#cowpers

kate was not a stranger to mistakes. just a few seasons ago, it was her who had to apologize to many, starting with her very sister. ❛ your apology is appreciated, lady penwood. ❜ kate gestured to the housekeeper for refreshments, guiding cressida to the seating area. ❛ last season was––– an u n p r e d i c t a b l e one. and while mistakes were made, i believe that, as long as it is a sincere one, an apology goes quite a long way. ❜

the nuances of afternoon tea continued to baffle her, even after years of governess-imposed lessons on propriety and ladyship. francesca remained well off enough to dupe lords and ladies of the ton— convincing them of her well-mannered disposition, simply as a girl with reservations and early adulthood shyness that her mother and eldest brother assured others she'd grow out of soon enough. today, in specific, she thought eloise would act as a buffer between herself and the cowper girl. only, unbeknownst to her, more pressing matters, all related to her sibling, seemed to urge her presence and thus... alone time with cressida cowper herself! fran does not particularly color herself with excitement-laden peach, only the brute of resolve and discipline to just get through the next hour.

Choices are a luxury not afforded often to those of the lower-class. This is knowledge Sophie has held her entire life. From the evening she arrived on the Penwood House doorstep, her grandmother hiding in the bushes watching, the lady maid's destiny had been written amongst the stars. Living under the Lord's roof, even as his illegitimate child, was the first taste of those choices being squandered before her very eyes. There wasn't ever even a choice presented for herself to be a real person. The cards for her position, both in life and Lord Penwood's, had been dealt and there was no use arguing it. Until Araminta came and changed it, leaving Sophie with no wiggle room to make any choices for herself once again. [Or the arrangement of her life.] Living under Araminta's roof and care meant accepting whatever request or command was given, even if it meant being forced into a lady maid's position due to Lord Penwood's untimely death. And then, the final piece of her inability to make choices: her exile from the Penwood House, leaving the young woman thrust onto the streets of Grosvenor Square. There is no other choice but survival at that point.

As she stands near the entrance of the new Lady Penwood's drawing room, Sophie's hands clasp neatly before her apron, the irony of it all dawning upon her. Ignorance doesn't flow through her veins; a maid hears far more than she meant to, and she's long understood the invisible shackles fastened to the ladies of the Ton. Reputations balanced upon a single misstep, futures bartered away from familial security, affection traded for advantage. As silent as the newly painted pink walls, the brunette had listened to Eloise's conversation unravel with the blonde. It's why, with her recent experience [and newfound inclusion at Bridgerton House], she feels compelled to speak. ❝ My lady, if I may — most of us do not. ❞

@cowpers said: "you appear displeased."

" i'm sorry? "

he looks up with a start, meeting the eyes of the young woman before him. in truth, he'd been miles away - far from the fine, glittering ballroom where he knew he did not belong. he had spent the morning at st. bartholemew's, walking the hospital wards, tending to some of the city's direst cases - people with nowhere left to turn... to be here now, amongst those who likely never spared a thought for even their footmen... needless to say, his usual discomfort in high society came this evening with a touch of disgust. at this world, at the people, at himself for attending at all...

indeed, he planned to make his escape as soon as he could without offending the friend who had pressed this evening's invitation into his hand... still, he could not quite bring himself to forget his manners with his new companion.

In all the chaos, all the unsung notes in between, the Duchess turned her deliberation to one miss Cressida Cowper. Over the summer in Aubrey Hall in which Eloise had welcomed Cressida with open arms, much to the confusion of the entire chesnut-haired clan, Cressida had not only shown an entirely new side to herself that, Daphne would argue, no one in the ton had ever seen. But as well, was entirely apologetic over the events of eighteen thirteen social season. In simpler words, the one where Daphne's honour was almost questioned, had it not been for a rapid wedding to avoid Cressida's gossip. Daphne received the apology with all the graciousness she has drilled into her bones, the very picture of a lady, though in integrity, in her own conscience, it was a relief. She, herself, had wronged the Cowper girl in more ways than one. Completely nicked a future that Cressida could have had with a prince, only to throw it away at the last possible minute. It was Simon that she had wanted, yet at the uncertainty of her own future, she took another woman's prize. And so the Duchess extends her welcome, a genuine invitation for companionship, perhaps even an eventual friendship. The world has raised them to be enemies, for so long. They are both tired. They are both ready to be more than what they are told to be.

For that very reason, the Duchess found herself in the particularly somber drawing room of the Cowper household, standing face to face with none other than Lord Cowper himself, Cressida only inches away from them. The Lord had made his stance clear, his voice booming in an otherwise dismal hall. ❛❛ Your Grace, my daughter is to be sent to Wales for a moment of respite from the ton. She is to live with her aunt. Away from all this- this foolishness. Why would a woman- Your Grace expend interest in Cressida, ... I will not allow it. ❜❜ The last five words spoken by Lord Cowper brought the Duchess' usual doe-eyed hues to sharpen. It is a look that she has not donned since inhibiting her title. She has had no use for it. But now, now is the most opportune time. She stands before him not as an ingenue, but a woman with power. A woman with rank far above his own. Which she will use to her advantage. Once more in this charade of society, Daphne dons a mask that she has perfected. She quirks her head to the side, allowing perfectly curled chesnut ringlets to fall just atop her bosom. Soft brows furrow, the rouge on her cheeks accentuated by the ivory flower on her hair. She has her own power. And with the bravado of a woman aware of her own stature. She feigns innocence in a smile. He will never know what hit him. ❛❛ Why Lord Cowper. What a bold assumption. My husband, the Duke, and I, are more than delighted to welcome Miss Cowper in Clyvedon Castle over the summer. She has certainly earned our favour. And as such I would assume you would be exuberant? She is your daughter, after all. And any fortune she is sure to encounter, reflects on your own? ❜❜ She sighs, soft, impatient. The final trick in her masquerade. ❛❛ I do believe it is highly frowned upon to refuse the hospitality of the Duchess of Hastings. ... Is it not? Surely it would be quite the gossip. ❜❜

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