally seen you,” Eleanora said gently. “Whatever comes of that, I think you ought to be ready.”

You nodded once, the wind tugging at your shawl. You didn’t want to be someone’s second choice. Someone’s accidental affection. But the way he looked at you— It didn’t feel like a beginning. It felt like the moment before one.

The letter arrived late morning. Pressed parchment, a familiar seal in golden wax. Not overly formal. Just neat. Sincere.

My dearest Miss Everleigh,

I wonder if I might persuade you to join me for a walk this Thursday morning. There’s a rather lovely glade near the lake on my family’s estate—unremarkable to some, but I’ve always found it peaceful. I’d be honored to share it with someone who actually sees the world in detail.

There will be a carriage waiting, if you’re inclined.

Warmly, Lord W.

Your heart fluttered—not with surprise, but with quiet delight. He always wrote the way he spoke: clever, but never rehearsed. Warm, but never overreaching. You accepted.

Thursday arrived with soft sunshine and a breeze that danced along the hem of your gown. The glade was everything he promised—quiet, blooming with wildflowers, dappled in shade. You walked for nearly an hour. Sometimes in silence, sometimes in stories.

He told you about his late sister—how she used to press wildflowers into the pages of every book he owned. You told him about the time you and Eleanora tried to escape a dinner party by climbing out the library window and fell into the hedges.

You laughed, breathed, let the afternoon settle into your skin. When he walked you back to the carriage, he didn’t ask for anything more. But he held your hand a little longer than necessary. And for the first time…you found yourself wishing he would.

——

The ballroom at Althridge Hall was vast and gold-draped, lanterns burning low to cast a romantic glow over the polished floors. Eleanora entered on your arm, her head high, her new suitor—a kind-eyed Viscount—already waiting near the stairs. She no longer searched for the Duke. Not with her eyes. Not with her heart.

And when he approached her that night, offering a dance, she accepted with grace. They danced once. Spoke little. And when they stepped apart, something passed between them. A quiet understanding.

This is not the story we were meant to write.

He danced with two other ladies. Politely. Dutifully. But not presently. Not truly. You stood near the terrace doors when it happened—watching the moonlight pour through the glass, speaking with a gentleman you barely knew, Lord Wessex beside you with a glass in hand, whispering something ridiculous that made you bite back a laugh—

And then you felt it. Not on your skin. But somewhere deeper. Your gaze drifted. Found his. Rafayel Vale. Standing still. Eyes on you. Not by accident this time. And he didn’t look away. He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak. But in that single moment, the air between you changed. And beside you, Lord Wessex’s hand—holding his glass—tensed ever so slightly. He had seen it too.

——

The gallery was nearly empty. It was a private viewing, arranged by Lady Welgrave—an afternoon invitation sent to a small handful of guests who might appreciate art more than gossip.

You went because you do appreciate art. You went because you’d grown tired of sitting still while everyone else waited for something to happen. You went because you didn’t expect to see him there. But he was there. The Duke of Ravencourt. Rafayel.

Standing at the end of the corridor, gazing up at a massive oil painting of a storm at sea. All blue-black fury and golden light breaking through clouds. He didn’t notice you at first. Or perhaps he did and simply chose not to react.

You turned toward a smaller portrait—a woman in green, her hand poised mid-motion. You tilted your head, studied the brushwork.

“She reminds me of you.” You turned. He was beside you now. Not close enough to startle, but nearer than you expected. His hands clasped behind his back. His voice was low. Soft.

“The woman in the painting,” he added, when you didn’t speak.

You looked back at it. Then at him. “She looks nothing like me, my Lord.”

“No,” he said. “But there’s something in her eyes. As if she’s trying not to speak.”

Your heart fluttered. Not from the words. But from the way he said them. Carefully. Like he hadn’t meant to say them aloud.

You turned your gaze forward again. “That’s a rather strange compliment, my Lord.”

“It wasn’t meant as one.” He didn’t apologize. Didn’t smile.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you said.

“I didn’t expect to speak,” he replied.

You glanced sideways. He was already looking at you. There was something new in his eyes—something like focus. Tension. A man standing too near a line he’d drawn for himself. You searched for something safe to say. Something easy.

“Did you enjoy the ball?”

“No.” The answer surprised you. He didn’t elaborate. You waited.

“There is something unpleasant,” he said slowly, “about being expected to play a part you no longer believe suits you.”

Your throat tightened just a little. “Then don’t play it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It could be.”

He looked at you. Truly looked at you. And something flickered across his face then. Not clarity. Not desire. Just the ache of almost.

“You make things sound easy,” he murmured.

“Only because I’m not the one who made them difficult.”

Silence stretched. Someone else entered the gallery then—a pair of older women, deep in conversation, oblivious to the stillness between you and him.

You took a step back. Just one. “Good afternoon, my Lord.”

“Miss Everleigh,” he said, but slower this time. Like he almost wasn’t ready for the moment to end.

You didn’t look back. But you felt it. The crack. The first true one.

——

The night shimmered with candlelight and soft perfume. The Grand Salford Ball had always been the crown jewel of the Season—a ballroom lined with mirrored walls and high arched ceilings, where every lady in London seemed to shine a little brighter beneath the chandeliers.

You were dressed in soft grey silk, silver thread sewn into the bodice like a whisper. You’d already danced twice. Spoke with two earls. Smiled more than you truly felt. You weren’t looking for him. But he was there. Rafayel Vale, standing near the floral arrangements beneath the north arch, half-shadowed, as always.

He’d danced already—twice. You’d seen it. Obligation. Courtesy. Grace with distance. And then— He moved. You caught the motion from the corner of your eye. Thought, at first, he might be heading toward your sister. But he wasn’t. He stopped in front of you.

People noticed. Of course they did. The air shifted. And then, softly: “Miss Everleigh.”

You looked up. “My Lord.”

He bowed. “May I have this dance?”

For a moment, you said nothing. Not out of drama. Not out of awe. But because something inside you paused—pressed its hand to the glass and whispered, be careful.

Still, you extended your hand. “Of course.”

The music began—a gentle waltz, sweeping but quiet. His hand was warm against your waist. His movements precise. Fluid. You had danced this pattern with a dozen men. But never with him. And you felt the difference.

He didn’t speak at first. Neither did you. Then, finally, “You weren’t at the gallery long,” he said.

“No,” you replied evenly. “I didn’t wish to intrude, my Lord.”

“You never intrude.” It came too quickly. Too softly. You didn’t answer. The dance continued.

“This isn’t wise,” he murmured, almost too low to hear.

“Then why ask?” you asked back.

He looked at you. Not a glance. Not a flicker. A look.

“I’m beginning to ask myself the same thing.”

You didn’t fumble. You didn’t blush. But when the dance ended, and he stepped back with a bow deeper than necessary, your heart was not still.

You curtsied. “Thank you, my Lord.”

“Thank you,” he said—soft, real.

Then he was gone. Lord Wessex found you near the refreshments later. He didn’t speak immediately. He handed you a glass.

“That was unexpected,” he said finally, gently.

You looked at him. His expression was warm. Steady. But something behind his eyes had shifted.

You didn’t lie. “It surprised me, too.”

He nodded once, slowly.

“He’ll have to mean it,” he said. “If he’s going to try. Because anything less than everything will not be enough for you.” You swallowed.

“You deserve more than half a heart,” he added, voice quiet now. “And I would never offer you that.” And then— He smiled. Small. Honest. A little sad. “Just… don’t forget how good we were.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. He kissed your knuckles, and stepped away. Not out of anger. But out of care.

——

The Ainsworth soirée was smaller than most. Quieter. Subdued. The parlors had been cleared for music and conversation. Candles flickered in glass bowls on every sill. A string quartet played something gentle and slow, meant for swaying rather than showmanship.

You arrived with Eleanora, both of you dressed in pale silks—your colors soft and unremarkable, by design. There was no need to be seen anymore. You had already been seen. Lord Wessex was already waiting inside. He kissed your hand with a familiar smile and asked if you’d saved a dance. You had.

Eleanora was soon spirited away by the Viscount, now her most consistent caller. And as the night passed, you found yourself at peace. Not ecstatic. Not glowing. Just still. Until he looked at you again.

The Duke. Across the room. Standing near the windows. A glass untouched in his hand. He didn’t approach. Didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. But he looked. As he always had. You told yourself it meant nothing. You told yourself you were past wondering. You almost believed it.

Later, near the end of the evening, you stepped out into the garden. Just for a breath. The air was cooler, the roses just beginning to bloom. You were alone for no more than a minute before footsteps followed. You didn’t turn. Not yet.

“You were always meant for the garden,” came his voice behind you.

Low. Steady. A little tired. You turned slowly. He stood there. Hands clasped behind his back. Moonlight catching on the edge of his coat.

“That’s a strange thing to say, my Lord” you said, not unkindly.

“Not strange,” he replied. “True.”

You looked at him. Waiting.

“I meant to stay away,” he added after a moment. “Truly, I did.”

“But you still came.” He stepped closer—but not too close.

“I see you,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen you for longer than I should’ve allowed.”

Your breath caught, just slightly.

“Then why say nothing?” you asked. “All this time?”

“Because I was promised to someone else. Someone good. Someone who deserved better than a man who couldn’t keep his eyes where they belonged.”

Silence stretched between you. The only sound was the soft flicker of the wind in the roses.

“You never asked again,” you said, finally. “To dance.”

“Because I didn’t trust myself.”

That made your heart beat harder than it should have. You turned your face away—toward the stars. “And now?”

A pause. Then— “Now I don’t know if it’s too late.”

You didn’t answer him. Because you didn’t know either. The silence between you grew heavier. You were the first to break it.

“You know Lord Wessex is courting me.” It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be. His jaw tensed, ever so slightly. But his voice remained level.

“Everyone does.”

You nodded once, slowly. “And yet… here you are.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Here I am.”Another pause. “Should I step back?” he asked then, his voice low, careful. “Let him continue without interruption?”

You didn’t answer right away. You didn’t know how. He took a step closer—just one—and your breath caught before you could help it.

“Or should I ask,” he continued, voice a thread, “if you ever wondered what it would be like... if it were my lips that kissed your hand instead of his?”

Your heart stopped. He saw it in your face. The shift. The flicker of disbelief, of feeling. He stepped back, respectfully. His voice softened further, barely more than a breath.

“Do you wish it was his touch you waited for every evening…or mine?”

You didn’t look away. You couldn’t.

“Tell me what you want, Miss Everleigh,” he said. “And I’ll leave you be… or I’ll stay.”

The wind stirred your gown. Somewhere beyond the hedges, the music drifted faintly from the house. But here—beneath the soft gold of the lantern and the weight of everything unsaid—the world held its breath. You didn’t answer yet. Because your own heart was still catching up.

You didn’t speak as the wind moved through the garden. Not for a long moment. Then, at last, you lifted your chin and met his gaze—steady, unreadable, quiet thunder just beneath the surface.

“I think I should return inside,” you said gently.

He didn’t move. Didn’t ask again. Didn’t stop you.

“Of course,” he murmured. “Good evening, Miss Everleigh.”

“Good evening, my Lord.” You curtsied. Turned. And walked away. Not because you’d made a decision. But because he had waited too long to ask you to.

——

The next ball bloomed with music and golden gowns, the scent of roses woven through the warm spring air. You arrived late. By design. You wore blue this time—a deeper shade. Sapphire silk that shimmered beneath the chandeliers.

The music floated around you like smoke—soft, glittering, golden. Another waltz, another string of polite laughter and silk shoes brushing marble floors. Lord Wessex stood before you, as he always did. Familiar. Steady. Smiling just for you.

“You are late,” he said, voice warm with amusement. “I nearly despaired.”

“Then I suppose I should offer my sincerest apology, my Lord.” you replied, matching his tone.

You extended your hand. Gloved. Elegant. Offered without hesitation. He took it with a flourish and bent to kiss your knuckles. His lips brushed the silk lightly—nothing new. Nothing scandalous. But the flutter in your stomach came not from the kiss.

It came the moment your eyes lifted—almost absentmindedly, unintentionally— And met his. Across the ballroom. The Duke. Half-shadowed beside a marble column, his expression unreadable. But his gaze— Unflinching.

He had seen the kiss. Had watched your hand held in someone else’s. Had not looked away. And something tightened inside you. Low in your chest. Breathless. Not shame. Not guilt. Something else. Something dangerous. Something real.

You felt Lord Wessex straighten, release your hand. Still smiling. Still unaware. And yet, for a moment—just one—you weren’t there with him. You were still across the room. Where he was still watching you.

The night unfolded like all others. You danced. Smiled. Tilted your head at the right moments. Let Lord Wessex pull another laugh from your lips with some quip about powdered wigs and naval titles.

Your hand rested lightly on his arm. Your glass never emptied. The music swelled and carried you with it. And yet—Your thoughts strayed. Not to the ballroom. Not to the dress. Not even to the way Lord Wessex’s eyes lingered on your mouth when you sipped your wine. But to a voice.

“Do you ever wonder if it should’ve been my lips instead?”

To a hand not taken. A dance never shared—until it was. A look that never stopped. You caught him watching again. Across the ballroom. Between guests. Through shadows and silk. Your breath caught—so subtly you doubted anyone noticed. But your cheeks warmed. Betrayed you. His gaze didn’t drop. Neither did yours.

“I’ll be just a moment, my Lord.” you said softly to Lord Wessex.

He blinked. “Of course,” he said easily, ever the gentleman. “Shall I send for you if another dreadful dance begins without us?”

You smiled, touched his arm. “If you must.”

And then you turned, skirts brushing the floor, and slipped through the archway into the corridor beyond the ballroom. It was quieter here. Still lit by flickering sconces, still warm with laughter and footsteps echoing behind closed doors—but separate.

The hallway stretched ahead of you, lined with paintings and velvet drapes pulled aside to reveal the windows beyond. You walked without urgency. Without reason. You just needed to breathe. The music behind you dulled, like a memory being slowly folded away.

And as you passed the tall mirror at the end of the hall, your reflection looked a little different than it had at the start of the night. Not flustered. Not lost. But… uncertain. As if something inside you had shifted, and the rest of you had only just begun to feel it.

The hum of the ballroom faded with every step. You hadn’t meant to walk this far. But your feet had carried you, slowly, gently, down a long stretch of corridor where the candlelight softened and the laughter gave way to hush.

The air here was cooler. Still perfumed faintly with roses from the arrangements in the nearby drawing room. But emptier. Yours. Paintings lined the walls—portraits, mostly. Women in silks, men in gold-trimmed coats, their eyes fixed forever in oils and varnish. Some regal. Some sad. Some full of secrets you’d never know.

You let your fingers brush the carved wood of a frame, your eyes catching on a woman in a green gown. Her hand was half-lifted, as if to wave, or perhaps to reach. She reminded you of something. Of someone.

You stepped closer. And for a while, you forgot the room behind you. Forgot Lord Wessex’s smile. Forgot the dance. The wine. The heat beneath your gloves when lips touched silk. You simply breathed. Until—A shift. Not sound. Not footsteps. Just… presence. Your skin prickled, warm. You turned. And there he was. Rafayel.

Standing in the corridor, half in shadow, his expression unreadable—just as before. But his eyes? They weren’t just watching. They were fixed on you. Your breath caught. Not in fear. Not in surprise. In that quiet, fluttering place just beneath your ribs. You hadn’t heard him approach. Hadn’t felt him near. And yet— Somehow, you weren’t surprised to see him there.

“Forgive me, my Lord.” you said softly, though you weren’t sure what you were apologizing for.

He shook his head once. A subtle thing. But his gaze never left yours. You turned slightly, as if to retreat—but your feet didn’t move. Neither did his. The silence between you stretched—not uncomfortable. Just… fragile. You turned slightly back toward the painting, letting your voice fill the space between your heartbeats.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” you murmured.

His gaze shifted to the portrait.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “But her eyes are not on the man who painted her.”

You glanced at him, a soft lift of your brow.

“And who are they on, then?”

“Someone else entirely.”

A quiet smile tugged at your lips. You took a step forward, fingers still lightly brushing the edge of the frame.

“Do you frequent corridors often, my Lord? Or do I simply have a habit of wandering into yours?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

The silence stretched between you like a string pulled taut. You turned your gaze from the portrait and looked at him fully—his shoulders held in perfect stillness, his eyes unreadable but undeniably on you.

And before you could think better of it—before you could remember names or consequences— You lifted your hand. Not high. Not forward. Just enough. A subtle offer. A breathless question made of movement. You didn’t speak. But he did.

“Are you certain?” he asked, voice low—rougher than you’d ever heard it.

You didn’t look away. And you didn’t lower your hand. So he stepped closer. And took it. Not with the easy charm of practiced affection. Not with the flirtatious grace of a ballroom gentleman. But with intention.

His fingers curled around yours. And slowly, without flourish— He brought your hand to his lips. And kissed it. No sound. No heat but his mouth, barely there through the silk.And yet your whole body felt it.

The pressure of his lips sank through the glove like warmth through snow. Down your spine. Through your chest. Into the quiet ache in your stomach that hadn’t stopped since the garden. It was not performative. Not expected. It wasn’t even a kiss, not really. It was him. And when he lowered your hand, his eyes still didn’t leave yours.

“Does he make you feel like that?” he asked softly. “When he kisses your hand?”

The words landed like a breath against your throat. You didn’t answer. Because you didn’t need to. He already knew. Your breath trembled in your chest. His fingers still held yours—lightly now, almost reverently—but he hadn’t let go. And you hadn’t asked him to.You stared at your hand in his, the silk warmed by his kiss, your skin beneath it burning like some secret had been pressed there. And then, softly—

“It wouldn’t be fair,” you whispered, “to Lord Wessex.”

The words barely reached the air between you. A pause followed. Not cold. Not scolding. Just weight. But still, your hand stayed in his. He glanced down at it, at the contradiction between your words and your touch. When his gaze lifted again, it was steadier. Sharper.

“Then tell me,” he said, voice low—calm, but threaded with something breaking open, “should I step back?” His thumb brushed along the edge of your glove—so lightly it could have been imagined. “Do you want me to?”

The question hung there. Not as a demand. But as a man on the edge of something he’d never dared want until now. And the truth? Was sitting in your hand. Still resting in his. His question still hung in the air, suspended between your hand in his and the heat in your chest that refused to fade. You wanted to answer. You tried to.

But you couldn’t. Not yet. Because he—Lord Wessex—offered you calm. A clear path. Kindness, laughter, ease. And this? This was nothing but tension. A thread pulled too tight across your ribs. A glance that lingered too long. A kiss that didn’t even touch skin but still burned through silk like flame.

How could it already feel like this? How could your body ache from a man who had never truly held you? Your breath shook as you looked at him—this man who was promised to someone else, who had waited too long and yet made your heart twist in your chest with only his voice, his eyes, his nearness.

And before you could speak—before you could decide—A voice echoed faintly down the corridor. Laughter. A gentleman’s footsteps. Someone approaching. Not toward you, not fast—but near enough to remind you both of where you were.

His hand released yours gently, slowly—like letting go of a secret he wasn’t ready to give up. Your fingers curled into your palm, holding the ghost of his kiss like something you weren’t sure you wanted to keep—or bury. Neither of you said a word.

You turned back toward the light of the ballroom. He walked beside you in silence. And when you crossed the threshold again, the music picked up as if nothing had happened. As if the hallway hadn’t nearly changed everything.

The rest of the ball passed in a blur of candlelight and conversation. Lord Wessex remained by your side, as he always did—charming, clever, completely unaware of the storm still rolling beneath your skin.

He made you laugh. You danced twice more. He offered you another glass of wine, and you took it—hoping it would cool the heat that hadn’t left your cheeks since that corridor. But it didn’t. And at one point, as he passed you a napkin with a scribbled caricature of Lady Ashford’s towering feathered hat, he leaned in, brow slightly knit.

“You’re flushed,” he said softly. “Is it the wine, or the warmth of the room?”

Your smile came too quickly. “The ballroom’s stifling.”

He didn’t press. But something in his eyes lingered.

The carriage ride home was quiet. Eleanora leaned against the seat opposite you, half-asleep, her earrings already tucked into her glove. Your mother mumbled a list of names she’d overheard in the hallway, entirely unaware of the war playing out behind your calm expression.

Back in your room, you sat at the edge of your bed, gown half-unfastened, corset loosened, your hair beginning to tumble free. Eleanora stepped through the adjoining door in her dressing gown, barefoot, face still faintly powdered from the night.

She sat beside you wordlessly. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then— “It happened again, didn’t it?”

You looked at her. Blinked. She was already watching you. Calm. Knowing. You didn’t nod. You didn’t deny it. You just exhaled.

“In the corridor,” you whispered. “We didn’t do anything. We didn’t even say much.”

“But he kissed your hand.”

You paused. Then— “Yes.”

Eleanora didn’t speak at first. She only reached for your hand, held it loosely in hers.

“And it felt different,” she murmured.

Your eyes prickled. “It wasn’t even skin,” you said. “Just silk. But I felt it. All of it.”

She squeezed your fingers gently. “And Lord Wessex?”

“Is good to me,” you said. “He makes me feel seen. Safe. Steady.”

“But not undone.”

Your throat tightened. “No.”

Eleanora nodded, softly. “Then I think you already know.”

You looked down at your lap. Your gloves still lay there. One of them still warm.

——

He arrived mid-afternoon. Lord Wessex. His coat was a rich navy, his boots dusted from the ride, and a single tulip tucked into the fold of his arm. Not a grand gesture—just enough. Just thoughtful.

“A bold choice, my Lord.” you said, accepting the flower with a soft smile.

“I nearly brought roses,” he replied, stepping into the drawing room as your maid closed the door behind him. “But then I thought… Everyone brings roses. You deserve something else.”

You said nothing. You only turned, placing the tulip in a crystal vase by the window. He watched you quietly as you did. You sat across from each other, tea between you, your mother making polite excuses and vanishing after only a few minutes—delighted, of course, by his consistency.

He spoke of a new play being performed at the theater. A cousin’s engagement. The ridiculous hat Lady Thorne had worn last night “I nearly lost my footing—twice”. You laughed at the right moments. You always did. And then— A shift. He leaned forward slightly, his hand resting on the arm of your chair—not touching you, not yet. But near.

“You were quiet last night,” he said gently. “Not distant. Just… somewhere else.”

You blinked. “Was I?”

“You were.” He smiled. “But I don’t mind. I like the parts of you that don’t always speak.”

And then—Without asking, without hesitating—He reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered only for a breath. Soft. Respectful. Kind. But the moment they touched your skin—Your cheeks flushed. Warm. Immediate. Visceral. He saw it. And he smiled—soft, almost shy. Pleased.

“Have I flustered you?” he asked, voice lower now. “That’s rare.”

You smiled. But only you knew the truth. Because the heat blooming across your skin wasn’t from his touch. It was from the memory of another man’s lips against your glove. And for the briefest, most unforgivable second—You imagined it was his hand brushing that strand away. The Duke’s. And your stomach turned with the ache of it.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.

side note: credits for two pictures used for the banner go to their original creators.

taglist: @syluslittlecrows

next part

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #lads #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #lads rafayel #rafayel x mc #love and deep space #lnds #loveanddeepspace #qi yu #rafayel regency au #rafayel duke #rafayel l&ds #regency era au

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chrystal-ink · 2 months ago

Text

Shadow x Fem Reader

Regency au part 3

Promenade

Note: part three is finally done! so sorry for the delay, writers block mixed with seasonal depression hit me hard. most of the set up is done so hopefully I can get a bit quicker on getting these parts done. this part is very long so be warned and of course enjoy -Chrystal

The morning was filled with non stop chatter about the news. You were now the diamond of the season not only that but you were also the first Mobian to be named the diamond. Something as big as that surely could not be ignored.

Somehow you had managed to charm the queen and land in her good graces. You were grateful for her majesties kindness but were very confused, you had only briefly spoken to the queen and while it was an engaging conversation she did not convey that you had impressed her enough to be rewarded for this honor.

Regardless of how her decision was made you could not complain about how this would certainly help you find a husband by the end of the season.

However a new problem had presented itself. Dozens of gentlemen had come to call on you hoping to secure you as their wife. Many of which were only interested in your new status and not your interests, your wants or your desires in life. They rambled on and on about their accomplishments and how great their families were, never bothering to ask your opinions on the matter.

During visiting hours you a single question lingered in the back of your mind, would Shadow come to visit you?

He hadn't stated his intentions to marry nor did you want to court him but he said he was going to try speaking to you more, surely a friendly visit wouldn't hurt, especially after how quickly you had fled the ball last night, wouldn't he want answers?

You waited patiently for any sign of him to no avail. It was only after the last gentlemen had departed that you received a bouquet of pale red carnations.

Carnations had been one of your favorite flowers as a child, the way the petals folded in and out of each other like draped silk. The white and red intertwined reminding you of simpler times when anything felt possible and you never thought about suitors or forgotten friendships, it was just you, Shadow, and Maria against the world.

The card attached read "I look forward to our next meeting my dearest friend. - Viscount Shadow Robotnik"

So he did remember your address.

You read the small card over and over expecting there to be more to it. One sentence, that's all? And yet that one sentence clung to your mind.

You couldn't help but feel conflicted. For the first time you had received a response from Shadow the only thing that you had wanted since Maria's passing, and yet the eight years it took for it to get to you made the gesture taste quite bitter.

For the first eleven years of your life you had known Shadow like the back of your hand but now, he was a complete mystery to you. Question after question kept spinning in your mind and you were growing quite sick of it. You needed answers, luckily you were going to the perfect place to gather information.

💎

Madame Rouge was the best modiste in the kingdom, known for her expertise in all the latest fashions and her exquisite taste in jewelry. All the women of the ton relied on her to make them beautiful, and in turn they would reward her greatly making her one of the richest business owners in the land.

Her riches did not stop at monetary ones, working with every lady in the ton she had amassed quite the collection of secrets. She knew everything about everyone including you. Something about her presence made people comfortable enough to speak about whatever was on their minds, even the the things they didn't want others to know.

If there was a place to find out any information on Shadow, this was where you needed to be. The only problem now was how to bring the topic of him up without making it seem as if you had affections for him.

Luckily Rouge solved that problem for you.

"So I heard about your little dance with a mysterious Viscount last night, tell me about it."

"well I'm not sure there is much to discuss." You were trying to play your cards right if Rouge knew you were looking for information she would assume you had fallen for him. Which you hadn't, you swear.

"Don't be ridiculous, it's all anyone can talk about today. Rumor has it you were childhood friends, is it true?"

"Yes, but it was a long time ago. We haven't spoken since we were children. Last night was the first time I've seen him in eight almost nine years."

"ah so you were reunited last night, how did that feel seeing him after all this time? Absolutely smitten I'd bet."

Oh no, she was digging for gossip. you've seen her do this dozens of times, she was good and she could get the truth out of anyone.

"Oh, no it's nothing like that I was just-"

"Ah ah ah no point in lying to me , I can see it in your eyes, they sparkle with that first love glow. speaking of sparkle, this silver lace overlay would look fantastic with this silk what do you think?"

You looked in the mirror the combination of the fabrics draped across your shoulder. Madame Rouge truly was an artist, the color complimented you perfectly, giving you an almost ethereal glow. you didn't know it was possible for you to look that way. was that really you?

"Wow." you stood there in awe of yourself. "I look..."

"Like a Diamond." Rouge finished your sentence for you. " I Never congratulated you on your status. How does it feel?"

"I almost don't believe it. I mean there are so many other ladies of the ton whom I feel are much more refined than me and deserving of the title."

"Well I happen to be an expert on fine jewels and I always find a diamond is much more than it's cut, a true diamond shines it's light not only on itself but on the other jewels surrounding it. You are brilliant and I know exactly how to make you shine. you just focus on reflecting that light. Know your worth miss Y/N it will guide you to the right place."

Rouge's words were reassuring, You supposed that was why she was the best. She knew how to not only make ladies look beautiful but feel beautiful as well.

"I cannot give you the answers you are looking for, only the viscount can." Rouge added.

How had she figured it out? You hadn't even spoken his name since you've been here.

"You'd be amazed at the things a modiste can pick up my dear. unfortunately I cannot be of help in your investigation. But I will say, He will be quite enamored when he sees you in this dress."

Your cheeks heated at the thought, the strange fluttering returning once again, the heat and excitement of the day must have left you feeling ill, hopefully you could recuperate at tea time.

Rouge took your order and you and your mamma were off on your way. the madame gave you a look you couldn't quite place as you left, but you could tell that she knew more than she was saying, and that your conversation wasn't over.

💎

The sweet aroma of roses wafted throughout the conservatory as the sun beamed through the glass giving the room a soft glow. The table was set with the most delicious assortment of finger sandwiches, biscuits, and small cakes; a setup to which the Rose household was known for.

"I am just delighted that you were named this season's Dimond, of all my friend's you are by far the most eligible for the title." Amy poured you a cup of tea to your liking before serving it to you.

"That is too kind of you to say, but if I'm being perfectly honest I would have thought that you would be given the title far before I would have."

"I'm sure if I was offered the title I would have refused it, It would only complicate my plans for this season."

"I Presume your dance with the Duke went well then?"

"More than just well. It was practically perfect."

"Has he called on you then?"

"No, He has not. However I hope to run into him while we are on promenade after tea. How about your mysterious viscount? You left quite hastily last night we didn't get the chance to say our goodbyes or talk even talk about him."

"Yes, my sincerest apologies I was feeling faint from the events of the ball. As for the viscount, I feel conflicted on one hand he is my closest childhood friend but with so many years of silence between us I fear he may have changed completely. I do not know the man he has become, and any attempts I've made to find out thus far have been in vain."

"would the answer persuade you on weather or not to pursue him as a suitor?"

"I would not consider him a suitor of any kind, regardless of the answer."

Amy paused for a moment taking a sip from her tea. this was common when she needed a moment to ponder her next words, choosing carefully what to say as to not offend her company.

"Dearest Y/N, if the answer does not affect your feelings on him then why search for answers at all?"

You weren't sure how to answer. You had thought you had put him in the past with the rest of your childhood. But the moment you saw him again you couldn't seem to shake him from your mind. perhaps it was all the unanswered questions, or the childhood memories breaking free from the cage you had locked them in.

When you saw him you felt the hole that had been left in your heart in his absence that you had tried and failed to fill. You felt the pain of all those years that you had grown numb to suddenly strike you like a knife once again tearing you apart. You felt angry that he had appeared so easily, and scared that he would disappear just as swiftly.

and despite all of the negative emotions a fraction of hope you couldn't ignore cut through all of them. The hope that maybe things were different now, that he could come back to you, Hope that the one thing you had wanted since Maria's passing was here and that your wounds may finally begin to heal.

you knew hope was fleeting, and answers were the only way to ensure that your hope was justified, that he wouldn't disappear on you again. he said he wanted to do better for you but how were you to know weather or not his word was good without truly knowing the man he had become?

To suddenly see the boy you once knew like the back of your hand re-appear as a complete stranger, not knowing anything about his adult life, or even what kind of a person he is anymore. what were you to make of that?

Before you could begin to answer Amy's query Her ladies maid interrupted inadvertently saving you from explaining your issue further. handing Amy a news pamphlet.

"Miss Rose the articles you requested have arrived"

"Thank you Pearl."

"News articles? What is this about?" you asked hoping to redirect the conversation.

"Oh nothing much really, I've been following the story of a masked vigilante they have been calling The Black Thorn. Have you heard of him?"

"I can't say I have. with all the preparation I had to do for this season I hardly had any time for independent reading."

"Well they say he showed up mysteriously some months ago and no one knows who he is behind the mask. They say he moves so swiftly that hardly anyone knows when he's coming or going. the only proof he ever leaves behind are the criminals he defeats usually knocked out cold."

"I thought your father forbid you from reading articles like that."

"You know I can't resist a good hero story. Promise me you wont tell him?"

"I wouldn't dream of such a thing."

Amy smiled at you

"So does that mean the Duke has some competition this year?" you teased.

"I don't think anyone could pull my attention from the duke."

"Well that is too bad, I hear gentlemen can be swayed to a proposal when threatened by a rival."

"I may need to keep that in mind for later" Amy Giggled "Now finish your tea, I want to read your leaves."

You smiled at your friend yielding to her request as you enjoyed the beautiful spring afternoon.

💎

Of all the activities of the social season the promenade was by far your favorite. being outside in nature always helped clear your head and you desperately needed to clear your head after the events of the past day.

You walked side by side with Amy admiring the beauty of the public garden together, your ladies maids' trailing behind you.

"I still can't believe you won't tell me my fortune. what is the point in you reading it if I am not allowed to know?" You fussed

"Perhaps you knowing may affect the outcome, I'll never tell" Amy teased

"Well I would hope you would tell me should my fate be disastrous"

"I promise if you were in danger I would inform you swiftly to help avoid such fates."

you giggled "I appreciate that, now please tell me my fortune"

Amy smiled at you. "No, you shall soon find out for yourself I promise."

"And will I be pleased?"

"I'd rather think so" she giggled before turning her attention to her surroundings.

Amy's eyes scanned the garden searching for someone, far too distracted to engage in anymore meaningful conversation which you were grateful for. You enjoyed your friend's presence however you needed respite from all that was plaguing your mind.

You took a deep breath allowing the crisp spring air fill your lungs. you focused only on your senses the smell of the grass, the sound of the water flowing in the pond.

you needed this, to focus on the present moment, to feel nature surround you. The problems of society could wait for the time being the diamond needed her rest.

Unfortunately your rest would prove to be quite brief as the Duke of green hill quickly approached you and miss Rose.

"Good day ladies, have the two of you been enjoying your walk?" He asked.

"It has been quite wonderful your grace, thank you for asking." Amy replied

"Miss L/N would you offer me the kindness of allowing me to escort your friend through the rest of the garden?"

"Of course my lord, should she agree."

"I would be delighted to join you but I would feel awful leaving my dear friend on her own"

"Do not worry about me I'm sure my mamma is around here somewhere she can escort me the rest of the way."

"I may have another solution please excuse me for a moment ladies" the Duke excused himself leaving you and Amy alone once again.

"What are you doing? I thought you were looking to spend time with the duke."

"I do but I don't want to leave you alone either, I mean what kind of a friend would that make me?"

"The kind who wants to be married."

"Y/N, I know the social season can often make enemies of friends, I refuse to let that fate befall us."

"You know just as well as I that is only in the case of two ladies catching the affections of the same gentleman. I do not want the duke so what else is it?"

Amy paused giving you a look you couldn't quite discern.

"Does this have anything to do with my fortune?"

"I am so sorry but I feared if I told you you wouldn't want to come and I knew it was important."

before you could fully comprehend what she was saying the duke returned with Shadow in tow.

"Here we are ladies, Viscount Robotnik has agreed to escort miss L/N through the rest of the garden"

"Only if you'd allow me of course." Shadow elaborated

You shared a glance with Amy her eyes begging you to agree to the arrangement. you would certainly have words with her later on but for now you smiled politely.

"It would be an honor my lord" You responded

"It is settled then, Me and miss Rose will be on our way. Viscount, Miss L/N I hope to see both of you at the symphony tomorrow night. Enjoy your walk."

You bowed as you watched Amy and the duke wonder in their separate direction.

"Shall we?" Shadow looked at you his gaze growing softer

"I suppose we shall."

💎

You and Shadow walked side by side hardly a word being uttered between the two of you for the first few minuets. neither of you knowing where to start. how on earth did the two of you end up like this? So distant, so unfamiliar with one another to the point of being unable to even begin a conversation.

What would Maria think? knowing that her best friend's; her brother, and you were estranged. She must be disappointed, or worse hurt by the fate that befell her friend's in her absence.

You couldn't allow the distance and the years gone by to keep you from the now. You had him back and you weren't going to let him slip away again so easily.

"I was quite surprised to receive your bouquet this morning." you started.

"I felt you needed some token of apology for not calling upon you this morning, Carnations are still your favorite correct?"

"Yes they are, I will say I'm surprised you remembered."

"How could I forget? you were always picking them, requesting your governess to place them in your hair. if I recall correctly you asked your father for a tiara made of them did you not?"

you smiled at the memory resurfacing in your head "Yes, oh I was devastated when he told me it wasn't possible to find someone who could make one for me."

"Maria and I spent the whole day with you in that flower field trying to cheer you up."

"I had so many flowers my father was worried we would cause a floral shortage. And you were covered in petals for days after that."

"well I can assure you that I am completely free of any petals these days"

you smiled at him the Shadow of your childhood peeking out from behind his exterior.

"I must say I am not quite used to seeing you like this, all grown up and so refined."

"I could say the same for you, although I am not surprised to see you become the diamond of your first season, you always had a graceful demeanor even as a child."

"so you have seen the news."

"Yes but I assure you it has no affect on our friendship."

you didn't quite know why but hearing him say that disappointed you. It wasn't as if he was courting you anyway but for some reason you felt a small tug in your chest.

"well, that is good to hear I suppose."

you looked forward fearing your eyes would give away your inner thoughts.

the awkward silence returned once again. It was Shadow's turn to break it.

"I hear you're an excellent rider."

"what?"

"Of horses, I recall you wanting to learn as a girl, I am pleased hear that you learned."

"Oh, yes it took a while but I eventually convinced my father to give me lessons, as it turns out I have a knack for it."

Shadow paused for a moment carefully choosing his next words.

"May I ask you something Miss L/N?"

"I suppose"

"Why did you choose this season to come out? you are only nineteen surely you could have waited a year or two before joining the marriage mart. Didn't you want to see more of the world before settling down."

"What ever do you mean by that."

"Maria and you would always talk about all the adventures the two of you would go on. all the different places you'd see and the people you would meet. it surprises me that you would choose to stay put after speaking of adventure so passionately."

"Yes, but that was before we knew our limitations."

"Your limitations?"

"Women cannot travel on their own Your Grace, not without causing themselves serious scandal"

"What about your studies then? do you not wish to continue?"

"Why are you so concerned about my coming out?"

"Because it doesn't make any sense."

"How do you know what choices make sense for me and what don't. We are practically strangers because of you and your lack of action, my choices are none of your concern." you snapped your frustrations finally boiling to the surface.

"I am worried about you."

"Worried about me? Why would you worry about me after ignoring me for eight years. I didn't even know you were back in town until last night, how long have you been back anyway?"

Shadow grew quiet not wanting to meet your eyes out of shame.

"Three months."

You were in shock, how could he be back for so long and how had no one noticed? knowing he was so close this whole time made his silence sting even worse.

"Three months? And you never bothered to send any correspondence not even a note."

"I feared you did not wish to see me."

"I always wished to see you." tears formed in the corners of your eyes. "How could you say that, after all those years of writing you. How could you possibly come to that conclusion? Did you even read my letter's?"

"Y/N I-"

"No! it is clear to me now that you wish to be strangers, and this rekindling of friendship is all a ruse to ease whatever guilty conscious you may have and I am in no interest of participating."

you stormed away fighting the urge to cry. public tears were sure to spark some kind of scandal one which you couldn't afford not with all eyes currently on you.

"Y/N please" Shadow called from behind you

you kept walking your heart breaking with each step you took.

"Y/N don't walk away please stay."

"Why?"

Shadow catching up to you, grabbed you by the hand and turned you to face him his eyes betraying his stoic demeanor. he reached into his pocket and produced a folded piece of paper.

"take this please"

reluctantly you obeyed, opening it you read.

Dear Y/N,

Hello, I am sorry it has been so long, i have been busy with school. I miss you with each passing day. my teacher keeps a flower pot on his desk it's a carnashion carnation. everytime i see it I think of you.

I hope this letter reaches you before your twelvth 12th birthday. mother always told me that it is rude to make people wait for a birthday gift.

I wish Maria and I could be there with you

I wish I could help you celebrate

I wish

that's where the letter ended. So he did try to write you.

"Every time I tried to start it always ended like this." He spoke. "I know now my absence has been painful to you, more painful than I anticipated. I am not asking for your forgiveness only a second chance. please I cannot lose you."

he seemed earnest, steeling yourself you prepared your answer.

"If we continue you need to make a promise to me."

"Anything."

"You have to be completely honest with me and answer every question no matter how sad it makes you, or how negatively you may think I'll react."

"I promise."

"And another thing, you must meet with me every Wednesday from now on to promenade, if you truly want this friendship I wish for commitment you must speak with me in person at least once a week. Do you accept these terms?"

Shadow took your hands in his and looked you in the eyes. he looked beyond your face and stared into your soul.

"With all my heart." he stated, the warmth in his voice seeming more like a vow than a promise.

the flutter once again returned to your chest feeling more welcome than it was before.

"Good." you stated "Then let's get started."

Shadow smiled at you in a way you couldn't help but return. all the tension from the day melted away you were on the path to get your answers and you finally had your friend back.

#shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow x reader #shadow the hedgehog #shadow #x reader #sonic fanfiction #not beta read #regency era au #regency au

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