𝖋𝖎𝖓𝖊 𝖗𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖒𝖊𝖘𝖘

 To look down on those cursed with commonness and middle-class wages was the most ideal way for one to spend New Years Eve. Accompanied by a beautiful bride worth more then three of London’s largest districts, was beyond perfection. Richard’s affections were conflicted and muddled, but no mistake could be made - he was smitten that night, holding Emma swathe with his chest, drinking champagne and boasting of his wit that night. She indulged his braggadocio for a time, before sweetly wishing him a blessed New Year. “And the same to you, my dear fiancée.” French was far more suited for her lips, then his. 

   “Is my proper English bride suggesting we spend the rest of the night gallivanting?” He’s been dying to flee into the dark expanse for hours, but Richard still delights in teasing Emma - flicking the tip of her nose as he turns from the balcony, eyeing the mass of party-goers (the majority of which, had succumbed to drunken stupors). “What would you say to a tiny karaoke bar I know - in a slightly dodgy bit of town.” It was two steps away from being a dive bar, but the pair would be safe from the prying eyes of the public; who would inevitably tip off the press to photograph such an escapade. Richard loved his photo being taken - but some nights, he desired purely for his own pleasure. 

The word fiancée sounds so right coming off his lips. Nothing she loved more in the world than hearing him introduce her as his fiancée. On her tiptoes she stands to press a delicate kiss on his cheek at the mention of the word. She turns facing him, arms lazily draped around his neck, and smiles happily. “She may be, but again just a suggestion,” she adds giggling.  

This is what happiness feels like, love. It’s been the same since the first day she met him. Her chest always full, there was never a dull moment between them. Even his slightest touch was electric to her. “Oh I can not song— especially if a little tipsy, but I adore the karaoke bar,” again she stands on her toes, the difference in height making things only slightly more challenging. “Especially if it means we can be alone,” she whispers for him only. 

astray from the circle of pompous idiots, albert’s very demeanour softens. he follows the woman, who seems as tired as he at that moment, gracefully taking a cigarette from his case, balancing the filter between his lips as he dips for her to light it. once aflame, he takes a slow drag; eyes narrowing in quiet concentration as he remarked on the angle of her nose, the curve of her lashes and how her lips fell in a natural, pretty stance. “would you like one?” he asked quietly, head dipped to isolate them from the moving crowds around them, his hand raising between them to flaunt his steel, inherited cigarette case. “how is the evening for you, countess?” 

A well worn Zippo between the two of them, her eyes fixated on the flame as his cigarette comes in contact with it. She closes the lighter with a satisfying click and tries to avoid his eyes as they scan over her features. It was like being inspected under a microscope. “Thank you kindly,” she says quietly, lithe fingers pull a cigarette out from the ornate casing. It’s brought to her lips and again her lighter lifts to light another cigarette. She lets it burn for a few moments before taking a drag herself. “It’s been relatively uneventful, a few hellos and a couple of glasses of champagne,” she motions with her hands hoping to illustrate the monotony of the affair. “For you Marquess? I hope it’s been even marginally more entertaining,”

It was reaching the point of the night in which Em was ready to slip away. She had lost Richard to some social climbing chatter, a desire that they didn’t share. A few flutes of champagne deep and finished her exploring, she has ended up on the balcony cigarette between her teeth. It was cold but she didn’t mind, sometimes the hum of a party reminded her too closely of the voices in her head. She turns every which direction in an attempt to shield herself from the wind that keeps putting out her light. Right when it seems to light, she looks to see the other in front of her. She smiles warmly at Gideon before pulling the cigarette out of her mouth. “What a coincidence— if you’re here for the secret of a perfect serve I won’t tell you,”

1989. A new year, a fresh start. The last year of a decade, though for the most part she’d be happy without the change. She was content with her life, and could only look towards the future with hope. As they stood on the balcony overlooking the city and the fireworks above it, she’s never felt so right. Head pressed against his chest, “Happy new year, mon cher,” she says accompanied by a happily drunk smile. 

She lifts her wrist and glances at the time, “I think we’ve done our due diligence, I think we’re safe to go and enjoy the rest of our night,” she says eyes focused on his bowtie as she adjusts it.

he hated these functions. such celebrations were just another cause for him to fuck up. another moment for him to slip whilst standing amongst the press, the royals and other assortments of beings who had heard of albert’s worn out past. but before he can count to ten he was given flutes of alcohol - a mixture of champagne and whiskey flows through his bloodstream as he makes the rounds of buckingham palace - his head spinning as he wobbles from foot to foot. alas; it is JOY that makes him laugh louder than the others, cradling his whiskey with as much tenderness as he had held his once-newborn son. only when the conversation dies does he turn to whomever was stood at his side; whispering against the charmed glass of his drink - for only his neighbour to hear. “do you mind if i smoke? that person is a terrible bore, don’t you think?” 

For someone who’s entire life was dependant on meeting and interacting with people, she found everyone utterly grating after awhile. Especially when they came in such large amounts. Hopping from conversation to conversation, grip on her champagne flute only growing tighter. She swishes the remnants of her glass as her neighbour speaks to her under his breath. “Everyone here is incredibly dull,” she says only slightly louder than she had intended. She turns away from their little crowd and produces a lighter from her clutch, “a light?” she asks before offering it to him.

                 The place shimmered with opulence, there was an old-age beauty the building that seemed to house thousands of memories. A royal palace held many secrets, Amelia was certain of that, and she wondered how many wished to stay buried. What had the paintings seen, and who had stared back up at them? The artwork always spoke to her, far beyond brush strokes and blank canvases, her father said that was why she was so good at piecing together an entire gallery.

Amber bubbles shimmered in her third champagne glass, while the voluminous skirts of her black and white gown stroked the shining floors. Poised fingers tempted a touch at the gilded frames which surrounded priceless artworks, but remained clutched around the stem of her glass.

❛   Rembrandt,  ❜  she acknowledged, staring up a portrait. The noise of others seemed to grow louder, as the revelry filtered out into the corridors.  ❛   I could spend all night in this gallery!  ❜  Amelia exclaimed, although she knew that she would soon be expected to re-join the party - her father was trying to boost his connections, despite holding more wealth than some of the old money. 

Buckingham palace, she’s heard of it. Been inside it now too. But the images one conjures are nothing compared to the real thing. Floor to ceiling, it’s luxurious— breathtaking. Though the party was contained to certain areas, the curious and quiet could freely roam and take in the sights like a tourist on vacation. Emma knew exactly where she was headed though, the gallery. She needed to see it with her own eyes, be amongst the stories it held. She was pleased to find someone else, shared the same idea. 

“I know—” she says as she stands besides the woman. She takes a small sip of her champagne nodding along to the woman’s words. “It’s really quite spectacular isn’t it? Both the gallery and the work itself,”

— Emma Ann Miller , Countess of Burlington

...or soon to be anyway

hard && fast.

FULL NAME: Emma Ann MillerTITLES: Countess of Burlington OCCUPATION: Socialite / Philanthropist  AGE/DOB: 31; 16/09/1958

HOROSCOPE: virgo

BIRTHPLACE: Virginia Water, UK

BIRTH ORDER: only child!

PARENTS: lily & jack miller

FACECLAIM: Léa Seydoux

tldr; slightly off kilter, overtly generous, phoebe buffay type rich girl. Everyone kinda knows there’s something off about her but can’t really prove it. Super sweet.  

𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖜 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖚𝖙!