awakening

The last thing Isabella wanted to be doing was attending a ball. If Bella had even an inkling of her way, she would have stayed in Cheltenham instead of their usual migration to the town. But of course, she did not have any choice in the matter. Even travelling to London had been difficult, the girl having simply slept against her brother’s shoulder the whole way through. Since Byron had left, she had turned into a spectre. The days and weeks after his departure, she had shut herself in her room barely eating. She hadn’t known what day it was. Or how many days had passed since he told her goodbye and abandoned her to see the world. Her brothers, her sisters, and Nancy had all tried pulling Bella back to the living, but she hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone. She couldn’t. Because if she did, then the reality of what had happened would tidal over her and knock her flailing and breathless. The clock of life would begin to tick forward. Every time she had tempted the thought, her chest seemed to choke her. It physically hurt, like a noose tightening around her neck squeezing both air and tears from her quaking body. If she tempted it more, a knife twisted into her. Unbearable pain wracked her. So Bella suspended time, closing her eyes and dozing in and out, not knowing whether it was day or night.

But as the days passed by, she had to face her heartbreak at some point. One day, she found herself letting Nancy force her way into her room and pull back the curtains. Bella began to eat again at her brothers’ urging, her hallowed cheeks filling out. She accepted the frantic social calls from Kitty and Ambrose. As she gradually began going along with the motions of a daily life again, she had found herself with Maggie’s letters – six of them, and she had responded, albeit even later when she couldn’t find it in her to write. What would she even say? By then, even as the footman took her letter to hand off, Bella knew the correspondence was late. Too late. And the absence of a reply from Maggie was a clear enough message of displeasure. Was Bella’s disappearance enough for their friendship to end? Six ignored letters was quite an offence.

Refusing to bother with any more niceties, Bella had simply excused herself to the veranda. The last thing Bella wanted to do was dabble in small talk, or even smile quietly. But her solace in the warm spring air was soon replaced with the company of a beautiful familiar face, one she had been quite nervous to see, nor had she mentally prepared to. Bella didn’t even know how to go about explaining why she had disappeared. ”Maggie.” The greeting fell awkwardly between the two women, uncertainty of where exactly they stood. Bella felt a familiar warmth at the sight of the blonde hair and sculpted features, all a familiar portrait. But a dark hush filled her head, a whisper of resignation. Perhaps Bella would lose Maggie like she had Byron. 

“It’s been quite awful actually.” Bella found herself admitting with a touch of annoyance at the thought of the pompous women. “Some Mothers have found it to be their business to comment that I have become more scrawny than usual, as if I was a goose needing of fattening. Terrible for birthing.” She found herself hesitating. Something that Bella was unfamiliar with as she found herself out of tune with herself, and as a result, at a loss at how to be herself with someone who she had not spoken to for a period. Finally, she remarked softly, “I wrote you. Did you receive it?”

She noticed before Bella mentioned it that her friend was thinner. Her compliment had not been ill-intended, she had always found Bella lovely, but it felt a little false when considering that for Miss Aldwyn, this was not 'well.' Worry filled her again and she nearly forgot her frustration as she fell back into their familiarity and laughed a little at the thought of the ever-pecking mothers that filled the halls of balls such as these. "Of course they found it their business, everything is their business. I'm sure my mother will say the same, if she finds you, and you have my permission to call her a hag." Maggie missed her friend, and she found herself wanting desperately to act with affection, to let all be forgiven. And yet, she could not. She didn't know to what extent her anger was justified, but still it roiled under the surface. Bella's next words left a moment's silence in the air. Maggie closed the distance between them slightly, her fingers tensing on the railing as she failed to meet Bella's gaze. "I did. I didn't get a chance to read it, however. I hope there wasn't anything important I missed." Her voice was icy. Maggie could be cruel when she wanted. It is something she had learned from her mother, learned from watching her cut others who had slighted her. It was a carefully crafted game, one with winners and losers - the winner was the one who kept the most control as they riled the other. Bella and Maggie had fought before, but over silly things, and they were fights that always resolved themselves with a hug and a smile the following day. This felt different. After another moment, Maggie pushed back slightly from the railing and inhaled, pushing stray hair behind her ears."I do -- I do not know what was so important that it delayed your response for so very long, and frankly I don't think I care at this point, Bella." She was losing her resolve, so she stopped before continuing, as that would lead to letting down her guard and actually admitting how she had been hurt. It was easier to put on the front. She tried to meet Bella's eyes for the first time and felt a twinge in her chest. "You can tell me what the letter said, if you wish."

@isabella-aldwyn​

She had been dreading the return to London for weeks. Days were spent insisting to her mother that as a future great lady, she needed to spend several months alone at Dalmeny House, learning to run it, that staying behind would be good for her - but Caroline Finch was having none of it. They were to go down, to stay with her sister, to take in the season. Her mother's sentences often continued onwards towards discussion of debuts, but Maggie usually left the room before she could go much further. She would not debut this year. Or any year, she wanted to add, knowing that was impossible, that she must continue her line in order to preserve her family's estate and title. Her mother reminded her as much often enough, the heaviness of her own struggles to conceive hanging in the air like a thick fog. So they went to London that year. The first few days were filled with family engagements (her stoic, dull cousins did little to provide any sort of comfort nor excitement) and the receiving of guests. Unsurprisingly, they did not receive the Aldwyns that week. Maggie wasn't even positive they were in town, though she expected they would have reason to be, with this year likely being Bella's first season. Not that she had received any updates on the matter, save a letter received only a week before they left Scotland, which Maggie had glanced at before violently crumpling it and shoving under her mattress. Six of her letters, properly addressed to Cheltenham (she had checked) had all gone unanswered. Bella could have taken ill and died, for all she knew -- until her letter had arrived. Up until that point, she had felt primarily worry, but now...she was angry. Hurt, truly, but that was not on the forefront of her mind, only in the deep recesses when she thought about her friend and how she had needed her, yet been cut off from that privilege. First Cecily, now Bella. Was it possible she was only tolerable in short increments? The night she saw her, eight or nine days after their arrival in town, was an unusually warm one for early spring. Stepping onto the veranda and away from the lilting music coming from the ballroom, Maggie spotted the long brown hair and big brown eyes of her friend. Or former friend. It was hard to be sure, looking at her now and feeling fluttery and excited but also a bit like she was to be sick. "Bella," she said, a little more desperately than intended. "You look...well. Lovely party, isn't it?"

From the moment she had been born, Isa had never been well. At first, it was that she wouldn’t eat, she was too cold, she didn’t weigh what a normal, healthy baby should. Benjamin, at only seven years old, was banished from the nursery, choosing instead to sit outside the giant oak door that barred him from his sister, and press his ear against it; listening, always listening, for the sounds of her cries. By some miracle, Isa lived past her infancy, and whilst their mother did not, those weeks and months spent desperate to see his sister morphed into what one could only call an interminable bond, drawing Benjamin to her like a moth to flame. His desire to protect her never faltered, loath was he to even truly let her out of his sight for too long; although work often called him away, and now, too, all these inordinate society events he had the misfortune to attend; events which he took great pains to keep her from, despite her protestations. As a form of penance, Benjamin took whatever evenings he could to spend with her, in-between meetings and hearings and whatever happenings were on at the ton.

Presently, he had taken to walking with her in Hyde Park, her arm coiled around his as they slowly picked their way forward along the snow-strewn path. They made an odd pair, undoubtedly; the newly made barrister in his disagreeable clothes with his waif of a sister who rarely left the house, walking as slowly as one was allowed to on such a busy route, talking comfortably about the events of the day. As such, it was the last thing on his mind to cross paths with someone he might know, and at the utterance of his name it took him a few moments to realise who it was that was calling him.

“Lady Roseberry.” Benjamin stopped, loosing his arm from his sister’s as he took in the sight of the Countess of Roseberry in her great carriage, the sides emblazoned with her family’s crest; a stark reminder of who and what he wasn’t. His lip curled a little, and he turned to Isa, ushering her further onward – promising to rejoin her as soon as he could. “Forgive me, my Lady, I did not expect to see you on my walk.” He bowed his head toward her, then straightened, trying his best to keep her attention on him, a pleasantry already warm on his tongue. “It is a fine evening for it, is it not?”

Mr. Ayles wasn't Maggie's favorite person in London at the moment. They hadn't enjoyed a long acquaintance, having met only a few weeks prior on some elegant evening or another. Details escaped her, but she did remember Mr. Ayles, and how he looked at her. He had approached her and her party with decorum enough, but when prodded by her companion to address "Lady Roseberry" by her proper title, she saw the small scoff, saw how his eyes darkened. It was a way she hadn't been looked at in a long time. It was resentful. And so, of course, she decided that he was oafish and not worthy of her further interest. Except she was interested, despite her best intentions. Not in any way -- improper -- but, she found herself drawn to him, so newly-risen, his life and upbringing so entirely opposite from her own. They had exchanged a few more snippy pleasantries at society events since, but nothing substantial. She knew little of his life outside of gossip and hearsay, of which there was more than enough considering his unusual situation. But it was not altogether unpleasant to run into him in the park. It was a break in the routine, if nothing more. Stepping down from her carriage, she held up a hand towards the barrister in greeting, her eyes darting to watch the woman he had walked with step away and leave only Mr. Ayles before her. "No forgiveness needed, though I can't imagine you haven't heard that Hyde Park is most popular around this hour in the wintertime." With the fashionable crowd, she adds in her head. A cut that he does not yet deserve. Maybe this is a chance to start afresh. "Is that Mrs. Ayles, then? She's very pretty, I would be delighted to be introduced."

dionysus: what’s your favorite drink? (alcoholic or not)

"I'm particularly fond of Madeira, on special occasions. Back home we had a brewer come to stay for several weeks when I was younger, so I am also accustomed to, and partial to, my family's ale."

In London, Maggie tended to arise early and retire late. There was an overabundance of social calls to make, fabrics to approve for dresses and the like, and sometimes, if she was lucky, a rare hour or two she could spend doing some deemed-acceptable leisure activity, always with the accompaniment of one or more persons. It took not sleeping in order to have any sort of personal time for herself. It was all so tenuous  - everything here felt spun out on a small thread, liable to snap in an instant. The lack of sleep probably contributed to that impression, but Maggie was jittery. At least with her position she had a say in dictating what some of the day’s activities would entail, but fewer than she hoped in these earliest days of the season, where much time was spent paying visits to her father’s old acquaintances and irritable cousins who had also made their way to the ton so as not to start a feud she had neither the time nor the patience for.

One escape had become Hyde Park. She took to riding most evenings, in the open carriage bearing her name and crest or sometimes on horseback, unless rain or snow prohibited. It was beautiful, and would be even more so as the seasons changed to springtime and the park became lush with greenery once more. It allowed her to look and be looked at in a way that wasn’t displeasing. Maggie did take pride in being admired, to a point. That point would usually be the moment when she sensed the layer of falseness underneath a compliment, or animosity in a glance. Animosity...

“Stop the carriage,” she ordered, holding up a hand to her driver, who pulled over to the side to let others pass.  Smoothing an evergreen skirt, she craned her neck forward. “Mr. Ayles? Is that you?” It was only proper to acknowledge an acquaintance of hers when meeting out in public, despite how...fragile their connection may be.