#duke!jack

Your mother has the maids set up the guest room and spiff up the parlor just for his arrival. Over tea you ask if you’ve ever met this man having no recollection of him or the importance of his family name. 

“Oh yes! You met him once. Long ago when you were still in diapers I presume.” 

Still, you’re anxious. Someone so high in society coming to your house. Nerves make your heart beat faster and you have to drink a second cup of tea just to keep the butterflies in your stomach from stirring. 

Finally when his carriage arrives it looks rich. Smells of old money and leather before the door even opens. 

A man steps out, curly salt and pepper hair askew on his head. Broad shoulders and stubble on his chin that seems just right. There’s a ring on his finger that pains you to know a matching one is missing and a small out of place frown on his lips. 

Like it’s unusual for his face to morph that way. 

Your father greets him with a hug, your mother a curtsy. Then his eyes land on you. And it’s the most heart stopping moment ever. 

A hand pushes you forward and your fathers voice explains your existence. 

“My daughter. The last time you saw her she was just a wee lad.” 

“Yes.” Jack hums like he’s pleased. He straightens and his chin goes up while his eyes fall down your form. Swiftly like a cherry falling from the tree. “Just beginning to talk.”

You feel the need to curtsy more proper than anytime before. It really was just an accident when you lifted up the sides of your skirt just a little too much, letting your ankle show and your fathers disapproving tsk from behind.

“I can assure you I have an excellent vocabulary now sir abbot.” 

“Quite.” 

When you rise back up it’s like a delusion, imagining his eyes trained on your lips. 

“She also has excellent piano skills; would you like to have a listen while the maids bring in your things?” 

Your mother puts her gloved hands on your shoulders while speaking to him. Jack nods once to her, your father, and then yourself. 

“That would be splendid.” 

A strong leather smell breezes past you as your father leads Jack inside. Once they walk a little ways and fallen into conversation your mother advances you inside, hands still on your shoulders. 

“I think it’s time to lower your skirts dear.” 

“Mother.” 

She said that far too loud, and Public. Something that should be discussed in private the next time you head to the tailor, far too scandalous for just walking down the hall. And in front of guests. 

It means many such things to have your skirts lowered— maturity, a debut just around the corner. A lustful gaze on your back. Things you don’t want just anyone overhearing. 

Yet when you look up Jacks eyes are on you, his head turned just slightly and a smirk that makes your stomach turn with embarrassment. He sends you a wink over his shoulder while your father speaks. A small signal silently saying he heard that. 

What’s next? He shall learn your corset measurements and be a name on your dance card? 

But when he shows up to your debut party not a week later it seems like those are the exact things he wants to know.