𝙨𝙤𝙛𝙩 𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙠.

as much as beatrice wished that the blunder hadn't taken place, she certainly wasn't going to hold it against the other girl. it had clearly been an accident. she saw very little point in greeting the woman with anything but kindness. especially since it seemed that the other was simply overcome with regret about the ordeal. beatrice was more than happy to let her off the hook.

a gentle laugh fell from her lips as the other complimented her kindness. beatrice didn't see it as such. she simply did not see the point in putting more negativity into the world when she thought that it had enough of that already. she wanted to better the small piece of the world that she inhabited. "it's not a big deal, i assure you. i only hope that you would have been the same if the roles were reversed." she shrugged. beatrice wasn't quite as clumsy but accidents happened. "were you at least thinking of something good?" she giggled.

“something  good  …”  repeated  words  spilled  easily  ,  almost  as  if  another  blunder  of  sticky  sweet  lemonade  had  tumbled  over.  tipping  over  the  edge  of  something  fragile.  tint  of  rose  coloring  touched  isadora's  cheeks.  the  world  near  slipping  out  beneath  her.  could  something  so  knotted  ,  so  sharp  ,  be  considered  that ?  especially  when  every  thought  had  curled  ,  shamefully  ,  around  her  dearest  friend’s  ex-husband ?

panic  rose  ,  like  a  thunderstorm  that  had  not  dared  roll  in  over  the  day’s  splendor.  this  was  why  she  kept  to  corners.  why  she  stayed  out  of  sight  ,  and  did  not  converse  with  others.  too  often  it  placed  her  in  a  position  to  admit  things  not  yet  ready  to  be  said  aloud.  “i-i’m  afraid  not  ,”  she  lied.  the  taste  of  mud  flickering  across  her  tongue.  fingers  were  set  ,  adjusting    the  pleats  of  her  skirt  ,  a  needed  distraction  as  she  pulled  in  a  breath.  “well  —  in truth  ,  i  suppose  it  rather  depends  upon  your  opinion  of  the  word  ;  are  we  meant  to  place  men  beneath  such  a  heading  ,  or  …  or  does  that  verge  too  near  to  impropriety ?”  

though  voice  had  dropped  to  a  hush  ,  low  whisper  meant  to  not  be  overheard  by  the  boisterous  ,  wine-flushed  company  nearby  —  her  features  held  fast  to  an  easy  smile.  laughter  rose  ,  tampered  down  and  tucked  away  behind  a  steady  display  of  grace.  “thank  you  ,  my  lady.”  isadora  offered  another  bow  of  her  head.  this  time  with  a  curtsy  ,  slight  but  practiced.  a  gesture  of  respect.  of  apology.  of  all  the  words  she  dared  not  speak  aloud  ,  for  fear  of  stirring  unpleasantness  once  more.  “perhaps  ,  as  second  impressions  go  ,  we  might  both  enjoy  a  glass  of  lemonade.  this  time  ..  consumed.  not  worn.”  

Sienna paused, her lips curling into a smile that could only be described as wickedly amused. The air was thick with the scent of pastries, but she was hardly distracted by the scent. Instead, her eyes gleamed as she took in the scene: the earnest apology, the self-conscious shuffle of Isadora’s feet, the delicate, almost tragic attempt at politeness. It was all too precious.

"Do not apologize, Isa," Sienna scoffed with a roll of her eyes, "they were in your way, not the other way around." Isadora was too soft for her own good, even after all these years of their friendship. Sienna had not felt an ounce of guilt keeping her best friend hidden away from the rest of the ton at the cottage they had resided at. Not when Arden lurked, waiting for her return.

She had refused to divulge anything about Isadora to him during their reunion, rather keeping him on the edge of his seat hungry for more information that only she could provide to him. It was clear that her former husband was only desperate for her best friend because she was just another beautiful pristine thing he could ruin and corrupt. Arden had a way of destroying perfect things.

isadora  lingered  within  the  entryway  ,  caught  in  the  quiet  tension  that  found  way  to  curl  tightly  around  her  shoulders.  the  scent  of  warm  pastries  curling  lazily  into  the  air  not  doing  enough  to  pull  her  out  of  herself.  she  stood  ,  as  often  did  ,  waiting  for  permission  to  enter.  though  no  such  permission  would  ever  be  granted  in  a  place  such  as  this.  delicate  and  precise  fingers  folded  at  her  waist  ,  the  practiced  grace  of  someone  who  had  learned  to  move  through  the  world  without  drawing  much  attention.  

the  soft  silk  of  her  gloves  tugged  gently  at  her  fingers  ,  even  they  were  reluctant  to  break  their  careful  hold.  but  ,  there  was  laughter  biting  at  the  edges  of  her  teeth.  a  dangerous  sort  of  self  that  only  dared  to  exist  within  the  safety  of  her  best  friend.  “oh  ,  sienna.  come  now.”  words  emerged  with  a  breath  too  light  to  be  reproachful  ,  accompanied  by  a  cautious  glance  —  an  argument  they  had  too  many  times  worn  thin.  “it  is  fairly  clear  that  i  was  in  their  way  ,  i  see  no  harm  in  offering  a  simple  apology.”  voice  did  not  carry  far  over  the  low  hum  of  the  pâtisserie.  a  breath  ,  sound  that  held  the  weight  of  too  many  unspoken  things.  

“i  do  not  believe  i  was  made  for  taking  ,  as  you  so  eloquently  have  put  it…”  a  murmur  of  words.  slow  and  almost  too  soft  ,  as  if  speaking  them  aloud  might  undo  some  delicate  thing  she  had  tried  so  carefully  to  preserve.  and  isadora  allowed  the  quiet  to  linger  for  a  moment.  to  fill  the  hollow  places  within  her  chest  ,  as  her  gaze  brushed  the  gleaming  lemon  tart  with  the  kind  of  longing  she  would  never  quite  admit.

beatrice was doing everything that she could to avoid her mother. the woman had been driving her insane. she wouldn't stop questioning her about how things were going with leo or if there was someone else or if there was still something with callum. it had taken everything in her not to scream at the woman.

her mood had improved a little bit, though. the sun meant that she would never stay annoyed for too long. it was too nice of a day to have her down for too long. she hadn't even been on the move when isadora turned to her. she was stood, taking in everything that was going on around them.

isadora  blinked  ,  once  and  then  a  second  ,  still  caught  in  her  slow  dissolve  of  shame.  breath  curled  like  an  overly  taunt  corset  around  her  ribs.  she  had  expected  irritation.  or  worse  ,  the  brittle  courtesy  that  came  with  thinly-veiled  disdain.  she’d  seen  such  a  response  too  often  to  not  be  intimately  familiar  with  it.  but  instead  ,  there  was  a  smile.  sunlight  and  softness  ,  as  if  the  spill  had  landed  upon  her  skin.  and  then  evaporated  into  nothing.

her  spine  eased  ,  though  not  entirely.  head  bobbing  as  she  offered  a  nod  ,  as  if  the  agreement  might  somehow  undo  the  blunder.  “you  are  very  kind  ,”  isadora  managed.  lungs  still  aching  ,  words  quiet  ..  shaped  by  gratitude  she  did  not  know  to  carry.  the  edge  of  her  voice  trembled  faintly  ,  mind  running  too  fast  ,  wanting  to  right  the  wrong.  “i  only  wish  kindness  was  not  necessary.  i—  i  should  have  been  more  present.”

it  was  the  kind  of  thing  she  always  said.  and  meant  ,  every  single  time.

Edward ducked behind a screen of overly perfumed matrons just as the unmistakable sound of an angry rider barking for a “blasted scoundrel in a navy coat” rang through the crowd. He pivoted with the ease of a man used to fleeing both scandal and husbands, slipping past a flustered servant and straight into the shade of a lavish flower stand. Without missing a beat, he plucked a rose—deep red and scandalously thorned—and spun on his heel, his back to the chaos he’d just caused. His smile bloomed as effortlessly as the flower in his hand. “My lady,” he purred, offering the rose with a half-bow to the first unsuspecting beauty in his line of vision, “fate has been cruel to me today, but clearly she has taste. You look like the sort of woman who might save a man with a single smile… or bury him just as easily.” His eyes flicked subtly over her shoulder, tracking the furious rider stalking through the racegoers, oblivious to the charade unfolding under his nose. “Would you mind terribly pretending I’m charming for the next thirty seconds? I’d be eternally—well, temporarily—grateful.” He leaned just a touch closer, voice low and conspiratorial. “I promise I’ll repay the favor. Preferably when no one is chasing me with a riding crop.”

as  marvelous  as  the  baron’s  cup  had  proven  to  be  ,  it  had  never  quite  belonged  to  isadora’s  particular  brand  of  enjoyment.  the  fresh  air  was  pleasant  enough.  no  …  her  trouble  had  been  with  the  people.  an  overabundance  of  them  ,  all  brightness  and  clamor.  crowding  every  path  she  turned  down.  every  attempted  retreat  blocked  by  silk  skirts  ,  or  cigar  smoke  ,  or  laughter  too  shrill  to  be  real.  no  corners  left  to  vanish  into.  

isadora’s  head  turned  at  the  sound  of  voice  ,  too  honeyed  to  belong  to  the  chaos  behind  it.  and  for  a  single  heartbeat  ,  she  forgot  the  irritation  that  had  built  steadily  upon  each  disturbance.  “are  you  entirely  certain  that  is  the  line  behind  which  you  wish  to  stand  ,  sir ?”  words  left  her  before  she  could  weigh  them.  it  didn’t  feel  rehearsed  ,  the  way  he  looked  at  her.  and  yet  …  it  should  have.  “temporarily  grateful—yes  ,  now  that  is  the  exact  way  to win  a  woman’s  heart.  or  ,  in  your  case  ,  her  favor.”

Through the droves of people, Maia did run. Well, she scampered as much as one in her position could. One in her position and in her shoes and without running into any of the throws of people currently milling around the event. All of this for racing horses seemed a little over the top to her, but she did enjoy the exuberance of it all. It felt like Spring was alive and well right at this moment. The days before this were just the prelude and the sun felt like it was able to kiss every bit of her exposed skin.

isadora  had  wandered  from  the  grandstand  —  too  much  sound  ,  too  many  voices  lacquered  with  champagne  and  laughter  that  didn’t  quite  reach  the  eyes.  the  baron  cup  always  seemed  to  spin  on  a  finer  axis  ,  all  lace  gloves  and  gilded  shade.  but  today  the  sun  had  leaned  its  weight  across  the  lawns.  the  world  smelled  of  crushed  clover  and  pressed  petals  underfoot.

she  lingered  at  the  fringe  ,  gaze  far-off.  resting  somewhere  between  the  racetrack’s  dust  and  the  memory  of  a  line  she’d  read  that  morning.  then  —  her  name ,  shaped  twice  in  a  voice  she  would  have  followed  anywhere.  “you  look  as  though  you  outran  a  scandal  ,”  she  mused.  tone  filled  to  the  brim  with  humor.  

He swears he breathes different around her, some mindfulness to not take all the air from a room. There is no need to believe it will run out, no belief that he will suffocate if he does not claim it first. It has been that way since he had first come to know her. The rise and fall of his chest slow, delicate. If he took the same breaths he did around Sienna, would Isadora break? Would it interrupt the soft thrill of her words she strung together with such care?

"You are her very best friend," Arden counters, and then with a grin far softer. A crinkle of his eye, and he winks at her. "And mine. I believe we are both indebted to you that you reserve the right to drag us where you wish. You do not always have to obey her whims, but I can understand how enticing they present themselves. It is far too easy to believe in her presence that any idea but hers is as captivating."

While Sienna was the storm, Isadora had always been the meadows swept in her winds. Delicate, yes, but she could never break. A new season and a new bloom awaited her, and how dreadful it was to think that she could fall in love with someone and be planted so far away from him.

Her privacy. If only Isadora knew it was far beyond that, but the two of them had always kept her away from their venomous schemes. He would not be the one to tell her Sienna was a jagged little thing, too sharp for her own good even if he still found an itch for every scratch she gave him. She had been good to her. Why should he ruin that?

‘and  mine.’

for  a  moment  —too  long  ,  if  she’s  being  honest—  her  mind  goes  quiet.  as  though  he  had  found  the  switch  to  cut  off  endless  reel  of  worry.  silence.  real  ,  true  silence.  not  the  kind  one  wears  for  courtesy’s  sake  ,  but  the  sort  that  settles  with  new  found  honesty  within  her  bones.  the  words  should  not  have  struck  her.  they  were  kind.  a  casual  jest  ,  perhaps.  but  his  grin  had  softened.  a  wink  trailing  after  like  some  unspoken  promise  she  had  not  meant  to  catch.  and  there  it  was  …  her  loud  ,  traitorous  heart.  battering  against  the  walls  of  her  chest  like  it  meant  to  break  though  if  only  to  remind  her  to  breathe.

“indebted  to  me?”  words  do  not  carry  their  usual  carefully  chosen  grace.  they  stumble.  gaze  dropping  ,  futile  attempt  to  steady  herself.  but  the  flush  is  there.  spreading  across  her  cheeks  in  betrayal.  isadora  does  not  wish  to  be  seen  like  this  :  cracked  open.  transparent.  “you  flatter  me  ,  greatly.  but  i-i  …  i’ve  done  nothing.  only  tried  to  be  acceptable.  to  not  cause  regret  for  the  kindness  extended  to  me  ,  by  either  of  you.”  again  ,  she  falters  near  the  end.  tapering  into  a  hush.  “i  imagine  it  would  have  been  far  easier  to  ..  toss  me  out  and  burden  someone  else  with  my  existence.”

she  should  have  refused  their  generosity.  it  might  have  hurt  less  than  this  strange  warmth  that  blooms  in  the  quiet  between  them.  this  ache  of  something  unfamiliar.  but  terribly  ,  terribly  sweet.  isadora  does  not  look  at  him.  but  she  has  never  been  blind.  nor  as  naive  as  believed.  she  has  seen  him.  the  elegance  of  his  posture  ,  the  ease  of  weaponized  charm  ,  the  way  women  let  their  laughter  linger  a  little  longer  in  his  presence.  and  she  knows.  she  knows  what  sienna  had  —  and  lost.  

a  sudden  laugh  escapes  her  —  real  ,  startling  even  to  herself.  “must  we ?”  her  fingers  hesitate  only  a  moment  before  dividing  the  beignet  in  two  ,  placing  half  on  a  second  plate  with  a  flourish  of  mock  gravity.  “i  am  certain  the  season  would  fare  just  as  well  without  me.”  the  plate  slides  across  the  table.  a  quiet  offering.  “the  baron’s  cup ,  already ?  spring  has  come  with  so  little  ceremony  this  year.  or  perhaps  i  have  simply  not  paid  it  enough  attention.”

LOCATION : kensington gardens & grosvenor street STATUS: open

fingers brushed carefully against the heads of wildflowers, as if she admired them simply for their beauty. a smile tugging her lips, and only if observed closely revealing the hint of mischief hiding a secret. the truth was she’d been studying each of them in hope they’d be useful for her homemade remedies. her gaze only shifting to make sure no one was watching her, when she’d slip the chosen blooms into the pocket beneath her cloak. spotting a fine sprig of feverfew, lydia bent low to pluck it but a shadow falling across her stopping her mid-theft. straightening at once, she turned, smoothing her skirt in an attempt to appear as if she was simply admiring a simple sprig. heat tinted her cheeks and yet she lifted her chin, offering a bright smile.

gaze  had  lingered  long  before  her  shadow  could  be  seen  ,  perhaps  even  too  long.  not  out  of  suspicion.  it  was  the  simple  ,  quiet  and  idle  way  one  might  watch  a  bird  rustle  through  the  hedges.  delicate.  lost  in  the  anonymity  her  space  had  granted  …  isadora  met  flushed  cheeks  with  a  matching  hue  of  her  own.  she  did  not  speak  ,  not  right  away.  letting  her  eyes  slip  from  trembling  feverfew  still  caught  between  the  girl’s  fingers.  hands  folded  loosely  before  her.  “you  are  lucky  then  ,”  isadora  chose.  voice  warm  ,  clear  as  tea  left  to  steep  in  afternoon  light.  “feverfew  are  the  forgiving  sort.  some  herbs  sulk  when  picked  under  false  pretenses—  but  should  you  mean  to  rescue  them  …”

London, slowly, begins to feel like home again. He had despised it for so long, entertained the idea that this could ever be where he belonged only if he could tear it apart or hide in the cracks of their high society. He had devoted himself to the fracture of it all. France had been home if only because there was no time to reminisce, none of it familiar and all his to determine what was the very best and the very worst.

But wherever Isadora was, he could find himself breathe ease into the world home once more.

He recalls when they had met, when they were all strangers. Sienna was just a word passed between his parents and then when she came into their home, there had been another behind her. Not a shadow, no, but some light behind the eclipse that was the woman to be his wife. Behind her had been Isadora, intertwined with her, but a beauty in her own right. How curious he had been, and how nervous to figure out what it would take to make her look him in the eye and show who she was.

"Any plan has robbed me of running amuck and finding you sooner," He said, shaking his head as they entered the cafe. "It is a crime for Sienna to have disclosed you came with her, even if it was an easy assumption. I did not suspect she would be back so soon that I could not imagine she would drag you back here with her."

The smell of her perfume is gone against the cakes and pastries, and he only wishes she could sit closer than the tables would allow. As soon as two patrons leave, he quickly pulls the seat out for her.

isadora  moved  alongside  him  ,  taking  the  offered  seat  with  a  faint  smile.  her  particular  brand  —not  fully  touching  corners  of  her  eyes.  the  gesture  polished  ,  unthinking.  like  so  many  of  hers  ,  practiced  in  another  life  ,  before  loss  had  turned  her  posture  into  armor.  london  still  felt  strange  beneath  her.  and  now  more  so  as  he  sat  across  ,  cutting  into  it  all  with  a  sort  of  gentleness  she  was  not  sure  he  knew  he  possessed.  “i  do  believe  it  was  you  who  once  told  me  that  assumptions  are  dangerous  ,  arden.”    she  said  lightly  ,  smoothing  the  fabric  of  her  skirt  as  her  hands  folded  into  her  lap.  tone  was  meant  to  tease  ,  but  there  was  an  edge  of  something  else  beneath  it—almost  fondness  ,  almost  fear.

“she  has  always  known  how  to  get  what  she  wants.  should  that  be  as  simple  as  requesting  my  company  ,  who  am  i  to  question  that ?”  the  corners  of  her  mouth  turned  again  ,  still  not  quite  a  smile.  more  the  ghost  of  one.  reluctant  and  unresolved.  she  allowed  her  gaze  to  wander  about.  not  exactly  avoiding  his  ,  but  retreating  in  a  way  that  was  its  own  sort  of  grace.

meeting  his  eyes  always  felt  like  stepping  too  close  to  the  edge  of  something  she  could not  name.  arden  had  a  way  of  seeing  through  her  ... leaving  her  both  exposed  and  inexplicably  safe.  it  was  too  much ,  sometimes —too  close  to  something  she  didn’t  trust  herself  to  want.  in  truth  ,  she  had simply  never  desired  to  question  sienna’s  wish  to  keep  her  near.  it  was  a  sole  comfort  offered  by  the  cruelty  of  their  world.

as  gaze  blinked  back  to  meet  his  ,  isadora  stilled.  a  passing  moment  in  which  she  existed  in  silence  ,    playing  the  part  and  steadying  the  edges  of  herself.  as  though  her  composure  was  nothing  more  than  blown  glass—  beautiful  ,  but  easily  shattered  and  meant  to  remain  untouched.  “you  know  i  can’t  offer  you  an  answer  to  that  ,”  she  whispered  ,  words  carefully  measured.  honesty  had  always  been  the  best  she  could  give  ,  but  it  had  to  be  polished.  trimmed  down  into  something  palpable.  “it  is  not  my  place.  i  know  you  mean  well.  but  arden  …  her  privacy  is  not  mine  to  give.”

was  it  always  like  this  —  loyalty  to  one  person  could  feel  so  close  to  betrayal  to  another  ?

“Isn’t it?” Maude hummed happily, before narrowing her eyes playfully, “I’ve been begging for the recipe for months now, but their lips are sealed…no matter how many times i plead, i’m told it’s confidential.” Shrugging, she twirled a curl around her finger, “I guess I can’t blame them, if I could conjure such magic with flour and eggs i’d do the same.” Her brown eyes studied the woman before her. She was lovely and her presence was as soft as a rose petal, but Maude knew what it was like for society to force its hand — to make one play the role of quiet and demure — and she wondered if the glint in Isadora’s eyes was a reflection of her wanting to be free. Maude knew she shouldn’t assume, but she’d met so many ladies who felt the need to dim their light for society’s standards — and it broke her heart.

“hm  ,”  isadora  mused  —  pondering  the  window  for  only  a  breath  before  turning  back  to  the  woman  with  whom  she  already  found  herself  far  too  at  ease.  bright  flicker  of  mischief  swelled  in  her  chest.  “have  you  considered  bribing  them?  i’ve  often  heard  such  things  tend  to  loosen  lips  far  quicker  than  begging.”  suggestion  slips  free  before  she  can  catch  it.  a  breath  hangs  suspended  …  her  stillness  betraying  worry  that  it  might  be  taken  as  anything  other  than  a  passing  joke.  just  a  thread  of  humor  ,  meant  to  soften  the  edges  of  a  conversation  already  blooming  with  warmth.  but  isadora  knows  better  than  to  assume.  the  ton  does  not  always  welcome  her  particular  brand  of  wit.

“Oh! I’m terribly sorry — no, truly, I believe I was the one in the way. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” She said with a light laugh, straightening as her hand dropped from the ribbon. Her bonnet remained half-undone — a telling sign of just how distracted she’d been, torn between untying it and deciding on a pastry order. “I promise, the lemon tart is not on my list — at least, not today. But if you’ve your eye on the last chocolate tartelette… well, we may have a problem.” Georgiana raised a hand in jest, as though excusing herself from all responsibility. That familiar, friendly smile had already begun to tug at the corners of her lips.

She stepped to the entrance and lingered just beside the open door, tilting her head toward the sweet-scented warmth within in quiet invitation. “I was hoping to take a few sweet things home to my sisters, as a surprise. But I fear I always choose the most predictable options — hardly surprising anymore. Do you have any favourites you might recommend?”

the  half  loosened  bonnet  and  easy  laughter  of  the  woman  before  drew  a  smile  across  isadora’s  lips  ,  bright  as  the  sunlight  streaming  down  upon  them.  head  dipped  ,  slightly  in  apology  ,  a  gesture  more  instinct  than  thought.  “forgive  me  ,  my  lady  ..”  she  murmured  ,  voice  low  and  earnest.  “i  fear  i  was  quite  in  the  way  !”  a  flicker  of  humor  softened  her  words.  as  though  unable  to  help  but  meet  kindness  with  kindness.  “i  only  meant  to  say—”  she  added  ,  gathering  her  courage  in  the  space  of  a  breath.  “there  is  nothing  truly  sweeter  than  choosing  a  familiar  and  somehow  ..  finding  it  new  again.”  careful  ,  measured  step  was  taken  towards  georgiana’s  side  ,  mindful  not  to  overstep.  “predictable  options  are  often  the  most  well  loved  for  a  reason.”  

scent  of  butter  and  sugar  drifted  from  the  open  door  as  they  both  moved  inside  ,  a  quiet  longing  stirring  back  to  life  within  her  chest.  homecomings  ,  she  had  often  worried  ,  were  not  always  such  grand  things.  but  this  one  was  proving  to  be  far  better  than  she  could  have  hoped.  “and  yet  ,”  isadora  ventured  ,  tilting  her  head  with  a  half  shy  smile.  “there  always  do  seem  to  be  such  wonders  tucked  away  ,  just  out  of  sight.”  laughter  bubbled  from  the  depths  of  her  chest  ,  gloves  fingers  lifting  to  brush  a  curl  back  from  her  face.  “oh!  i  am  ,  by  no  means  ,  an  expert  in  these  matters.  i  chose  as  the  heart  does—  by  the  gleam  of  sugar  in  the  light  ,  or  the  way  a  scent  can  summon  a  memory  you  had  forgotten.”  lingering  smile  graces  over  features  ,  touched  with  something  deeper  ,  tenderness  that  perhaps  did  not  belong  in  polite  conversation  with  a  stranger.  

"Sienna made her presence known as soon as she stepped on English soil," He assures her, and he can still taste the honey on his tongue. "It is impossible to not know she has returned, even if the Oliviers have insisted she have some discretion. To be quiet and humble was never a skill of hers."

It had been what he admired in her, what he adored in place of love. A room could be commanded to silence if only to let her beauty speak. If a man was not captivated, a woman was green with envy and it never compared to the emeralds around her neck. Above all else, his former wife was a force of nature and he untangled himself from the twist of her ravenous winds. He would have never minded to live in their destruction had she not crossed over to the one thing Arden refused to destroy.

But Isadora had always been hers the way Benedict had always been his. He knew he circled around her territory, the one thing no one else was permitted to touch. Yet, where Sienna must have seen a doll on a shelf— Arden saw her as a saint casted in ivory.

“would  you  have  expected  anything  less ?”  words  fell  from  her  with  a  short  gasp  of  breath  ,  as  though  laughter  and  sorrow  had  tangled  together  within  her  throat.  isadora  had  long  since  learned  ,  there  was  still  safety  to  be  held  in  speaking  her  mind—  if  only  with  a  precious  few.  but  there  would  always  be  something  about  the  way  arden  spoke  of  sienna.  a  kind  of  awe  clinging  to  the  edges  of  his  voice.  her  head  bowing  down  gently  in  understanding  ;  sienna  had  always  been  untouchable  in  that  way.  free  of  expectation  ,  free  of  the  restraint  that  seemed  stitched  into  isadora’s  very  bones.  she  lived  as  she  pleased  ,  demanding  the  world  fall  into  step  with  her  …  and  never  once  asked  for  permission.

but  it  had  never  been  isadora’s  place  to  come  between  them.  not  then  ,  certainly  not  now.  even  when  her  chest  ached  under  the  weight  of  it  ,  even  when  the  threads  of  friendship  strained  and  pulled— whatever  wars  they  fought  ,  whatever  tenderness  or  betrayal  existed  between  sienna  and  arden  ,  it  was  not  hers  to  heal  or  to  harm.

instead  ,  with  a  grace  born  of  long  practiced  habit  ,  gloved  hand  slipped  through  curve  of  his  offered  arm.  his  warmth  bled  through  the  fine  fabric  ,  steady  and  heartbreakingly  familiar.  as  though  no  years  had  passed.  she  allowed  the  shift  in  conversation  to  lift  her  spirit.  “no  ,”  she  countered  with  a  whispering  laugh  ,  tilting  head  to  him.  “i  do  believe  it  is  you  who  gives  me  far  too  much  credit.”  i  am  nothing  ,  the  thought  ghosted  through  her  mind. but held tongue  trapped  it  behind  her  teeth ;  a  bitter  prayer  she  refused  to  utter  aloud.  

as millicent walked around town, she felt like she was in a little bit of a haze. it was always going to be overwhelming to come back to a new town but to be faced with the prospect of losing her husband and then whatever it was that had happened between the two of them... it was overwhelming to say the least. really, millicent was just trying to keep her head above water and she hoped a walk through the familiar streets would succeed in doing just that.

truth  be  told  ,  it  took  isadora  a  moment  to  trust  sight  of  her  own  eyes.  as  recognition  settled  ,  it  all  blossomed  across  her  features  —  surprise  ,  delight  ,  and  something  close  to  relief  weaving  into  a  smile.  she  dipped  into  a  graceful  and  practiced  curty  ,  breath  of  laughter  dancing  from  her  lips.  “lady  grant  !  oh  ,  how  marvelous  to  see  you.”  words  tumbled  out  brighter  and  far  more  excited  than  she  had  intended  ,  but  too  genuine  were  they  to  be  reined  in.  “please  ,  allow  me  to  take  such  blame.  i  fear  i  was  too  distracted  by  the  scent  of  pastries  to  focus  properly.”  she  shifted  to  the  side  ,  skirts  whispering  against  the  street  as  she  made  way  for  the  hurried  passersby  ,  gaze  focusing  upon  the  lady  before  her.

With his neatly crooked smile, William leaned back in his chair as if he were completely at ease within this environment as he surveyed this unfamiliar face. “Oh, I am no matchmaker; I’ll leave that to the over-eager mamas and the queen herself.” William practically laughed into his tankard. So many had seemed in want of a husband or wife, yet so few were actually willing to make an offer for various reasons. Commitment shyness perhaps was one, but those in London high society had believed they were both in want of a love match, yet needing them to at least match their status. He took a moment to look around; there was nothing so scandalous this evening that would make him blush, but in terms of high society, hardly anyone of London’s elite would be caught dead in here.

“hm  ,  and  do  you  make  it  a  habit  of  analyzing  everyone  you  meet  ?  or  have  i  simply  caught  you  in  a  particularly  delightful  mood  this  evening  ?”  her  words  come  too  quickly  ,  flash  of  teeth  where  they  should  have  been  grace.  a  bite  where  she  had  only  meant  to  prod.  color  rises  to  cheeks  ,  reflecting  choices.  spewed  disdain  had  not  meant  to  be  tossed  upon  him.  isadora  is  perhaps  too  envious  of  those  around  them  ,  soaked  with  unspoken  bitterness.  it  isn’t  the  lack  of  rule  she  craves.  more  so  their  ease  at  throwing  such  aside.  even  if  she  is  allotted  more  than  most  ,  there  feels  as  if  pieces  are  missing.  something  she  has  never  been  quite  able  to  grasp.  it’s  infuriating.  

"I have already crossed paths with Sienna. It seemed to have slip her mind to disclose to me that you accompanied her, but I suppose it was my fault to assume otherwise," He admits, though he knows it is deliberate on Sienna's part. It always was. If anyone knew what he cherished, even after all this time, it was his former wife.

Wherever Sienna has been hiding, some cave in France or dungeon on the countryside, he is relieved that not a single shadow is casted upon her. The sun searches for her between those pushing through the streets, and Arden resists the urge to shove them out of the way. When it finally finds her, she makes him doubt how he could have ever lived without her for so long. It had been years since they'd been apart, and maybe the madness had finally settled in.

"Then perhaps a beignet, whatever you are in the mood for. Let me treat you this afternoon," Arden pleads. "I'm sure you and Sienna traveled endlessly, and I can only wonder where it is you ended up."

“ah  ,”  she  murmured.  gaze  just  lifting  to  meet  his  with  slightest  tilt  of  her  head.  “you  have  already  encountered  sienna.  i  had  wondered  how  long  it  might  take  for  your  paths  to  cross.”  smile  worn  was  soft  ,  though  not  sweet  as  previously  had  been.  entangled  upon  something  unreadable.  “i  fear ,”  she  began  again  ,  voice  almost  too  quiet  for  the  space  it  filled.  isadora  cast  eyes  down  to  brush  away  invisible  dirt  from  pleat  of  her  skirt.  “i  do  not  possess  may  other  options  of  where  i  might  be.  at  her  side  has  become  a  sort  of  …  home.”

weight  of  truth  spoken  settled  heavy  within  her  chest.  as  if  the  second  it  left  her  lips  ,  it  had  become  real.  she  hadn’t  even  meant  to  say  it  so  plainly  ,  but  the  words  tumbled  loose—  pebbles  down  a  hillside.  inevitable.  it  had  always  been  sienna.  not  because  the  world  had  offered  no  one  else  ,  but  simply  because  no  one  else  had  chosen  to  stay.  not  even  her  own  father.  though  affection  had  been  lopsided  from  the  beginning  …  she  had  always  been  a  constant.  

isadora  blinked  such  a  thought  away  ,  refusing  to  allow  its  shadow  to  stretch  over  the  golden  spill  of  the  afternoon.  most  certainly  not  when  he  stood  so  close  ,  not  when  his  eyes  held  something  she  had  never  dated  to  imagine  :  joy.  joy  at  her.  “now  that  is  entirely  unfair  ,”  she  mused.  light  teasing  still  woven  through  the  voice.  “you  can’t  possibly  use  my  most  favorite  dessert  as  a  bargaining  chip  and  expect  me  to  do  anything  other  than  blindly  surrender !”