#historicalsims

Simple Working Regency Dress 🌾

A simple Regency dress recolor for your farmers, servants, and rags-to-riches Sims. Not historically accurate, just my own interpretation of everyday Regency fashion. Hope you enjoy it! ✨

The day began under a heavy sky, rain tapping against the roof with no intention of easing. Most of the household stayed inside, drawn close to the warmth and the familiar safety of four walls. But Maurice, William, and Johannes had work that could not wait. They stepped out into the rain, shoulders dampening almost immediately. They moved through mud and cold air to tend to what needed tending, even when the weather made everything twice as miserable.

Inside, the girls focused on their skills, small hands busy, voices quieter than usual. Zenovia had more time to help than she normally did with the rain forcing a slower pace on the day. She moved through the kitchen, gathering what she could for breakfast. For a moment, it almost felt calm.

Then the fire came.

It sparked quickly, catching in the worst possible place. Flames stirring up with a hunger that turned Zenovia’s stomach to inside out. Bad luck clung to her today. But fear did not stop her. She grabbed what she needed, smothered the flames, and stood over the damage with shaking hands, forcing her breath to steady.

Maurice did not waste time. He built a new stove before the day could fall apart completely.

When the heat returned to the kitchen, Zenovia cooked again, refusing to let the morning win. A late breakfast was served, and everyone ate. The comfort of warm food settled the household back into its rhythm.

The rain eased slightly as the hours passed. A trader arrived but it was not Bjorn. The absence was noticed instantly. The family exchanged glances, unease slipping in between their words. When Maurice asked about Bjorn, the new trader only shrugged. He had been called last minute, he said. He did not know why the usual man had not come.

Not long after, the tax collector appeared. Maurice paid what was owed, face tight with restraint, and returned to the fields the moment the man left. Work did not pause for storms or taxes. Work simply continued. Inside, trouble brewed in a different way.

Roksana had been sharp-tongued all day due to not being allowed outside the house. However, this time she crossed a line she could not take back. In a burst of disrespect, she lashed out at her mother and kicked her. Zenovia stiffened, pain flashing across her face before it hardened into something firmer. She scolded Roksana with a tone that left no room for argument. Roksana did not like it, but Zenovia did not soften. Not today.

By midday, a friend of Maurice and Zenovia visited with an invitation that felt almost like salvation. The bar, they said, would be serving drinks at a discounted price. With weather like this, they insisted, it would do everyone good to get out, to breathe, to laugh. Maurice agreed. Zenovia did too.

And Maurice decided something else.

It was time, he thought, for William to have his first taste of liquor.

The younger children were sent to Raleigh for the night, leaving the house lighter, quieter, almost unfamiliar. By evening, they arrived at the bar and were met with faces they had not seen in some time. Maurice found old friends, exchanging greetings that carried history. Zenovia did the same, slipping into conversation with the ease of someone who had been missed. Even William spotted familiar faces. Serf friends his age gathered with their own parents, all of them brought here by the same invitation, the same need for warmth.

William’s first drink was small, but the moment was not. He shared it with his friends, eyes bright, laughter easy. The night blurred into noise, light and closeness, the kind that happens when the outside world is cold and wet.

When the evening finally came to an end, the difference between them was clear. William was flushed with the thrill of it, his first taste of something new had him drunk. Maurice was tipsy, looser than usual, and warmed from the inside out. Zenovia remained steady, and sober as ever, watching them both with an expression that said she would remember everything they forgot.

And the rain continued outside, falling softly against the world they left behind as they departed home....

Two little words... I'm back!

This is my first Frankenmesh, so there might be some hiccups - please let me know.

Inspired by Borgia - Faith & Fear and Giulia Farnese's portrait.

Original Meshes from both Sifix and Regalia Sims

46 Swatches.

The day began quietly in the Everrette household, the kind of quiet that only existed for a short while before the home filled with movement.

William had been growing quickly. Too quickly, it seemed. His body no longer obeyed him the way it once had, responding to thoughts he hadn’t invited and feelings he didn’t yet understand.

That morning, he woke with his heart racing, Shanna’s face still vivid behind his closed eyes. The dream had left him flushed, hot and unsettled. Heat crawled beneath his skin, unfamiliar and insistent, leaving him staring up at the ceiling while the house slept on around him. He clenched his jaw, breathing slow and careful, waiting for the storm inside him to pass.

When it passed, embarrassment followed close behind. He slipped quietly from his bed, and washed his face with cool water, steadying himself before the house began to stir. Whatever had stirred in him that morning, he buried it deep, unspoken, carrying it alone like a secret he wasn’t ready to name.

He barely had time to settle before two of his younger siblings stirred and padded into his space, sleepy-eyed and mumbling, asking for help to use the potty. William didn’t hesitate. He rose into the role he always seemed to fall into, steady and patient, guiding one little tot after the other. Slowly, the household began to wake. Footsteps sounded across the floorboards. Voices grew louder. The air filled with the familiar chaos of family.

Dimitri and Roksana started fighting as they often did, bickering sharp and loud enough to cut through the morning. This time, Dimitri didn’t shrink back. He snapped right back at her, matching her heat with his own until the argument turned physical, hands pushing, voices rising. Zenovia was too busy in the kitchen to intervene immediately, her focus split between stubborn children and a meal that still needed to be made. Maurice moved through the home repairing what had broken, fixing what could not be left unattended, holding the household together in the quiet ways no one praised.

Eventually, breakfast was ready. Everyone gathered, bowls filled, and for a moment there was peace. They ate together, close enough to brush shoulders, close enough to feel like a unit. Laughter returned. Words softened. A family, for all its noise, settling into itself.

Afterward, they stepped outside to return to their duties. Work called as it always did. The animals needed tending. The fields needed hands. The day did not wait for anyone’s comfort.

Pheodora followed close behind Zenovia, trailing her like a shadow with bright eyes and small, determined steps. She lingered near the farm animals as Zenovia worked, patting them gently, fascinated by their warmth and movement. It was a simple sight, tender enough to slow even the busiest moment.

Nearby, Azaliya struck up a conversation with Pheodora as though they were grown women discussing the world. They spoke about their favorite animals on the farm, their voices thoughtful, their dreams innocent. They talked about what they would do when they were older, unaware of what adulthood would demand from girls like them.

Out in the fields, William worked alongside his father, the soil dark beneath his nails. As they labored, William spoke about the last excursion he had taken with Johannes and, more importantly, the encounter that had followed him ever since. He described how everything around him had seemed to pause the moment he saw her. How his face grew warm. How he couldn’t stop thinking about her. How he wanted nothing more than to see her again.

Maurice listened without interrupting. He kept his hands busy, his expression composed, but inside he was somewhere else entirely. William’s words struck something old and familiar. The same quickening of the heart. The same certainty. The same unexplainable pull. Maurice remembered meeting Peronelle, remembered the way the world had narrowed down to one face and one feeling. He listened to his son, and memory moved through him like a slow ache.

By midday, Raleigh arrived unexpectedly, her presence like a warm gust of wind through the yard. She came to see the family, to see her grandchildren, and Johannes nearly lit up at the sight of her. He rushed to her, words tumbling out in excitement, his joy effortless. But as he spoke, he noticed something off. Raleigh smiled, yet sorrow lingered in her eyes, a heaviness she couldn’t fully hide.

Johannes asked what was wrong.

Raleigh’s expression softened, touched by his compassion, but her gaze fell away. She had intended to confide in Maurice privately, to speak to him as an adult who understood the weight of worry. Instead, her grandson had seen through her before she could reach the man she needed. She finally admitted the truth. Her youngest daughter had fallen ill. Days had passed and she still had not recovered. Raleigh feared the fever would take her.

Johannes tried to reassure her the best way he could, words earnest and clumsy with concern.

Later, Raleigh went to William as well. William listened, and without hesitation, he offered what he could. Money for medicine. Money for hope. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and Raleigh accepted it with trembling gratitude.

Weeks later, Raleigh returned again, this time with Cooper by her side. She came with relief written across her face. Her daughter’s fever had finally broken. She was mending. The news lifted the household instantly, like light spilling across a room. Smiles appeared. Shoulders relaxed. The world felt less cruel for a moment.

Raleigh insisted on returning William’s kindness with a gift, something crafted by hand and given with care. A guitar, meant for the children to play. Maurice hadn’t expected repayment, not from family, but Raleigh’s pride wouldn’t allow her to leave it unspoken. Gratitude mattered to her. Giving mattered to her.

The day carried on with warmth lingering in its wake. William and Cooper spent time together, laughing the way boys did when years hadn’t yet made them guarded. Later, the older boys gathered and went on a hunt together, not calling it bonding, but feeling it all the same. Raleigh did not stay too long after the boys had left as she has an ill child at home to care for.

While the older boys of the family were away, Zenovia tended the fields alone. She watered the plants and pressed new seeds into the soil. As she worked, thoughts drifted through her mind with the same steady rhythm as her hands. She thought about how unfair life could be. She wondered what her world might have looked like if she had not been born a serf. If her children had been born into something softer.

But she did not allow herself to drown in bitterness. She forced her gaze toward what she did have. A husband who did not strike her. Children who were healthy. A home filled with noise instead of terror. It could have been worse. She reminded herself of that until the thought finally settled.

At one point, Zenovia looked up from her work and saw Shanna walking along the path. The girl’s gaze drifted across the land as if searching for someone. Hoping. William was not there. Zenovia noticed, and instead of turning away, she offered Shanna a small smile not knowing who the young girl was. Shanna smiled back and continued on.

As evening approached, the boys returned. They returned with meat enough to feed the household well. Summer had made the land generous, animals plentiful, the season heavy with life. Maurice walked Cooper home. Now that William and Johannes returned home, Zenovia went to cook dinner. She cooked the meat that had been brought in, the scent filling the home as the boys returned from the fields. Maurice returned home and dinner was eaten together as a family. The household gathered close again. The warmth of food and family carried them to rest for the night.

Soon after, the house went quiet. One by one, they disappeared into bed, the day closing gently around them.

The day began before the sun, with Seraphina’s thin cries cutting through the dark. Anora stirred, already reaching for her, but Eric was faster. He swung his legs from the bed, moving on instinct, and took their daughter into his arms. By the time Anora pushed herself upright, the nappy was already changed. Eric pressed a kiss to Seraphina’s head and handed her back, murmuring that Anora should rest while she could.

Morning crept in softly after that.

In the garden, Michelle called Isaac over, placing a small hand hoe in his grip. He was old enough now, she said, and he stood a little taller as they began pulling weeds together. Upstairs, Anora tended to the children while Eric knelt on the cold floor, tools spread around him as he worked on the broken sink. The house hummed with quiet labor, each person moving where they were needed.

Time, as it so often did, slipped forward. Seraphina was no longer a newborn but an infant now, her features settling into something unmistakable. Black hair. Brown eyes. Anora stared at her in wonder. A mirror of herself. A miniature Nora. The realization filled her with pride, though a small, unspoken disappointment lingered that Serafina hadn’t taken more after Eric. When she voiced it, Eric laughed it away, calling it nonsense. He loved that their daughter looked like her mother.

By midday, the merchant arrived, and the timing could not have been better. Eric stood at the gate, trading goods grown, crafted, and preserved by many hands. The coins added up quickly, though taxes claimed their share as always. Even so, what remained was enough. Enough to make progress. Enough to put more toward the house that had become their home.

Upstairs, Anora barely noticed the exchange. She was transfixed by Seraphina, watching every movement, every tiny sound. But the homestead demanded attention. Michelle struggled with the crops and called for help. Anora laid Seraphina down nearby, believing she would have to play alone. Alaric had been distant since the baby arrived, skirting around her presence like something unfamiliar.

Then, quietly, he changed his mind.

Anora glanced over to find Alaric sitting beside Seraphina, offering her clumsy toys, his voice soft. Soon Isaac joined them, crouching down during a break from the fields. Seraphina reached for them, fingers stretching, grasping at air and fabric and laughter. It was enough. That small moment unlocked something new in her, a milestone reached without anyone realizing it until after.

By late afternoon, the work was done, but the sun still hung high. Anora kept her promise to Isaac. They went to the park.

Eric and Anora fished together at first, their lines dipping lazily into the water. Isaac played hopscotch, waiting for other children to arrive. Alaric dug into the sand with complete focus. Michelle stayed behind to watch Seraphina, the house quieter without its full pulse of voices.

A woman approached Alaric, noticing his frustration as his sandcastle collapsed again and again. She knelt beside him, helping steady the walls, shaping the towers. Anora noticed and felt a flicker of relief, then curiosity. She walked over, introduced herself. The woman was kind, open, a mother too. They spoke easily. When Anora suggested letting their children meet, the woman agreed without hesitation.

Isaac was called over. So was the woman’s daughter. The two children fell into play as if they had known each other longer than minutes. They laughed until the sun dipped low and the sky softened into evening.

Home came next. And then, something more.

At Michelle’s gentle insistence, Eric took Anora to the tavern. Just the two of them. No children. No chores waiting in the next room. They talked over drinks about the kids, the house, their hopes, their quiet worries. Laughter slipped easily into touches. Touches into something warmer. After one drink too many, they booked a room upstairs.

The night blurred into heat and closeness, and afterward they lay tangled together, breath slowing, the world narrowed to just the space between them. Anora felt full in a way she never thought possible. Content. Loved. Safe. She wondered, briefly, at how strange fate was, how happiness had grown out of a path she once resisted. The Watcher, she thought, worked in ways no one could predict.

Eric held her close, sharing her joy. Yet somewhere deep, a single thought stirred and refused to fully fade. What if he had been allowed to choose? What if there had been another path, another love, a soulmate waiting elsewhere?

Only the Watcher knew.

The day began quietly, with Anora and Eric speaking in low voices about the baby yet to come. Names were whispered back and forth, guesses made about whose features the baby might inherit. There was excitement in their words, but also nerves neither fully named.

In the room across the hall, Isaac and Alaric held a conversation of their own, serious in the way only children could be, until Eric stepped in to check on them.

Not long after, Anora’s labor began.

Eric took charge of the household below, keeping the boys occupied so their noise would not disturb what was happening upstairs. Michelle moved with calm confidence, the steadiness of someone who had done this before. She urged Anora to eat while she still could, reminding her she would need strength for what was coming.

Though worry sat heavy in his chest, Eric trusted his mother completely. He kept his fears hidden from the children, knowing how quickly they would sense it. Breakfast was served from the day before, simple but familiar, and the boys laughed as they ate, unaware of how close everything was to changing.

Upstairs, the contractions grew stronger, closer together. With Michelle’s guidance, Anora pushed through the pain until at last a baby girl was born. She was named Seraphina. Michelle, now a grandmother once again, beamed with pride as she wrapped the newborn carefully and went to fetch Eric.

Eric had hoped for another boy, but the moment Seraphina was placed in his arms, that thought vanished. She was small, warm, and entirely his. He loved her instantly.

Anora watched from the bed as he cradled their daughter, her exhaustion softened by relief and quiet joy. When things finally settled, Anora and Eric spoke softly about the birth, about how she felt, about everything they had just survived together.

Amid all of this, the day carried another milestone. It was Isaac’s birthday. He had turned five. There was no cake this time, no formal celebration, but the family made space for him nonetheless. Smiles, hugs, and attention filled the gap. Later, the boys were brought in to meet their new sister. Isaac introduced himself first, eager and proud. He tried to play with her, but Seraphina was unimpressed. Still, Isaac stayed close, gently trying to soothe her.

As Anora stepped away briefly to fetch clean nappies, disaster struck. A fire broke out in the house. Acting on instinct and strength honed by years of survival, Anora put it out before it could spread. The danger passed as quickly as it came.

Once Seraphina was settled again, Anora stepped outside to check on Isaac and Alaric. She found Isaac playing alone and called him over, asking if he wanted to visit the park and make new friends. His excitement was immediate, and plans were made.

Back inside, Alaric asked Isaac to teach him his shapes. Isaac agreed without hesitation. Lessons turned into play, and play carried them through the rest of the day.

As evening fell, the family gathered for dinner, sharing food and conversation in the glow of togetherness. Eric later read Alaric to bed, his voice steady and warm. When the house finally slept, Anora admitted what she had been holding in. She spoke of feeling unlike herself, of not feeling beautiful after so many children. Eric listened. Then he reminded her, gently and firmly, that she was beautiful still. That she always had been.

The day closed with quiet reassurance, the family whole, and a new life settling into the rhythm of their home.