and the songbirds keep singing

𝒊 𝒔𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒑. 𝒊 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒈𝒐.

                                                                                     𝒊 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊 𝒂𝒎 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏.

It felt like she’d been in the salon for years, not hours. There were so many people, so much noise, and too many things happening for her to ever fully relax, and she felt almost hypervigilant as she glanced around, taking in face after face and yet seeing no one. She’d lost track of Dottie ages ago, and Sophia had disappeared sometime around the evening meal, which meant she was on her own. Which was fine, of course –– she hadn’t expected both women to remain at her side all night, after all –– but perhaps she hadn’t realized how long the event would drag on, and she was exhausted, and there were at least three more dances, if she’d been keeping correct track of her dance card (which, if she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t entirely sure she had), which meant at least another half hour of this. 

God, she just wanted to be curled up in a chair with a book. 

How she was going to do this for most of the year, she had no clue. But there was nothing for it now –– Sophia was nowhere to be seen, which meant she could not slip out with her godsister, and she would not leave her best friend behind. Even if Sophia was likely having a far better time than she was. 

One hand came up to her necklace, fingertips idly tracing over the painted cameo pendant as she glanced around once more. She wasn’t sure what, exactly, she was looking for, only that she knew if she were to stand alone and unoccupied on the side of the dance floor, she would certainly be a source of gossip the next day. Catherine might be new to London, but she knew that much, at least. And then...there he was. She blinked, her eyes widening, and then blinked again, closing her eyes deliberately tightly only to open them once more. Surely she was mistaken. It couldn’t possibly be––

“William!” She didn’t think about how it would look, or how people might stare, or the fact that she was nearly flying across the salon and interrupting a conversation between him and a set of ladies –– a young woman and her chaperone, she might have noticed, had she eyes for anyone other than him ––  or anything, really, other than the fact that he was here. Catherine nearly tripped over her dress as she reached him, her eyes wide, her heart in her throat. “My god, it’s really you –– I –– how are you?”

WHEN HE WAS WICKED SENTENCE STARTERS.

change pronouns and gendered nouns as necessary.

“i didn’t say you had to marry her. just dance with her once or twice.”

“you will not approach ____, you will not even breathe the same air. do i make myself clear?”

“i’m just so angry, and i’m sad, and i’m upset, and i look at you and i don’t understand why you’re not.”

“i thought it was a lady’s prerogative to change her mind.”

“it’s a lady’s prerogative to do anything she wants.”

“of course you have a terrible reputation. but you are endlessly charming, and so you are always forgiven.”

“but don’t you dare say i didn’t warn you. once you are out in society, and the young ladies have you backed into a corner with their mamas coming in for the kill, you will be begging for my help.”

“i love you, did you know that?”

“you really ought to endeavor to calm down.”

“it isn’t gossip, it’s the honest dissemination of information.”

“am i meant to take solace in that?”

“if one more person asks me about _____, i swear my head will explode.”

“and what renders him so unmarriageable?”

“well, i would have defended myself. my brothers showed me how.”

“for heaven’s sake, you of all people ought to understand the insanity of such a suggestion.”

“don’t you want another kiss?”

“i hereby vow not to ravish you. at least not this morning, and not without your permission.”

“i don’t know. i need more time.”

“you haven’t exactly been the model of christian rectitude.”

“don’t push my temper.”

“for god’s sake, _____, can’t you let me think? can’t you give me just a little time to think?”

“the gesture, you mean? why, i’m courting you.”

“i wouldn’t dream of forcing you to endure my company for one moment longer.”

“i don’t know a damned thing, _____. i don’t even know you any longer.”

“if you can’t be with me, if you can’t give all of yourself to me, then i want you gone.”

“why? it’s because i love you, damn me to hell. because I’ve always loved you.

“and god only knows i don’t deserve you, but i love you, anyway.”

“if this is to end, you will have to do it. you will have to walk away, _____. because now…after everything…i’m just not strong enough to say goodbye.”

“i’ll marry you, if you’ll still have me.”

“i don’t know. don’t make me figure it out.”

“there will be no backing out. no cold feet. no changed minds.”

“you will be mine. this is it. do you understand?”

“_____, don’t be daft.”

“eager little thing, aren’t we?”

“what the devil are you doing to me?”

“i…started feeling something for someone that perhaps i shouldn’t have done.” 

“now why would i do that when i can dance with you instead?”

“say the word and i will crush his ribs.”

“were you watching me?”

“i’m always watching you.”

“heaven forbid i find love.”

“you, my dear, are clearly the catch of the season.”

“you live to flirt and seduce.”

“and here i thought i knew everything about you.”

“this is a very odd conversation for the breakfast table.”

“oh, don’t look at me like I’m about to kill your cat.”

“it’s better with you here.”

“you can’t ask this of me. i can’t do it.”

“i think— i think we had better not see each other for a while.”

“you can’t just dismiss me.”

“oh, you know. all those things i have to do to prepare for a life of dissolution and aimlessness.”

“i wish you wouldn’t speak that way.” 

“very well. tell me about something wicked, then.”

“____, there are some things you will never understand.”

“that’s a terrible thing to say.”

“forgive me. i’m tired, i’m cold, and i’m an ass.”

“it’s good to see you again. it truly is.”

“i believe my reputation can withstand it.”

“chin up, _____. i’m sure you will endure.”

“don’t you dare try your usual tricks on me. i know exactly how you operate.”

“i don’t believe i have ever seen you quite so put out.”

“marry her. it seems simple enough.”

“last i checked, there was nothing illegal in that.”

“i want a baby. is there something surprising in that?”

“it is the silliest—no, quite the stupidest—question i have ever heard.”

“i hadn’t meant to kiss you.”

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐆𝐎 👀.

okay so i got like, three books delivered this week, and in anticipation i reread another book that i had, and lads, let me tell ye, it was like quicksand. so now i have a list, some from my head, many from my wonderful friends’ heads, of prompts that basically made us all very soft or very “pleasantly scandalized rich lady from the sixties who just found out a juicy bit of goss about the new neighbor”. i hope ye like them! (DO NOT ADD TO THE LIST. I WILL MAKE A PART TWO. AND THREE. AND FOUR. MANY MANY PARTS. EVENTUALLY. )

[ HAIR ]:          sender slowly reaches out to catch a loose strand of the receiver’s hair and tuck it gently and securely back behind their ear, letting their touch linger afterwards. (if the receiver has short hair, then the sender reaches out and gently runs their fingers through their hair to smooth it back.)

[ CLOSE ]:          while standing remarkably close to one another, the sender is unable to stop themselves from running their gaze across the receiver’s body, lingering for a moment on their lips, before returning to initiate prolonged, intense eye contact.

[ CHIN ]:          as they stand close to one another, the sender hooks a finger and tenderly lifts the receiver’s chin, tilting it up so that they can look at one another, and running a thumb across their skin lightly.

[ THUMB ]:          while cupping the receiver’s cheek in their hand, the sender slowly glides their thumb across their cheekbone in a tender, sweeping caress.

[ WOUND ]:          upon noticing a recent injury on the receiver’s person, the sender carefully moves closer, running a thumb (or hand) across the wound in a gentle, troubled manner.

[ INHALE ]:          while standing in very close quarters to the receiver, the sender shakily inhales with desire/anticipation as they realize how intimately close they are to one another.

[ DANCE ]:          when alone together (e.g. the bedroom, the kitchen, literally anywhere once they’re alone) the sender takes the receiver’s hand, and pulls them into a graceful yet intimate dance as a spontaneous act.

[ BARE ]:          as they get undressed, the sender gently places a soft, tender kiss against the receiver’s bare shoulder.

[ SCAR ]:          noticing a scar on the receiver’s skin, the sender tentatively stops them from covering it up, and rests a gentle, soft kiss over it.

[ FOREHEAD ]:          placing a hand on the back of the receiver’s neck, the sender guides them close and rests their foreheads together.

[ PALM ]:          taking the receiver’s hand, the sender brings it to their mouth, and places a tender kiss against the receiver’s palm.

[ LINGER ]:          taking the receiver’s hand, the sender lifts it to their lips, and gently kisses their knuckles, lingering for a moment before withdrawing.

[ BEHIND ]:         upon entering the same room as the receiver, the sender steps behind them, and winds their arms around the receiver’s waist, drawing them close against them.

[ WAIT ]:          realizing the receiver is about to leave the room, the sender hastily reaches out and catches their wrist, preventing them from continuing their departure.

[ ARM ]:          after holding their hand, the sender releases the receiver, but slowly glides their hand up the full length of their arm, lingering on the upper arm, then the shoulder, then resting their touch against the side of their neck.

[ HOLD ]:          while close to the receiver, the sender wordlessly takes a hold of their hand, for no other purpose than to be holding it.

[ PLAY ]:          while sitting together, the sender absently lifts the receiver’s hand, idly running their fingertips across the lines of their palms, mapping out every inch of their hand with slow, lazy touches.

[ GUIDE ]:          in the process of guiding the receiver through a crowded place, the sender’s hand protectively grazes against the small of their back

[ TOUCH ]:          while touching the receiver’s waist, the sender’s hand briefly dips beneath the hem of their shirt, skimming briefly across the bare skin of their waist.

[ CUP ]:           bringing both hands up to cup the receiver’s face, the sender draws them in closer to them in order to get a better look at their face.

[ TUG ]:          the sender tugs the receiver close against them by resting a hand against the small of their back, pulling them flush against their body.

[ HUSH ]:          while standing close to one another and hiding from pursuers, the sender reaches up and places a finger against the receiver’s lips to prevent them from speaking and revealing their location.

@starvedheart​ asked a question: i don’t understand why a ball that takes place before parliament starts is any more special than one of the dozens that will take place afterwards.

the woman’s steps falter for only the briefest of moments when their eyes meet.

she radiates an unassuming sort of enthusiasm that elevates her appearance from lovely to delightful when she smiles at the first gentleman to sweep her into a dance in evident appreciation at being singled out by the other sex. it has caught hakim’s notice some hours ago for the first time and it does again now that she speaks.

english rose, is what comes to mind when he shifts his gaze in her direction for the first time that evening after he notices how out of breath she appears to be, a rosy blush creeping up her neck and spreading across her cheeks. dancing can be a taxing activity for those in tight-laced corsets and he’s rather certain the stuffy air in the salon isn’t exactly accommodating those who love to twirl and spin. but it’s her cadence that interests him, one that cannot be described as anything but dreamy and he’s fairly confident in having detected the slightest hint of something far more unpolished in her voice than her appearance would lead him to believe. there’s no noble drawl and the lack of a retinue begging to be noticed is yet another indication that while the woman might be of high enough status to warrant a place in london society, she is virtually nothing against those of nobler birth.

and so he concludes this: it is her appearance, only, that has the men falling at her feet.

does that make her the hunter, or the hunted?

hakim’s acknowledgment of her words is a fluid, flawless bow of his head. “a political woman,” he muses while his dark, inquisitive eyes remain pinned on her features, the ghost of a smile tracing his own. “such a rarity.”

.

Political. The idea made her want to laugh, and it was only through remembering the way more than one woman had sneered at her when she had laughed heartily at someone’s comment earlier that she managed to stop herself. “Not so, unfortunately,” she admitted quietly, amusement still sparkling behind her eyes as she looked away, the earlier rejection of the ladies of the ton still stinging slightly, like the reddening of skin after being brushed with poison oak leaves. “Merely...clueless.” The question had been without guile, after all –– she truly did not understand the difference between this ball and all the ones that would be to come in the next series of months. “Is it the act of parliament still being closed that makes this one special, or is it merely special because it is the first?” Again, there was an honesty to her questions that was, though she did not realize it, incredibly rare in London. Her lips parted as if to make way for more questions, but she stopped, blinked, and then pressed a hand to her chest in apology. 

“I’m so sorry –– Miss Catherine Lovelace,” she introduced herself, remembering only after she spoke that there was an art form to this sort of thing, there were rules, and she was, she thought, perhaps not supposed to be the one to speak first. Or maybe she was? Her godmother was going to be beside herself if she caught up to her. She winced, visibly, and dipped into a quick curtsy, as if that would make up for any potential faux pas she’d committed. “I’m afraid I’m not very good at this sort of thing,” she confided, clasping her hands together now, her fingers lacing together and then unclasping, twisting around each other in a nervous fidget. 

@starvedheart​: “If you’re not careful, one of your feathers is going to catch on fire from that candle.” 

A kindly meant warning and perhaps all the more surprising for it, Alexandre straightened up in surprise and muttered, “I’m not a peacock.” Still, Alex looked around carefully for a flame they might have overlooked. The abundance of mirrors lining the walls cast a warm glow through the air and candles were left to dot the room here and there in some unlikely places - that decorative ring holding candles around the top of a pillar, was that truly snug? Part of Alex wanted to reach up and tug on it, but considering that he wasn’t an arsonist and didn’t want to actually set anything on fire, he chose not to. Maybe Kate would be proud of his self control if Alexandre admitted to such out loud.

Another step back, it seemed, and a fire might very well have been possible. “Am I just that tall, or is that a very low and ill placed candle?” Alex asked, before remember just who he was talking to. Smiling slowly, Alex shrugged a shoulder. “Don’t answer that, please.” Exactly how it seemed that some of his favorite people to spend time with were all tiny made no sense to Alex, but it seemed the best people were pocket sized. Finishing off their flute of champagne and depositing it carelessly on a nearby table, Alexandre offered her an arm. “For the sake of my own safety, I think you should take me away from here, don’t you?”

.

She grinned as he straightened up, startled, and shot him a covert wink when he turned towards her, grumbling good-naturedly about peacocks and height. “Of course not –– you are a very graceful swan,” she reassured them, still grinning, her tone holding the sort of fondness one usually reserved for only the dearest of friends. Not that Alex was not a dear friend, but –– perhaps one should not be addressing a member of the French royal family with such...familiarity. Her grin only broadened as they asked her not to answer the question –– it was hypothetical, Kitty! –– and she inclined her head in recognition of the request before looping her arm through his proffered one. 

“For your safety, of course,” she agreed, her free hand reaching out to gather her skirt and sweep her train behind her, careful of the table as she did. “Have you seen Sophia yet?” Catherine asked, brows raised, her grin faltering for only the briefest of seconds as she watched his expression. She had not yet puzzled out the relationship between the two of them, nor had Sophia been particularly forthcoming on any of the details she’d dared to ask about. Alex was, to the best of her approximations, a cousin of Sophia’s late husband, and the two had developed a close friendship at some point before her husband’s untimely death. If there was something more lurking between the two of them, she had not yet been able to figure out exactly what it was, but...there was something in Sophia’s eyes whenever Alex’s name was mentioned, and flamboyant though he may be, Catherine herself had been charmed from their first meeting. 

Perhaps there was nothing there –– perhaps she was just projecting her own hopes onto the two of them, like a group of children playing house. 

“I fear I got separated from her for a bit –– Lord Smythe had reserved a quadrille on my dance card and by the time I was able to extract myself she was nowhere to be found. You’ll have to forgive me for stealing away your time, even if it was to save your life, as it might also be partially to save my own,” she confessed, catching sight of the aging lord out of the corner of her eye and quickly angling her body a bit more toward Alex’s as they walked. 

“ Are you alright ? You look faint, I think you should sit the next dance out. ”

                                                                                           — @starvedheart

             “ but where would be the fun in that ? ” she laughed, putting on the sparkliest smile she could muster. chills ran along the young lady’s arms as she observed the bustling ballroom, enraptured by the elegance of it all. throughout the entirety of her twenty-three years, not once had she ever felt unsure of herself — her parents, the estate staff, & all her friends had made sure to remind the girl of her superior virtues — but since arriving in london adelaide felt anything but adequate. the women were too beautiful, the men were too charming, & all she had was a fading sense of hubris. perhaps her anxiety ( a feeling that was uncomfortably new to her ) had begun to show more than she’d realized. “ how would it look to be the only lady not dancing… at a ball no less ! speaking of, i don’t think i’ve seen you grace the floor once this evening. “ adelaide responded, trying to deflect the conversation off of herself for once.

.

Oh –– she reminded Catherine instantly of Dottie, with her musical laugh and her smile nearly blinding as she waved away any concerns. Anyone might be fooled by the airiness of her tone, but the other woman’s face was still a bit pale, her eyes a bit wider than they, perhaps, should have been. Maybe she needed something to eat. Catherine’s own stomach was starting to protest the lack of actual sustenance at such a late hour, and was beginning to wish she’d listened to Sophia when her godsister had urged her to eat. She’d been too nervous before her first real ball since debuting, but she was realizing now that Sophia had, of course, been far wiser than she. “Hmm? Oh,” she flushed immediately at the pointed realization, and her free hand went to the dance card that was hanging from her other wrist. “I –– I’m afraid my dance card is a bit more full later on in the evening, rather than earlier,” Catherine admitted, still blushing as she smiled sheepishly. “Though, if you wanted to sit out, perhaps we could walk to the refreshments, and it might...” She trailed off, trying to think of what Dottie might say in her place. “Show off...our figures...to the gentlemen?” That felt like the wrong thing to say, but alas –– it was already said, and she could not take it back now. 

“Don’t move, I think I just heard something rip.”

The sentence caused Sophia to pause and turn slowly, brow arched as she looked at the woman whom she so fondly called sister. “What do you mean you just heard something rip?” She questioned, a small bout of anxiety beginning to bubble within her. Her first real event outside of mourning and her outfit had ripped? 

A whine threatened to escape her, and she looked at her best friend with concern, “Please, for the love of all that is holy, tell me it is not noticeable Kate. I would not be able to bare it if it were.” 

@starvedheart​

.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Catherine said soothingly, though she wasn’t entirely sure if it was. Practiced eyes swept across the train of the other woman’s dress, then up the sides, finding no gaping hole, no ragged seam. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this well in hand,” she swore, brows raising slightly even as she continued to look over Sophia’s dress. Turning slightly, she bent just a touch to inspect the back of her skirt again, and then spotted it; the hem had split just a touch, right along the edge of the train. She tutted softly, trying to hide her wince. It wasn’t noticeable, not truly, and would be child’s play to mend, but she couldn’t whip out a needle and thread in the middle of a ballroom. “Your heel must have caught,” she said, more to herself than to Sophia, and then, realizing how that would make her godsister panic, she placed a reassuring hand on the other woman’s elbow. “It’s not noticeable, I swear to you, Soph, and it’s perfectly fixable, just–– be still for one moment.” 

A quick glance around the room, ensuring that no one was watching her, and she slipped her middle finger through the decorative bow she’d sewn onto her reticule earlier that day, snapping it off neatly and then untying the ribbon with practiced fingers. When she was satisfied no eyes were staring her way, she crouched behind her best friend and quickly bustled up the hem, tying it off with the ribbon so that the torn hem would not catch on anything else through the night. “There,” she said, rising back up into a standing position with a satisfied smile, touching Sophia’s shoulder this time to signal that she was done. “No one will notice the difference,” she promised.