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Genevieve: musings, visage

1. home sweet home

2. family ties

3. gem of a character

4. soundtrack of our lives

Ceara: musings, visage

1. home sweet home

2. family ties

3. gem of a character

4. soundtrack of our lives

Riya: musings, visage

1. home sweet home

2. family ties

3. gem of a character

It took much convincing to have the royal guards and the footman bring her to the new Modiste. You’re to remain at the palace. The Dowager Queen insisted, they had said. But she didn’t want to stay at the castle when she had a friend to visit. And possibly question after what she heard in Whistledown. She had been proud of herself for not engaging in the hoshposh of mess that was that horrid paper, but knowing she and Edgar were in it bothered her. But the revelation about Lasaru was worrisome, so she set aside her self-concerns and forced her hand in being brought into town.

She did her best not to make such a big fuss about it. Though, the carriage and footmen were a clear sign of who she was, so there was no way being discreet was in the cards. After tonight, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be entirely discreet, as she had last season.

What shocked her was that people were quick to pass by, an avoidant scurry followed by whispers. One of the guards stationed themselves near the entrance, stoic as ever as Genevieve stepped into the modiste. For such high quality attire, the establishment was a wasteland. No one was inside. Softly, she called out as her eyes sought out the older individual. “Monsieur?”

Before she set off for the day, Ceara cleared a good portion of her morning to spend with Leonora. She could understand why she wanted to be around her, aside from their shared love for flowers. It hadn’t even been a consideration that she could possibly want an actual friend, aside from Bertie. Mary was her friend, but she also worked for her and she was only two and twenty. Still a child, in her eyes. Bertie was also considerably young, but…he was a special case, she supposed.

She was in the midst of watering some when she saw a figure approaching the rickety wooden fence. The cottage wasn’t horrid or unlivable, just quaint. Vines crept up the stony walls and thatched roof, curling into the well-kept garden. Beneath the kitchen window was a small, borrowed white table with two chairs. It wasn’t much, but it was hers.

“Oh, hello,” she greeted with a smile. “Come through this way. The rain’s made the outer area of the house a bit muddy.” Ceara set her water can on the table and pushed open the fence gate, revealing a brick path leading up to the front door.

“Could I offer you something to drink? Was it…difficult finding it?”

It had been the longest twenty-four hours of Ceara’s life. Well, second longest. But she was mentally exhausted either way, and her new pupil wouldn’t wait until all was well again. Even she didn’t know when all would be well again, which was scarier than the relief of knowing but having to endure. Everything was right back where it’d been before: her school was unfunded and she was heartbroken. Perhaps coming to London wasn’t the best idea.

None of those feelings changed when she stood before the imposing door of the Thorne residence. Her expression was unreadable, eyes tired, and mouth pulled into a firm line. For once, she looked older than she was. What an embarrassment she had become. She couldn’t even blame Kitty for not wanting to see her, but she knew that was her simmering insecurities talking. She hadn’t done anything wrong to slight her. But it still didn’t feel good knowing the friend she thought she’d made turned out to not be a friend at all.

With a deep sigh, Ceara reached out and gave three sharp raps to the door, blinking too slow to be considered normal. As if she didn’t have the energy to dare blink. She didn’t have the energy to do much, really. She missed Ireland, her parents. Hell, even her treacherous sister. But she stood straight and tried to recenter herself. There was a little girl in need of teaching, not trying to understand adult problems.

Riya was always great at gauging bad ideas and decisions. In fact, it usually worked in her favor and got her out of making bad decisions. However, inviting Katherine Thorne into the same home her sister resided was, in essence, quite a bad idea. The likelihood of them interacting was bumped tenfold now that they’d be under a single roof, even for just an hour or two.

So, she made it her mission to keep things hush-hush on the matter. Kavika did not need to know exactly that Kitty was helping her for the season. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, right? At least, that was how the saying went. This entire ordeal was exhausting Riya, who was never one to tell a white lie or even sneak about in such a way.

But she needed something, and Katherine was willing to give her services in exchange for more attainable beauty. Who would she be if she didn’t take her up on the offer?

“I will let you know,” she began as she turned to Katherine. “Kavika is still here, though she is unlikely to barge into my room unless something truly prompts her to. And the gowns I owe you have been laundered and displayed for you before we begin.”

Because the evening had progressed so wonderfully before, Genevieve all but gilded down into the dining hall to break her fast. She was too excited to eat, too twitchy to consider making tea. She didn’t want to do anything except finally see Edgar and enjoy his company, learn his language. She’d gotten so caught up in her whims and girlish desires that she nearly aired past Alisa without so much as a look her way.

Finally, she came to. “Oh! I am so sorry, Your Highness. I have not been giving much thought to where I am going this morning,” Genevieve said with an apologetic smile, curtsying before the Queen. Although she didn’t display her respect for Sophia, she did respect Alisa and Arthur, and she would let that be known.

“Did you enjoy last night? Your gown was magnificent, I’ve never seen anything like it,” the princess crooned, eyes glittering with interest. The way the gems attached themselves to Alisa’s sleeves like they were part of her skin was such a baffling sight to her, but one that rivaled any other gown that night.

Upon returning to the palace after Edgar’s lessons, Genevieve managed to read through Whistledown, having heard her name was in it. *Edgar was courting me and Sophia*, she kept thinking. It didn’t disgust her, per se. But it did send an ache to her chest that bordered uncomfortably painful. Edgar had every right to court who he wanted, he wasn’t hers, after all. He wasn’t anyone’s but his own. But that didn’t make the pain any lesser.

She didn’t see him as a rake, either. She suspected he was experienced in that regard, but she didn’t care. And truth be told, she didn’t want to know. Her thoughts managed to quiet for a split second until she saw Sophia, and those doubts began pounding against her skull.

Dryly, she approached the first step of the stairs. “Your Highness,” she greeted but did not bow. Genevieve never bowed to Sophia, even when she was scolded for doing otherwise. “I, uhm, imagine you’ve read Whistledown by now. They had quite a lot to say about us,” she said, brushing her slippered foot across the marbled flooring. A distraction from her annoyance and warring thoughts. She didn’t mention Sophia’s two failed engangements because, while she was upset, she wasn’t cruel enough for that.

Ceara wasn’t sure where her mind was at after last night. But all it did was swim. Quell the fire, swim. Drown her in sorrows, swim. She could barely come up for air. She hadn’t read Whistledown but she heard whispers, saw the way people eyed her when she passed. It hadn’t been long until they put a face to the name, but even she wondered how that got around so quickly. Mayfair always found a way, but so could see.

Which was why she was in the midst of grading a pupil’s work while she waited for Frederic to meet her. She wouldn’t dare invite him to her cottage, and she was surely not welcome at Easthampton Park. Not that she wanted to attempt stepping that way. Just a foot on the property and she’d likely burst into flames. Her thoughts had been grim since she awoke, but there wasn’t much she could do about it aside from work diligently until her mind was too tired to think.

She finally looked up when she spotted a familiar figure nearing the bench she’d claimed for them, quickly storing the parchment into the satchel and raising a hand so that Frederic could focus on it, see where he needed to go. She had something to focus on: turning the youngest O’Connor into the best teacher’s aide Mayfair had ever seen.

Riya had been to theaters across the world. While they all appeared different, the entertainment and talent never faltered. But as she held the lone lily by its stem, she suddenly thought she shouldn’t have been there. She was more than excited to be able to watch Charlotte perform, but her sweaty palms forced her to realize she’d never had a *crush* before, not like this. She’d kissed plenty of women, slept with one or two people, but never had a proper crush, even as a child.

The thinking was immature, she was sure of that. But she only gripped the lily stem a bit tighter. But soon, the lights dimmed in the theater and it was time. The heavy curtains rose and there she was. The light shone on her in a halo of grace and angelic beauty, as perfect as she’d seen her at the Gemstone ball. But even more so being in her element. Riya was completely entranced, so much so that as she watched and listened with tears in her eyes, she tossed the lily towards the stage, at Charlotte’s feet.

She was certain this was so much more than a simple crush, and that scared her. But the excitement overshadowed any fear she may have had.

Genevieve loved tea. Not exactly for the taste, for she was not attuned to adding sugar, merely milk. But the warmth and comfort it brought. So, she decided to take the opportunity to invite Mrs. Bruce out for tea to find out more about her. And…to see if Mayfair improved on their tea selections since she was last there.

But as she sat and waited patiently for Vitoria and tasted her tea, her nose scrunched and her hips turned downwards. To say she enjoyed it would be a lie. But it was warm and she had perfected the craft of feigning interest in food and drink she disdained. It was the makings of preparedness lessons princesses were required to be present for. It was ridiculous, but it saved her from a great deal of trouble.

The next time the door swung open, she perked up and subtly lifted a hand to let Vitoria know where they would be sitting. She ordered two desserts for them, unaware of what she would like. So, she picked two slices of orange cream cake, decorated with a candied orange slice and white chocolate ganache. “Hello, Mrs. Bruce,” she greeted. “I hadn’t ordered tea for you, as I was unsure if you would want any. But I am glad you are here.”

After her lessons—and ‘lessons’—with Edgar, Genevieve decided to stay a bit longer while he was occupied with something. In the midst of her exploring their estate, she stumbled upon a grey, spotted bengal grooming himself in one of the stretching hallways. She blinked in surprise and lowered herself to her knees, not caring much about the motion ruining her dress.

“Quelle belle petite chose,” she whispered to herself before extending her hand, movements relaxed but still careful. “Hello, there.” She watched as the cat lifted its head to look at her, an uninterested gait about him before he stood and gave a slight stretch before approaching her with much reluctance. He gave her hand a light sniff, tail curling upward.

Genevieve knelt as he did so, smiling once he meowed softly and nudged his head against her fingers. Without another word, she stroked between his ears with a finger before scooping him into her arms. She got a chance to eye the dark leather collar around his neck, reading the silver nameplate. Sardine.

“Quite the silly name, but I suppose it must suit you, hm?”

Offering scratches beneath his chin, she continued her walk down the hall with Sardine nestled in her other arm. That was…until she heard a voice calling for him and turned, spotting the youngest O’Connor brother, Frederic. “Oh, Monsieur Sardine found his way here,” she said, now feeling truly like an intruder in their home.

Riya had been preparing for an afternoon in the garden with Aera. After their discussion at the ball, she had been elated to invite them into her home. Due to her extensive preparations--picking out the best teas, helping the staff set up the table in the garden--she hadn't gotten a chance to read the latest Whistledown. And truth be told, she had no desire to see what the writer had to say.

It would have been better to set up the drawing room, where it was much cooler and the sun would not beam down with its sweltering beams, but Riya wanted to offer a tour to them, starting with the best place on the property.

As she was arranging finger foods on a small tray, a footman approached to alert Riya of Mx. Lytton's arrival. Standing straighter, she hurried back into the residence and smoothed her dress out before beaming at the sight of her new friend. "Aera, welcome! I've just finished placing our snacks and refreshments in the garden."