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𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝘩𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡.
dependent writing blog of 𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐀 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐑 for 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐇𝐐
⠀𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨. 𝐝𝐨𝐜.

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The moment her hand settled into his, Edgar smiled faintly and guided her away from the ballroom, slipping easily through the crowd until the music and laughter faded into a distant murmur behind them. The hallway beyond was quieter, lined with tall candles and walls crowded with paintings in heavy gilded frames. "There,"he said softly once they were alone enough to breathe. "Already an improvement." His gaze lifted toward a large oil painting nearby; a ship caught in rough seas beneath a storm-dark sky. "The Barnetts seem to have excellent taste in art," he remarked, stepping closer to it. He stepped closer to the painting, studying it with genuine interest rather than the bored glance most gentlemen offered artwork at balls.
"Most people look at paintings for the subjects first," he continued. "But the clever part is always the light. You can tell exactly what an artist loves by where they place it." There was genuine warmth in his voice now, the easy confidence of someone speaking about something he truly loved. His eyes flickered briefly toward her then, thoughtful and warm. "My Mama adored art," he added after a moment, quieter this time. "She used to drag me through galleries for hours when I was younger. I complained terribly then, but apparently some of it stayed with me." His eyes flickered toward Ms. Mercier, softer now that she was away from the crowd. "I thought you might prefer this to being stared at across a ballroom."
a heavy breath she hadn't realised she had been holding released as they cross the threshold, the quiet blanketing her in calm as the music becomes distant and the crawling gazes have been blocked. nora watches the young man now, taking his side portrait in as he shows genuine interest in the paintings the barnett's have lined their home with; after a moment, she joins him at his side and looks to the piece of art. "a little gloomy, if i may say." though, leonora held more interest in paintings of flora and fauna, she has a particular favourite piece depicting blooming chrysanthemums in a rainbow of colours providing sustenance to honey bees.
appreciation shone in her eyes for this young man, admiring the excitement and sharing of knowledge for a subject she was lacking in - it was refreshing, his company was refreshing. her body visibly relaxed and a genuine smile pulls along her lips. "she sounds like she was a wonderful woman, your mama. did she create art as well as enjoy it so?" she is reminded of her own mother in this moment, cheeks warming at the fond memories of a passionate woman long gone. bowing her head slightly, nora's fingers return to the ring at her finger, absently rolling it around her knuckle. "i owe you my thanks, mr o'connor, truly. i did not feel like being paraded today, nor any other day mind, but this will do for now."
Something in Edgar's expression shifted the moment the words left her mouth. Not shock, not judgment. Recognition. A faint smile touched his mouth, though there was sadness beneath it now. "My Mama, Lady Edith, died four years ago. The other papers made quite a spectacle of grief for a month or two before deciding she was old news." His gaze drifted briefly toward the ballroom. "My other mother, Lady Daniella, is still living through it now. Most people just see her as a widow; not a person." His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before he looked back at Leonora. "And I think that is the cruelest part of mourning in society." His voice softened. "People stop seeing the person before they stop seeing the grief."
For a moment, he simply watched her, intuition outrunning caution entirely now. Then, before his better judgment could intervene, Edgar held his hand out toward her slightly, daring enough to mean it. "So disappear for an hour." The corner of his mouth lifted faintly. "Let me steal you away from this dreadful room, Ms. Mercier. No pitying looks, no condolences, no whispering old women cataloguing your suffering like it is tonight’s entertainment." His eyes warmed. "Just different surroundings, terrible gossip, and the freedom to be something other than a widow for a little while."
even her own family look at her with pity - maybe they don't realise it, but nora recognises the darkness in the eyes, the concern and worry they hold for the cousin who returned in black; she may be happy to be home, but she was not happy to be percieved in such a manner. the looks made her skin crawl, as if a million tiny ants were creeping beneath her skin and nipping at her veins, reminding her that she is alive and living through her life now as a ghost of a woman she once was. she could offer her condolences to edgar, but she knew all too well how such a phrase could turn the stomach and become numb to its meaning. "perhaps people do not wish to see past the shadow of grief, to see past it is to accept the life the widower lived without them in it." her voice is quiet, thinking of the time she spent away from her family, the strangers they became through distance. even now she has yet to speak truly of what occurred with the baron to her cousin.
her gaze drops to his hand, eyes widening ever-so-slightly - to anyone else it wouldn't have been noticeable. letting edgar's words settle over her, nora's breath hitches. "steal me away?" a question whispered to her own conciousness, as if it would morph into the baron and sharply tell her to wait until the dances had finished at least before skirting away like a coward, but it didn't. it was the young nora who had long been locked away manipulating her body as the hand with her ring rests in his own. "steal me away, mr o'connor, even for an hour. i need reprieve."
EMILY BADER My Lady Jane (2024) I Episode 7
The correction made the amusement in Edgar's expression soften almost instantly. "Ms. Mercier," he repeated quietly, more carefully this time. "Then I owe you my condolences." There was nothing performative in the words, no hollow politeness recited out of obligation. His voice carried genuine sympathy as his gaze settled on her, noticing the way that brief flicker of happiness had vanished almost as quickly as it came. "I am sorry," he added after a moment, gentler still. "For all of it."
The noise of the ballroom swelled around them again; laughter, music, jewels glimmering beneath candlelight. Edgar found himself thinking how cruel it was that society expected grief to stand beneath chandeliers and smile prettily through it. His hips rested lightly against the drinks table beside hers, careful not to crowd her. "Though," he said softly, his expression gentling, "I am glad you were able to come home again. I imagine there is some comfort in being somewhere familiar after so much change." His eyes flickered briefly toward the amber ring turning between her fingers before lifting back to her face. "And how are you truly faring, Ms. Mercier? Not the answer society prefers. Your answer."
condolences. that word had lost all meaning by now, every person she knew - strangers too - have offered their condolences to the wife of a man she barely scratched the surface to know. a marriage, not for love, filled with duty and few moments of companionship which she truly enjoyed. she sees the sincerity in mr o'connor's features though, no facade of pity or false genuinity, true sincerity for her emotions. it was a breath of fresh air. "please, do not apologise. it is the way of this world and it is my fate to live through it."
"i was relieved to step back onto familiar soil, i will admit." her face softened as she thought of the day she had arrived back home - nora would not admit it to anyone, but she had taken a moment away from her travels home to walk barefoot in the grass. just for a moment, she was free. his words coerce a small sliver of herself from under the mask, the true feelings that would shock and cause a stir if she were to speak them aloud to the ton. "i must confess, mr o'connor..." and the mask she once was able to hold for days, slips. "i wish i could disappear. to slink away into nothingness and to not be remembered, being a widow is all i am to people now and i hate it."

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𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.
** under the cut are current wanted connections for leonora mercier that i am going to be sending into the main, however, i needed a main list to keep track !!
The ball room was not as inventive as the one Nalan had hosted for his sister, but there was something to be said about getting those in London to flaunt their jewels, and a part of themselves in the process, and had he been more interested, Nalan Das would have been impressed at such a thing. One thing he could not deny was that the new earl was intending to make a splash, transforming himself from a man of business to one now influential within the lords of the realm, something Nalan had long inspired to be and yet fumbled at every turn. It was in the middle of this though that he heard a whisper, something about safety, and he was surprised to find a woman on her own, quietly asking. “Have no fear miss, I doubt there is any true danger here unless you dare to seek your appraisal or maybe share a secret or two in the confessional. I can assist you if you require company?” It was not in Nalan’s nature to be so forthcoming, but Nalan had spent so much time on the outskirts of society, mostly because of his own doings, he had missed these sorts of things. The events, the conversations, all of it was necessary for business and he did not plan on embarrassing his family even further.
reaching her hand away from her ring, she picks a flute of champagne away from the drinks table and holds it close to her chest - another distraction for itching fingers brewing with thrums of anxiety. she had never been much of a lover of alcohol, often speaking of its bitter taste that made her stomach twist, but she also followed the ancient rule of it being a drink of courage. something she needed to stay at this ball for longer and not embarrass herself, or her family.
she had not noticed the man until he spoke, her movements to look to him slow - allowing time for a polite mask to slip across soft features, a small smile on her lips and fingers gently tapping along the edge of her flute glass.
"i fear an appraisal may be the end of me for tonight, so i will not venture there anytime soon," a breathy laugh slips out as her sight flicks to the moonstone room for a moment, a sliver of fear in her gaze. "i am not one to refuse company or send someone away, feel free to join me in my moment of solitude, if it so pleases."
the room spins with enchantment. music crows from the modern orchestra and aera collapses on the emptied chair, sighing to themself. checking for the rumples in their ribbons, the trim of lace, the soft colouring still holding on in the lantern light. the internals of the house threaten to swallow them whole, a feeling to which they were rapidly growing accustomed to in english society. it seems everybody was so hungry for entertainment, a spinning doll on a pedestal. usually, they found mirth in it, but amidst keeping a watchful eye on their brother, it resembles more chaperoning than true fun for the eldest daughter. and perhaps this makes them more inclined to notice when others seem to feel the same. glimpsing the other woman breaking through the crowd, aera rises to the occasion — literally as well, standing up and allowing the cushion to become vacant again in case she desires it. “amber? is that your gemstone? do come, do come.” a fluttering of fingers, gesturing her over. an attempt to provide socialisation and to save her from whatever made her appear so frightened of the ballroom. “tell me all about it. how did you decide on the colour? i simply couldn't decide on one, so i picked something that has them all.” the american beams, genuine with anticipation. they sink onto another vacant cushion and steal the small flute from where someone else placed it upon the table before them.
the ball reminds her of one she had attended upon her entrance to french society as the baroness of mayenne, all glittering and gaudy with overpriced decorations and flowers that may have been discarded the following day without thought. though the music at the barnett's ball was far more to nora's taste than that of the neighbouring lord in mayenne, she still found herself out of place within the dance hall. gems of higher quality dance beneath the lights, shimmering in just the right way that her amber could never acheive - but she preferred it this way, to be hidden.
and hidden from everyone, she was not. she had attracted the attention of this american from not attracting attention at all - nora could not win. pasting a polite smile across her features, her nature does not allow her to simply ignore the inquisitive woman. "an old favourite." reluctantly, nora follows and sears herself beside them stiffly. she wished to return home. "i have few jewellery pieces without amber embedded in them and it has always offered comfort, so i suppose that is why i chose it . . . " a moment passes and eyes widen, "i apologise. i haven't introduced myself - ms. leonora mercier."
Katherine had seen miniatures of all the eligible people who were attending the ball. Some young and never married, like herself, others old and widowed and now looking for a second, third, or even fourth spouse. Leonora Mercier was somewhere in the middle- a widow but still young. More experienced than the average debutante but also not aged and, if Katherine had to guess, not as wise as other widows.
From what she learned, Leonora was born a Murray. Katherine didn't care much about the feud between the Murrays and Thornes, but she did care about her family- especially her step father. It wasn't his fault that his first wife chose him over Lord Murray. So as long as Leonora was respectful then she would be civil... ish.
Always the curious cat (one reason her nickname stuck,) Kitty made her way over to the lone woman and put on a charming smile, her eyes calculating.
"Good evening, my Lady. May I introduce myself? Miss Katherine Thorne." She said her name slowly, watching for a reaction from the Baroness. "How are you finding your return to Mayfair? I understand you have been gone for quite some time."
perhaps leonora should have requested for a list of potential guests attending or even miniatures to allow her some repreive from the anxiety riddling her bones, she is sure her cousin would have obliged her after everything she had been through - just something to let her practice long forgotten names that don't roll of the tongue as easily as they did when she was younger. even now, she scouts the faces of the ballroom with her eyes, seeking familiarities and features that may pinpoint her back to the family they hail from, but with her mind racing it was a nought job.
fingers freeze in their movements as the other woman speaks, an uneasy face slowly masked with a polite smile - a skill learned through french society from the few women of low rank that would speak to her honestly and candidly. "Miss Katherine Thorne, a pleasure," the thorne family and her own held a feud that she cared little for, however, she couldn't help the small twitch of her lips as she spoke her family name. "no my lady please, it is just ms. mercier these days." a small bow of the head and she moves her sights away from kitty and towards the rest of the ballroom. "i am enjoying seeing my home of england again after half a decade, i'm afraid i was far too homesick it seems."
Edgar nearly walked past her before recognition struck him. Not from personal familiarity, but from old newspapers he used to skim through years ago, back when society marriages and French estates had still managed to hold his attention for more than a passing moment. He remembered the name Mercier well enough; remembered whispers of beauty, wealth, France. He did not read the papers anymore. Had not for quite some time. So seeing Leonora Mercier standing here, alone near the drinks table instead of somewhere across the Channel, caught him genuinely off guard.
For a moment, he watched the way her fingers turned the amber ring around her hand again and again, subtle enough that most people would miss it. Edgar did not. Glass in hand, he crossed toward her slowly before stopping beside her. "Lady Mercier." His voice carried easy politeness, though curiosity lingered beneath it. "I confess, I am surprised to see you back in London." A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "The last I heard of you came from newspapers I stopped reading years ago, about your betrothal." His gaze flickered briefly toward the ballroom around them before returning to her. "Though judging by your choice of corner, I suspect you are enduring this evening about as well as I am." He shot her another quick look, this one followed with a warmer, more welcoming smile, before inclining his head politely. "I'm Edgar O'Connor."
society had never felt welcoming to nora, not as a young debutante and not now as a widow. though she had enjoyed the dancing and the inconspicuous flirting when she had first stepped into a ball, the facade quickly faded away and she found herself longing for the comfort of her home and the books she enjoyed far more. france had offered little relief as she was the wife of a baron, a man who wished for more and would do anything to get more - a lout through and through. and now, here she was. hidden by the drinks, a gemstone made of tree sap chosen to protect her and offer strength among a glittering sea of diamond, ruby, sapphire, emerald and so much more.
other than the few that remembered her or her family, it was rare for her name to be remembered from a paper. "ah, yes..." she was just as surprised to be back home, some part of her had always hoped to return, but the naive debutante inside her believed she would be trapped in france with few visits forever. a shiver courses up her spine as she releases the ring, and offers a polite smile. "you are behind on your news, mr o'connor, i'm afraid. it is ms mercier now." a faint crinkle of her eyes offers a glimpse into the happiness she felt to be home, to be free of the baron's family, though as quick as it appeared it was gone again. "ms. leonora mercier, and yes. this event is leaving much to be desired for my psyche."

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IN ALL CORNERS OF THE WORLD AND SITUATIONS THERE HAD BEEN SIGNS OF SUPERSTITIONS AND RITUALS CONDUCTED OR UTTERED WHEN IT CAME TO MOMENTS UNWELCOME TO PEOPLE. There was not a particular interest in those things and nor where they tolerated when Piet was at the helm although they were not denied. It was easy to spot when it happened and someone was taking part in their rituals no matter how small or quiet.
“I heard your prayer and I can assure you that there will be no need for it tonight at this ball. I have made every measure to guarantee this will be a safe time for all. Amber, is that your gemstone representation tonight? I am quite possibly wrong but does that mean you are seeking perseverance?”
perhaps it could be argued that the anxiety rose in nora once she left for france, the ring being a constant companion the moment she left the english shore, however, the movement dates back to her childhood. her own mother. nora would watch her diligently and would copy movements day-to-day and ring spinning was a constant. it had calmed her mother after arguments, during ball planning and visits with her family - it offered a solace that nobody else could, not even nora. perhaps there was magic in the old ring, a touch of her mother offering her own support during moments of conflict for nora.
"my apologies, it is a silly . . . just a silly thing i do." it hurt to call such an action silly, but how does one explain to strangers the effect such an action has on her soul? the ring is released and a mask is pulled on, a gentle smile stretching across her lips as she answers the man. "you have knowledge on gems, is see? yes, i seek perserverance, as well as strength these days, if only to give me some peace." looking over him, she gestures to his outfit, "and you? was there a significance for your gem?"
Ceara knew this was too much for her. She had never attended something so grand, so beautiful but crowded and perfumed. Before long, she maneuvered her way through the pushy society to nestle herself into a small alcove, taking a few deep breaths.
She wanted to please Kitty and dance alongside her, but the environment was more overwhelming than she bargained for. She was missing her parents now, even her wretched sister. She’d never allow her anxieties to get her that far. But here she was, wishing she hadn’t done what she did to be here. But that was when she heard a whispered prayer, glancing over to see a woman.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, her Irish accent thicker than before. "Did I invade your hideout?"
perhaps she should have stayed put at home, stayed hidden within walls that held her secrets and kept her safe. safe from stares and the people she no longer knew - people she had entered society with now married or eloped, children in their bellies are at their side. it was all too much change for her to take. she once used excuses of illness and pain to escape from such events in french society, a ghost of a wife who few knew truly - it was harder to escape unnoticed now as a returned widow to a french baron. to the murray family, a well known family of the ton. she was stuck.
the prayer still lingered on the tip of her tongue as she jumped slightly at the woman's voice, spinning almost a little too quick to inspect who had spoken.
"no! no. no please don't apologise." her words come out rushed as she works to get her own anxiety under control, waving off the apology from the woman. "i do not own the space, you may 'invade' away." a pause, a taut smile, and a bow of her head. "ms. leonora mercier."
Vitoria had not entirely missed society balls. She had always been the first of her siblings to try and make her polite escape, even if it had never worked and she had ended spending her evening caught up in it all. The English court felt more treacherous than the Portuguese court ever had but she imagined that happened when you pretended to be something you weren't. Her eyes caught on an unfamiliar face and she made her way over.
"I pray your amber does exactly that, though there is unlikely to be any true danger tonight." Vitoria said with a gentle smile. She could remember what it felt to be a newcomer in this circle. "Hopefully the worst either of us will have to face is a sharp tongue, or an unkind word. Pardon, I have forgotten to introduce myself. Mrs. Vitoria Bruce, at your service."
though her husband had been a stranger and a lout the majority of the time, he had made balls and societal events in france tolerable - allowing her to leave early due to a 'stomach ache' and taking all of the eyes off of her with his own ridiculous ideas. for that, she was grateful to him: though that gratefullness extended no further.
"i do believe we should not be in true danger, however, i am not sure my own sanity will not be in danger if i am to be present for much longer." nora's smile is taut, the crawling feeling of eyes, judgement, creating goosebumps along her skin. "i used to be in these circles . . ." a sigh, a roll of her shoulders and she is smiling softer now - a practised mask slipped on in seconds. "ms. leonora mercier, a pleasure to make your aquaintance."
Arthur had arrived in attendance to the Barnett house earlier with Alisa. He had spoken to the Barnetts and complimented their preparation of the house for the ball. The theme was quite lovely and something most people could play to; the colors were muted but they reflected the personality of those who wore each specific stone. As the music played, he continued to walk through the room.
He turned, seeing a young lady standing more towards the corner of the room. "Are you alright, miss?" Arthur asked. He took a look at the colored decors on the wall, noting how well it fit the theme and were reflected in the attire. Looking back at the young lady, he recognized her as a member of the Murray family.
there was a slither of hope that she may recognise old friends among the crowd, people she had wrote letters to over her course in france - to no avail, unfortunately - and she had not wanted to bother rosalind at such an event. her father may be her cousin and the family was close, but to be trailed by your older second cousin wasn't the best look for a young lady.
with her being in france until recently, faces have long changed and nobility too, but her cousin was quick to catch her up on news that may have flown by whilst trapped in her husband's estate. the king was speaking to her. releasing the ring, leonora offers a practiced courtesy to the king, features sheepish as she speaks. "i am fine, your majesty. simply observing."
“Did you say something?” Tobias asks, turning to face the woman. He hadn’t seen her before and thought he would have remembered but wasn’t entirely certain on that given his habit for enjoying life a little too much. The ring on her finger he notices and, puzzled, thinks that she was talking to that and not him since there was nobody else around. If she was, he didn’t really care. He’d seen stranger things in his life and was far too open minded for the position he was born into. “Or are you worried about the ball? I find dancing and drink helps quite a bit! Lucky for you I can help with both,” he answers offering her the second glass in his hand. They were both for him but he thought she might need it more.
"just a prayer . . . i fear i have been away far too long to be comfortable here . . ." though she had attended balls and societal events in france alongside her husband, it was different - she had no friends nor family in france, nora felt judged and mocked whenever she entered the room there. it was hard to remove that anxiety forever, even now surrounded by familiar faces. "i will have to pass on dancing, i'm afraid i may step on too many toes these days," a breathy and small laugh manages to slip between her lips as she finally looks upon the man speaking to her - a minor recognition, perhaps she knows his family. "a drink, however, would be most helpful. thank you." finally releasing the ring, leonora reaches out and takes the glass offered, bowing her head slightly before taking a rather big swig of the liquid.

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Dominic’s feet started to ache half an hour ago. He’d danced with a fair number of ladies, all eager to be the next marchioness. None of them knew anything of Ireland. They all lived for the social season and spoke of how they’d influence it as his marchioness. They didn’t know that wasn’t what Dominic wanted to hear. He needed someone who understood expectations that came with all of it, not just the money and influence. Dominic didn’t see where he was going when he collided with an amber-inspired woman. “My apologies,” he said quickly, watching as his drink spilt on the floor. “I didn’t see you there. If I’ve damaged your dress, you’ll have to let me pay for it.” It wasn’t ideal. Dominic could already hear his mother scolding him.
her mind had wandered to years passed when she watched the dancing ladies and their potential suitors, remembering her own introduction to society and the way her feet stung and burned by the end of the night from dancing; a swirl of emotions was pushed down as the thought of those being the last time she truly enjoyed dancing before being whisked away to mayenne by a stranger. in the midst of her thoughts, she is pulled harshly into reality at the collision with the man - hands outstretched in shock and sights set down at the floor, checking for any liquid that may have caused reason for an early escape - but alas, there was none. the floor had unfortunately taken the brunt. deep breath in, her hands return to the mechanically anxious ring-spinning as she looks to dominic.
"please, pay it no mind, my lord." a reassuring smile pulls at her lips, hiding the tension that's held taut beneath the surface. "accidents happen and i suppose i am as much to blame, my mind wanders these days, i'm afraid."
𝐰𝐡𝐨? leonora & open. 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞? the gemstone ball, barnett house, mayfair.
the memory of the giddy young girl stepping into a ball of glittering gems, handsome suitors and the chance to dance the night away was long bidden within her mind, now entering the ball as a widow - a somewhat lived woman not ready to see faces of old familiars. shoulders roll as the amber ring on her right hand is spun round and round, an anxious movement developed over the years in france and away from home. hazel eyes glide over the decorations that were both gaudy and beautiful at the same time, a false push of presence to create influence and inspiration; sights set towards a secluded corner, far from the moonstone room and close by a table of drinks in case such vices were needed to survive one of many societal events she was sure to return her face to.
slowly, slipping her way through the crowd of faces, nora finds her position for the event - not secluded to far to cause gossip and commotion, but enough to still show her face and polite smiles. "keep me safe, amber," a low whisper of a prayer to the amber ring is her only hope of a pleasant evening right now.