opaline.

ah. the sort of thing his mother had told him to pay attention to before he left. it had meant little to him in the moment. "it does not bother the ton mamas that she is illegitimate? i suppose mine might be able to look past it. " faintly amused, he accepts the glass. immediately brings it to his lips. swallows and cannot remember how to smile for a moment. "another close to yours, i believe? do you seek a brother in arms....angling towards marriage or against?" he certainly does not care either way.

he notes the shift in expression but does little to acknowledge it. " the ton mamas are rarely as principled as they claim. " after all, he has been on the receiving end of scrutiny when his mother's customs would serve as good gossip – then, in the very next breath, he's received flattery, when his father coffers appeared to overflow. " wealth and proximity to the crown tend to soften objections. " he lifts his own glass, but doesn't drink from it yet. " i have no particular inclination to either camp. i certainly see no reason to run towards marriage. "

he pours her a cup of tea as she's preoccupied with the desserts. " i think i deserve a position in the top five, at least. " he takes a bit of cake onto his fork, inspecting it with slight disgust. " on second thought, i will gladly accept a mere consideration. " he laughs while taking a bite. " amé and i have been trying to recruit a cook from brasil. i fear we may not be able to survive for long if we do not make the arrangements soon. " he pours his own cup of tea, adding in sugar and milk, stirring it carefully. " how often do you have turkish cuisine? i can imagine it would be hard to find around here unless if your family is smarter than ours and already have someone employed. "

" how very modest you have become all of a sudden, " she hums, a delicate finger brushing an invisible crumb off the corner of her lip. " my mother employs a chef who sees to it we do not forget where we come from, but, even then, it's an... interpretation at best. though, it is certainly no fault of dear miray. you simply cannot have börek without beyaz peynir ! " with a small incline of her head, she accepts the tea, fingers curling around the porcelain. " but brasil is far less familiar to me. the food, the people... amelia has not spared much. you, however, have never been the type for restraint. will you share with me a tale from your time abroad ? "

"so...what i missed is – two ladies jumping in a pond? that is all? surely something of greater import occurred in my absence."

" you might begin by paying attention to something beyond the most negligible spectacle, " he starts, offering etienne a glass. " there is talk that prince george's illegitimate daughter has returned to london. she is said to be seeking matches for her children. one of them is near your age, i believe. "

he returns shortly after, weaving through the crowd with a small porcelain plate balanced easily in his hand. " good, you are still upright, " he slows as he reaches her and makes note of her posture, her colour, then presents her the plate. " let us keep it that way. i should hate to be on the receiving end of your brothers' contempt. i should have asked if you had any preferences. " it's a semblance of a question, which, in his mind, is as good as the real deal. the assortment he offers is as considered and extensive as can fit on the tiny dish – a cucumber sandwich with trimmed crusts, a chicken tartlet, a lemon sponge square dusted with sugar. nothing that might turn her stomach in the heat.

" how the fuck have you not seen this — " she takes out the whistledown issue tucked away in the shelf. " mister alphonse stirling made a rather conspicuous display of his attention, presenting lady safiye durmaz with an elegant bouquet that seemed to demand admiration. "

she snatches the sheet from mali's grasp before she's able to finish reading. " this– " her brows furrow as she scans the words, eyes widening as they read the last sentence of his segment. " none of this is true. none of this is true ! he offered me a singular flower to adorn my bouquet which, i'll have you know, i declined ! and this... this lord brentwood, " she waves the paper in mali's direction, " he must be lying. "

" oh my god, safiye. are you being dense on purpose? "

" will you stop being ambiguous ! did she write of him ? "

" whistledown? "

" has she written about alphonse ? "

" not the one alphonse stirling gave you? " good thing she asked before reaching to throw it out the window.

" what are you talking about ? "

" and i am confident i will rank the highest. " he repeats himself. he thanks the maids as they place a tray of pastries on the table. " how have i not made the list when i have specially prepared all this for you! at least one of them has to be your favourite, no? " the spread was most likely requested by amelia or antonella. it did not matter since they were now under his possession.

" how persuasive you are... to think you would put all this effort with no guarantee of success ! " she mutters, but the amusement in her eyes betrays her. she isn't naive enough to believe the timing of the pastries was anything more than sheer dumb luck, but she'll bite. " hm.. " her hand hovers over the vast assortment, torturously slow, before her eyes are drawn to the glint of the glazed apricot petals. " you may consider this a preliminary assessment. " she takes a small bite, careful for the pastry to not crumble under her fingers. then finishes the tartlet in another. " not quite an entry, but perhaps a consideration. "

" oof! safi, please be kinder with your words! " he clutches against his chest, exaggerating the weight of her harmless quips. " i am confident that i will rank the highest out of all your friends. and if i fail to keep you entertained, i will blame it on emilio. his dullness can be rather contagious. " he grins.

" rank the highest of all my friends ? i'm afraid you have me mistaken, again," she shakes her head but she cannot help the grin that deepens the corners of her lips. " you, mister rafael, are the brother of my friend. you have yet to make it on the list ! "

she watches closely as amelia settles on the word – freeing. " oh, how terribly inconvenient, " there's no mockery in her tone, but perhaps something wistful ? "–to have discovered that there are places where one might live without constant observation and, yet, you must find yourself back in mayfair. " why had the castelos returned to london ? a handsome dowry could have very much granted them a happy life in the americas, or even in brazil ! she is certain that amelia was perfectly capable or making her share of friends during her time away. " last season was full of events with very little consequence. i assure you, you did not miss anything worthy of note. i suspect your tales from abroad will prove far more interesting than anything you had left behind here. "

she  glances  at  her  sister,  a  flicker  of  motion  betraying  her  composure.  oh,  safiye  knew  her  as  well  as  sevda  knew  herself.  "i  should  hope  you  know  me  to  avoid  anything  untoward."  and  still,  it  had  found  her.  a  kiss.  unexpected,  and  terribly  ill-equipped  to  face  it.  sevda  so  hated  to  be  caught  in  the  action  of  learning.  to  be  caught  breathless  and  unsure.  "would  one  expect  me  to  foster  a  clandestine  meeting?"  the  pitch  of  her  tone  was  a  fraction  too  high.  it  sang  like  a  strangled  cry  for  help,  begging  safiye  for  reassurance.  "truly?  would  anyone...  suspect  it  of  me?"

" no, no, no, " without hesitation, her protests are spoken over sevda's murmurs, steps slowing to position herself in front of her sister. " no one who knows you would think that of you, " hands place a firm grip upon her shoulders. " and those who do not know you well enough to say otherwise are simply not worth the trouble of convincing. " she gives her shoulders a squeeze – an unspoken reassurance before arms re-link, safiye's hand resting in the croook of sevda's elbow. " you look parched. let us find our way out of here. "

" is that the bouquet? " she motions toward the arrangement on the table.

" yes ! " she picks at a few stems between two fingers, fanning out the arrangement to build fullness. " the sea lavender was a clever choice – though i must give credit to lady mümine. "

" amelia has been looking for you, but i will spare you from spending time with another boring castelo. you are probably still recovering from emilio. "

" how generous of you to spare me from such suffering, " she replies, a small smile playing on her lips. " though, if i can survive a conversation with you, i am sure i will be well-equipped for some time with amelia, " she quips. in truth, she is glad to have not run into her old friend. how much longer can she continue to feign indifference ?

𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀   :   @opvlinc

he sees it before she speaks – the ever-so-slight sway in her step and the careful way in which she gathers herself for the next one. most would miss it. he does not. by the time she calls his name, he is closing the distance. " of course. please, " he offers his arm without flourish and his pace slows to match hers, attention split between her footsteps and the swiftest path forward. " the idea of a garden party in summer is certainly much more pleasant than the reality, is it not ? " he lifts his spare arm, palm raised, to bare the many layers beneath his tailcoat. he guides her to a bench, protected from the harsh sun by the branches of a sturdy english oak. " stay here a moment – i will fetch something for you to eat. "