lord of roses

Mahira’s gaze danced along the spines of the books that lined the shelves of Almon's Books, her mind processing Cabell's words. Her eyes crinkled with warmth as she turned back to him, revealing an affable smile. "Your sister sounds delightful," she responded, her voice filled with genuine interest. Her fingers glided over a certain title, a thrill of recognition sparking in her mind. "Ah, this one," she murmured, pulling out a brightly colored novel. Handing the book to Cabell, she met his eyes earnestly. "If she likes the effervescent and melodic, she'll love ‘The Effervescent Ballad of Lady Amelia’. It's spirited, enchanting...just like your sister, I'd wager." Her smile deepened, sure of her recommendation.

"She is," he responds, unable to stop the blossoming smile on his face at the chance to talk about his family, even just thinking of the pride they bring him. "I'll be sure to pass along the comment, I know it will put air beneath her wings to hear it came from such a distinguished woman as yourself." Cabell brought his attention back to her, watching like the dutiful student he never really was, but drawn to her nonetheless. He turns the book over in his hands once she passes it to him, content with the find. "Many thanks, viscountess, you've saved me from returning home to her empty handed," he chuckles. "Can I repay the gratitude in any way? Perhaps a novel for you as a gift?"

@noblefavor

@cabellrosa

@barouche

He's surprised at her acceptance, thinking only a moment ago that surely she would bid him farewell and he'd spent the rest of the day thinking about that look on her face. His brow lifts, momentarily stunned, but he rights himself just as quickly, choosing not to squander it and instead be grateful. Cabell extends his arm, offering her an elbow and a soft look. "Shall we alleviate our minds of dull business and take a promenade?"

– "PERCY," SHE CORRECTS, though she can't help the smile that lifts the corners of her lips as she reaches over to point out the name on the cover. his eyes are so kind, she can't help but think he might actually be earnest in asking for her perspective. " her husband. but frankenstein has some equally fascinating commentary on man and creator – have you read it ? " lucy asks. it would surprise her if the gentleman were to admit he's picked up such a radical, feminist work – but she only finished it recently, so she's dying to ask. " sir walter scott's criticism is complete rubbish, in my opinion, " she adds, voice slightly lower as to not attract unwanted attention for a comment like that in the bookshop.

"Her husband— of course! I quite nearly forgot," he chuckles, a little breathy and humbled, but he can't deny there's something rather attractive about a woman who isn't afraid to correct him. He tries to remember where he might have seen those doe eyes before. "I... cannot lie to you, madam, I'm afraid I have yet to read it. But if you recommend it as well, then fair to say I shall add it to the tab today," he tells her. "Do you frequent Almon's? It certainly seems like you've got the wits about you to publish your own counter critique, put that Sir Scott in his place," he jokes, and though his voice is light and jovial, he wouldn't be surprised if it did come to pass.

the way her nose scrunches upon hearing a title she has never grown accustomed to is not in reprimand, far from it. in the voice of people close to her heart, she can often pick up the jest from it. but then comes silk in a series of words, and had they not been flowing from one of the three gentlemen she knows masters in the art, her cheeks would've gone a much richer crimson than they do now. society's eyes keep her from sending a few petals over to blind his handsome smile, although no rules defined yet on the matter of placing a picked lily in one's gentleman hair. ❛ why, you may as well be one with the dilemma, my good lord, for you are as much part of this garden as any bloom you have been alluring to. ❜ it is nothing short of natural to fall into ease with cabell. ❛ shall you say more and transform into a vibrant flower yourself ? i do see you bearing ravishing heliotrope colors. ❜

His smile only grows as her delicate hand reaches over to tuck the flower into his hair, even letting out a small laugh at the gesture. "How do I look?" he asks her, wishing he had a looking glass to inspect her work, though he can safely assume any touch added by her would only make him closer to the beauty she has. "You flatter me, dear Alice," Cabell tells her, "Though I enjoy your company for far more than just your lovely compliments. Do tell me, though, do you think I could win the heart of another if I appeared more... floral? Delicate? Alluring?" He values Alice's opinion more than most, especially when it comes to the fairer sex. Lord bless them, but Sydney and Laurie's advice left him wanting more, to put it kindly. Surely, he wouldn't be able to wax poetic about the blooms before them like this.

❛    as  a  man  of  the  sea,    ❜    narayana  speaks,    ❛    you  must  forgive  me  for  recommending  coleridge’s  rime  of  the  ancient  mariner.    ❜    deft  fingers  take  out  a  copy  of  the  said  poem:    so  familiar  is  he  with  the  layout  of  this  place,    knowledge  gleaned  from  visits  oft-made,    that  he  barely  even  looks;    hands  pulling  out  the  tome  almost  like  reflex  action,    barely  even  thought  about.    ❛    some  critics  say  it  is  obscure,    ❜    the  commodore  says,    in  a  tone  of  voice  that  makes  it  very  clear  what,    exactly,    he  thinks  of  those  critics,    ❛    but  it  opens  itself  up  to  you  very  easily,    if  you  just  let  it  breathe  —    as  you  must  for  every  poem.    ❜    it’s  clear  that  this  is  a  topic  he  could  talk  endlessly  about,    but  he  stops  himself:    his  hands  pull  out,    in  yet  another  gesture  that  makes  him  look  as  if  he  is  picking  by  random,    another  tome.    ❛    but  if  that  doesn’t  sound  enticing,    here’s  a  more    —    accessible  poet  who  writes  about  his  own  sea  voyages.    ❜    and  of  course,    he  would  know  this,   for  he  is  that  very  poet  he  now  recommends,    his  words  published  under  a  pseudonym.

"I would certainly expect no less from you, Officer Vogeti," he chuckles. He notes how much it seems like Narayana belongs here, much more astute than Cabell could hope to be, and he gets the feelings that he's happened upon the right person, blindly putting his trust in him. He nods along diligently, hanging on to his every word and inscribing the phrase you must let every poem breathe into his memory, so that he could follow these instructions at his next opportunity and maybe even become a little more like Narayana. "Accessible, you say?" he asks, taking the book from the other man and turning over the cover to inspect. "A sort of everyman, do you think? Someone who can speak from the perspective of the common thread between us all? I think that would be excellent reading for the young lady of our house," Cabell posits, glad he's found some help.

Cabell follows her gaze back to White's and merely shakes his head. "Not at all, I was on my way out. I'm sure this comes as no surprise to you, but the atmosphere in the club can so often be a little rowdier for my taste," he tells her with a tiny scrunch of his nose. If he doesn't have to company of Laurie or Sydney, or perhaps some of his other more gentle male friends, it's not always the place to be for him. "Have you no other engagements to attend to, and would you like an escort?"

the young man looks about as out of place as a lost gosling, and john is, frankly, a little amused, waiting to see exactly how long it takes for him to ask for help. "perhaps something less dull?" he inquires, tilting head inquisitively at the section that cabell is looking at now, smiling blandly as he gestures to another shelf. "if it is poetry you seek, i would be remiss to mention lord byron, or miss mary russell ritford instead. thomas campbell has an enchanting piece on the americas as well, should you be interested."

"Dull?" he repeats, the word coming out fearfully, like he was on the precipice of making a terrible mistake, which would have surely been the outcome if he'd come home to his sister with nothing to show but dull books. Instead, he follows the older man's instructions, looking over to the other shelf. "The Americas? That sounds worldly— scholarly, in fact. It would be good for a young woman's education, would it not?" Cabell asks, suddenly looking to this man for all his answers.

Mahira raised her gaze from the tome she had been perusing—taken aback by the unexpected inquiry presented by the unknown interlocutor. She carefully observed him for a brief moment ere she replied. With a genial countenance, her lips formed an amiable smile as she extended the volume clasped in her hands towards him. Tracing her fingertips along the orderly array of titles adorning the bookshelf, she lightly grazed the raised lettering etched upon them. "It hinges upon individual inclination, does it not? Do they incline towards the somber and melancholic, or the effervescent and melodic?" She inquired, her cheerful expression accompanied by a glimmer of curiosity within her eyes.

"Viscountess," he started, realizing now who he was talking to, and offered her a polite nod of greeting as he smiled. Cabell dutifully took the book she offered his way, looking down at the cover, assuming this was the final answer. But when he looked back up, he caught her gaze elsewhere, still scanning the shelves. "I admit, I do not speak for myself, but rather my younger sister. I should have had the foresight to ask her just what she wanted," he chuckles sheepishly. "However, effervescent and melodic best describes her, I should think. What can you advise would be the next step?"

– "OH," SHE CLOSES THE BOOK SHE'S HOLDING – quite abruptly. for a moment, she thought it might be one of the employees, and lucy is the sort to get reprimanded for spending the day reading the merchandise she won't pay for. does he think she works here ? " well, it depends on what the young mind is inquiring about. feminism, revolution ? wollstonecraft, " she suggests, running her finger over the spine, " sex, scandal, adultery ? wilmot. religion, athiesm, is there a god ? " her eyes shine briefly with a sort of challenge, pulling one of the books down from the shelf, " shelley. "

When she turns to peer up at him, Cabell is struck for a moment with the realization that her round eyes are reminiscent of a doe, and he can't help but smile at her with bright eyes of his own. Listening intently, he turns over the options in his head, trying to see if one word or another sticks out better to him. "Quite an array of options," he chuckles, then follows her hand as it pulls a book from the shelves in front of them. "Mary Shelley?" he tries, hoping this is a name he's correctly remembered and he hasn't just made a fool of himself in front of a charming woman.

"Your kindness shall crush you one day, dear friend," Sydney muses, drawing both of his elbows atop the table separating them. "Why would I change if I am to be forgiven?" Instead of the petticoats or the fine gentlemen lining the bar, Cabell possesses his attention now. "Don't stop there. You've a handsome clavicle." Already a failed attempt to bed Cabell lies between them, but he will bite the bait if the other man dangles it in his face.

"I shall welcome that day with open arms like any other," he replies, looking at his friend with sweetness. He poses a fair point however, and feels himself sighing the way he's seen his parents do when deciding what behavior to reward. "But perhaps not all of the ton is as keen on you as I am," Cabell chuckles. "See how easily you can make your dear friend blush?"

"My good sir," he starts, placing a firm hand on the other man's shoulder, and spinning him around to face Devika. "I doubt you might have noticed, or else you would have been begging the Lady Krishnamurti for an acceptance to a fervent apology, but it seems you have knocked into the gentlewoman and thus soiled her gloves. It would be well within her right to deny forgiveness for such behavior and tardiness, but a man of honor would give an apology nonetheless, so what say we give it a shot?" Cabell finishes, setting him with an icy look and hard squeeze of the hand on his shoulder that tells him he wont be moving until the apology is given. He patiently waits until the drunkard musters it up, the man clearly struggling amidst the alcohol in his system, then finally releases him to send him on his way. Cabell bends down to retrieve her gloves, pulling out a handkerchief from his coat to wrap them in, and offers the package back to her. "My lady?"

❛ lord rosales ! ❜ a shout not quite loud enough to even be considered such. more so a gentle greeting to her dear friend on a day where clouds were not covering up her fair head. ❛ would you kindly honor me with your keen eye no more than moment ? i have been trying my hand at bouquet making for the reading room's new vase, i fear i'm far too indecisive for the final arrangement. ❜ // @cabellrosa

He had been paused along the walking path, admiring the beauty of Hyde Park's roses when he hears a familiar voice call to him and his face brightens upon seeing hers. With no time to waste, he swiftly walks over and kneels down with her to inspect the flowers, nodding dutifully in introspection. "I might find myself in a similar situation, my dear Countess Kang. It will be hard to choose the best bulbs when I'm afraid even the bright daisies and handsome tulips pale in comparison to the flower that presides before me," Cabell smiles, eyes crinkling in content to be met with his friend, already finding his day better for it.

@noblefavor @cabellrosa

@cabellrosa

@barouche