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beloveds-embrace · 2 months ago

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(more of this, this, and this in which duchess reaches her last straw and pulls rank!)

The roses arrive in the midmorning, fresh with the crisp bite of winter still clinging to their petals. The bouquet is grand- far too grand to be anything casual. Rich, deep red blooms tied together with a velvet ribbon, their fragrance thick in the cold air as the footman carries them inside.

The staff pauses as the flowers are set on a side table in the foyer. It’s been a long, long time such a romantic gesture has entered the house that it nearly feels like a disruption, a challenge to the air of restraint and cold civility that has settled over the estate after your marriage to John and especially as of late.

But what truly sends a ripple through the house is the card that sits nestled among the blooms, thick parchment folded and sealed with gold wax.

For the Duchess.

When the bouquet is delivered to you, you receive it with the same measured grace you meet all things these days. A tilt of your head, a quiet acknowledgment, before you pluck the card from its place and break the seal with a flick of your thumb.

The words within are warm, full of deep gratitude and admiration, and your lips press together for a moment as you trace the elegant script with your fingertips.

You smile, small and private, as you set the letter gently against your lap, letting your fingers graze over the parchment once more. The flowers are stunning, yes, but it is the letter that truly holds weight.

The house may not appreciate you. But somewhere out there, someone does.

But as you lift your gaze, you see the tension that has begun to coil in the air around you.

John is staring at the bouquet like it’s a declaration of war specifically against him. His arms are crossed over the expanse of his chest, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he studies the flowers as if they might reveal the identity of the sender on their own from the sheer intensity of his gaze alone.

Simon stands beside him, unreadable, but his silence is heavier than usual. His fingers tap idly against his sleeve, betraying a restrained sort of agitation, while Johnny and Kyle are no better- both shifting uneasily, eyes darting from the roses to you and back again.

You simply turn away, setting the bouquet carefully on the nearest table before resuming your place near the window, where the pale winter light casts long shadows across the floor.

Silence stretches, and you deliberately tuck the letter into the pocket of your gown. You do not fold it away carelessly, nor do you discard it- no, you keep it. Visibly.

Their eyes track the motion like wolves scenting blood.

Then-

“Who sent them, wife?” John’s voice is clipped, controlled, but there’s something simmering beneath it.

You do not look at him, focusing once more on the lovely roses. “Why does it matter?”

Kyle shifts, clearing his throat. “Well… it’s just that… seems a bit forward. And disrespectful.”

Johnny huffs beside him, eyes narrowed like John. “Aye. Flowers like that? Someone’s tryin’ to court ye.”

At that, you let out a soft, knowing hum. You do not confirm nor deny, merely reaching out to trace the velvety petals of one of the roses, letting your touch linger.

John’s expression darkens.

Simon finally speaks, his voice low, measured. “If someone is trying to win your affections, we should know who they are.”

You tilt your head slightly, finally turning to face them. “And why is that?”

John steps closer. “Because you are my wife.” The words are firm, but there is an unspoken still hanging in the air between you.

Bitterness inside you tightens like knot, but you do not let it show. Instead, you lift a brow, gaze cool. “I do not recall that matter ever being of concern to you before.”

His jaw tightens. “That is not-”

You cut him off with a simple, deliberate movement- reaching out, tracing the velvety petals of one of the roses again, your touch lingering. It is a small gesture, but it drives a sharp knife into the tension between you all.

Johnny frowns. “Ya like them, then?”

You do not answer. Instead, you pluck a single rose from the arrangement, twirling it between your fingers as you return to your seat, legs crossed neatly, the picture of poise. Twirling it between your fingers before bringing it close, you inhale the rich scent with a faint, adoring smile.

Kyle exhales sharply. “This is ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous,” you muse, examining the bloom in your grasp. “Is your sudden concern over something so trivial.”

John exhales through his nose. “Who sent them, Duchess?”

You glance at him, considering him for a long moment, before finally answering, voice deliberately indifferent.

“Someone who appreciates me.”

The words land like a hammer.

John's expression darkens, Simon's fingers twitch at his sides, Johnny swears under his breath, and Kyle looks like he wants to sink into the floor.

Good.

Let them stew in it.

Let them feel what you have felt for so long- neglected, disregarded, unwanted. Let them understand, even for a moment, what it means to be on the other side.

The silence that follows is heavy and charged. Then, without another word, you rise, the single rose still in your grasp, and leave them there- standing in their own jealousy, their own regret.

They do not let it go, unsurprisingly.

John insists on having breakfast with you more, where before he barely spared you a glance at the table. He lingers, watching you with something unreadable in his gaze.

Simon begins to find more reasons to be near you, silent but present, a constant shadow. He does not speak much, but his attention is unyielding.

Johnny, ever the charming one, suddenly starts bringing you sweets and pastries with an almost desperate enthusiasm, his jokes softer, his smiles less certain.

And Kyle- he is the worst of them all, ever dutiful, ever attentive, ensuring your every request is fulfilled with a precision that borders on obsessive.

It is almost amusing.

Almost.

But you let them chase and let them fret. It was terribly amusing and vindicating, especially whenever you reread that letter.

Your Grace, We cannot begin to express our gratitude for the kindness you showed us in our time of need. When all others turned their backs, you extended your hand, and because of you, our humble flower business did not wither and die. Please accept this bouquet as a token of our deepest thanks. It is but a small gesture for a debt we will never be able to repay. May your days be filled with as much beauty as you have given to us.

With all our gratitude,

The [] Family

#noona.posts #noona.writes #should this be tagged idk

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daisyofwaterdeep · 7 months ago

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had a dream I went to a hozier concert and mr. hozier stopped singing and pointed to me in the crowd and asked me to go get him some extra crispy tofu and a blueberry shake for after the show and then the crowd passed his debit card to me and when I got it I could see his real legal name was Horace Bob-omb

#then the rest of the dream was me running through traffic trying to get to mcdonalds for the shake and to the store for the tofu #but i could still hear the music from the venue wherever I was #just chattin'#yeah man idk either #i guess is should tag this as #hozier #?????

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jamjoob · 11 months ago

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