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bohemian-nights · 10 months

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Chapter 5 Lady Danbury

Word count: ~6,599

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Lord Ledger x Lady Danbury

Description: The new Lady Agatha Danbury was decidedly not happy. Neither was Lord Ledger. Perhaps they might find a bit of happiness in each other.

AN: This is a Lord Ledger x Lady Danbury AU fic. Some plot lines from Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story have been axed 🪓

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4,

“You know my dear, you ought to try to find a husband among our side of the Ton.” That is how Lady Allen began when her maid had placed a tea tray in front of them. Dismissing herself with a bow. Causing Agatha to burn her tongue on the hot liquid as well as the roof of her mouth as she forced herself to down the remaining burning liquid. Nearly choking trying to compose herself. Feeling a wave of nausea that was all too common these days. Barely managing to swallow it in her haste.

The older woman before had taken to calling upon the Danbury estate for tea. Calling herself a friend which one can never have too many of. Especially one who was her senior and fashioned herself into a motherly figure which she lacked. “You can not say I have not provided you with wisdom in your time of need Agatha.” Her wisdom though in this case, why she would even deign to say such a thing, was worrying.

People talk. People always talk. Gossip was currency. Especially among the Ton. One would always take note of their surroundings. I saw Lord Calthorpe disappear halfway through the hunt with her footman. They were gone for hours. Lady Flinching said she saw them come back from the wood practically naked.

Lady Byron did not take ill. I heard she fled to France with Lord Bellings' eldest son. Not before the boy and her husband partook in a dual, as was his right. That is the reason for Lord Byron’s limp. The wrong word, the wrong rumor, true or not, could ruin one’s reputation beyond repair. It was so easy to fall. To falter.

The Ton were no better than bloodhounds. Ready to pounce at the first whiff. A friend today was a foe tomorrow. If one felt slighted, a long-held grudge from past grievances, a debt owed, or even felt that they could gain something from it, those secrets would be traded around the Ton like the sweetest chocolates from Belgium and Turkish delights to children. Feasting upon the overripe fruit that had fallen off the tree of other's lives with glee.

But no one could know of her own indiscretions. It was impossible for Lady Allen to know. Agatha was just being paranoid. They had been careful. Her father did not even know and he lived under her roof nor their servants, With the exception of Coral, who only had a vague sense of just what her mistress got up to on her exceedingly long evening walks which sometimes lasted until the morning.

She’d of course take her secrets to the grave, but no other soul had any idea. Lady Allen could not know so Agatha proceeded with caution. It was the best course of action. Give nothing away and nothing can be gained or used and dangled over her head like a carrot on a stick just out of reach as she tried to work for it doing whatever she bid and even then that carrot might be given to another and she tossed to the judgment of the hounds.

“I do not believe anyone on your side of the Ton would have me for a wife.” She took another sip of her tea. This time she blew upon the drink, cooling it to avoid imparting further damage. Though it, unlike her tongue, would heal, a burn from a scorched name however would be fatal. A permanent stain that no amount of scrubbing from even the most experienced of Buckingham House maids would let out.

“Nonsense, why Lord Allen would marry young in a heartbeat if I were to drop dead now he'd take you to wife on the morrow.” To that, Agatha did not contain her emotion. Levity returned to her. She let out the breath she held in with her laughter that had nearly caused her to burn her tongue once more. An entirely unbecoming moment for a lady, but she was relieved. Lady Allen did not join her in said laughter, but her green eyes told of her amusement. She did not know just how much that smirk meant to her younger host.

Agatha did not doubt that Lord Allen would not mind her for a wife, but he was not a very picky man. Provided that the lady in question was at least twenty years, preferably, thirty years his junior with a handsome face. He would most certainly not complain.

None of the men who were like him would not mind. Those who had a gaggle of children. They had their heirs. There was no worry that her bloodline would inherit their estates even if she did manage to pop out a babe or two. A wife for pleasure would be what they wanted.

“Laugh if you like Agatha, but do not doubt your own desirability.” She took a sip of her drink as her amusement grew. “You my dear have the pick of the lot.” The corners of her painted mouth curled. Like a cat that had gotten into the cream. “That is of course if Prince Adolphus has not proposed by the end of the season.” Agatha's smile faded just the slightest while Lady Allen’s smirk shined on. Feeling her nausea once more returning. She meant well for all her gossiping she meant well, but the reminder unnerved her rather than ease her from her worries.

What should be a happy reminder, that there was more to Agatha’s life than the management and upkeep of her most intimate and precious secret.

Where his sister, after her most recent bid at escape, seeking refuge at the Danbury residence before she was reclaimed and reminded of her position, had grown distant, Prince Adolphus was more than friendly. The queen's brother was a kind man. He did not speak over her nor talk down to her as if a child. He did not stare at her breast or hips as if he were imagining what they looked like free from the confines of the intricate layers that made up her dress and stays. As naked as the day she was born.

Prince Adolphus was polite. Easy going. Easy to talk to. He had a zeal for life. He was ever attentive. He enjoyed having actual conversations. He enjoyed listening to her opinions, took note of them, and asked for them regularly.

He was well. groomed. Pleasing to look at with his tawny skin that spoke of his Moorish background and frequent exercise. Complimented by his dark eyes that held a million smiles. Not a hair was out of place upon his person. Neither age nor drink had touched his physique. Instead, he was toned from riding as well as fencing activities which he took up at his leisure.

He was tall. Taller than her even with the height of her heels and several of her sun hats. Though Agatha was not a very tall woman herself it was nice to look up to a friendly face.

There was but a mere three and half years between them. He had his own lands, title, and estate that could not be taken out from under him on the whims of a fickle crown.

He was a good man. A great man. Not at all like the late Lord Danbury, but he was not at all like another Lord either, and while she knew he would make an excellent husband she did not know if she could picture herself as his wife and all that it entailed. Nonetheless, he had his uses.

Perhaps cruel to some degree to use him primarily for her own regard, but Agatha did find his company exceedingly pleasant. She did not have to force herself to endure his presence and in the words of Coral who had given her a pointed look as she had said it, “It is a good idea to keep your options open my lady.”

She could not be too choosy. Not when her very future hung in the balance. Not when securing her nephew's title from a reluctant crown seemed as if it was a fool's errand and her own prospects even dimmer. So what of it if her mind drifted to another for a moment or two while she was in the duke's company?

His courtship was certainly preferable to others her father dug up and perhaps in another life she would embrace it to the fullest extent. He kept the lions at bay who saw her as nothing more than a vessel for their ambition so she welcomed his attention as any woman in her position would.

She was thankful for it, but by all accounts, she should worship him. Meet his courtship with unencumbered glee. He was the answer to prayers. Her salvation and yet there was something, something in his person, that stopped her from getting upon her knees to give her thanks like a feverish catholic to the very image of the Madonna. Something which she could not name nor would she waste her breath doing such at that moment.

Agatha put everything out of her mind when Lady Allen finally took her leave. Once she had emptied the contents of her stomach into her chamberpot. Coral held her raven curls back with a slight frown, but she did not chastise for it. Merely asking as she rubbed soothing circles into her back in a maternal fashion, “Would you like for me to order the cook to make you some ginger tea my lady?”

They had come to an agreement, after a spat a week past that had ended in a whispered match so as not to be overheard, “This is like the last time. Perhaps we should send for the doctor,” that it was a matter to be dealt with later. Although that later was steadily catching up for now it was how she dealt with the delicate balance that had become the amalgamation of her life.

Agatha felt herself breathe easier once she had made it into the fields beyond her house. Taking her steps two at a time. Practically sprinting down the narrow lane. It was later than when she usually headed out. The moon's light barely illuminated the path ahead of her. If she had not known it well she would have surely stumbled over her boots.

It startled her to see the lights had not been lit in that little cottage that had become their sanctuary when she reached the clearing. Well, less of a shock and more of a disappointment, but she ventured on with bated breath. Hoping that the lord had not left in her prolonged absence or he had been kept from her. She dreaded that thought. Pushing images of a certain tight-lipped grimace and a set of ice-blue eyes that seemed to follow her at during their teas with the queen out from her mind.

In her haste, Agatha had thrown open the newly replaced wooden door to see a single lit candle placed on the end table by the bed. She felt her disappointment reach its climax gazing around the ill-lit one-room cottage when a warm masculine hand was thrown over her face.

Backing her into his hold as he shut the door. Reigning open-mouthed kisses from her neck down to her ample bosom. Heaving with fright and heat that radiated out from her core. A heat which the cautious part of her mind, the one prone to worrying, told her not to give in, though it was hard to do so with the wandering arm that snaked itself around her middle drew her closer.

She began to struggle in his strong grip until her nameless pushed her head back, exposing more of her heated skin to gaze up at him. A familiar set of darkened near onyx chestnut eyes greeted her. Catching her shock with his lips he pulled her further into him with a kiss that took what was left of her breath away. Not stopping until the need for air forced them to part. Even then he took to renewing his attention, lavishing it onto the sensitive skin behind her ear.

“What kept you away from me sweet one?” He had asked between kisses. His voice was thick with arousal and a hint of relief.

Agatha had swallowed a moan that desperately wanted to be let out in an effort to answer his query. It was ultimately a fool's errand for the lord before she enveloped her full lips against his once more. She lost all train of thought at his tongue licking at the roof of her mouth. Causing her knees to buckle as she felt that wanting ache in the pit of her belly grew. She gripped his forearm firmly wrapped around her middle though she knew that he would never let her fall.

The lord who had dispensed of his waistcoat and cravat, made quick work to strip her out of the layers of fabric that made up her satin violet dress. A gracious and most welcome allowance due to her now that she was officially out of mourning. Her stays, stockings, and garter were thrown at odd ends of the room.

At some point, she must have clawed at his shirt as half the buttons on his tunic had been opened. However, they were still left in an unequal state of undress as Agatha was as naked as a babe. A fact which she wished to remedy but the man who was working her into a frenzy would not allow her to.

Instead, her lover wasted no time in gathering her up in his arms in a way one might a bride, though she did not try to dwell too much on that little detail, and focused instead on the delightfully overwhelming presence of his person.

He deposited her gently, which contrasted with the intensity in which he petted and caressed her, on the bed that sat at the room's center. Despite his age and build he was surprisingly robust, but Agatha supposed he was a rather active man and he was more solid than truly out of shape.

It did not seem possible, but his eyes only darkened when he gazed upon her bare heated figure spread out before him. Not taking his eyes off her as his hands went to undo his breeches, throwing them along with his tunic to join her garments in the far corner of the room. His erect member sprung free, greeting her as he moved closer.

“Touch yourself for me my sweet.” She let out a whine that sounded like a mad woman to her own ears at his command. Her lover did not seem to mind it. There was no shame in it. Proprietary had long since abandoned them for the bliss that they gave one another.

Agatha of course had felt some embarrassment when she had first touched herself in that intimate place. Had nearly collapsed into herself at his first suggestion. No matter if she was a widow nearing thirty, her governess’s lessons, a Christian need for modesty or the appearance of it, the fear of the sinful nature of lust could not be undone in an hour or two spent in each other's company.

That place was meant to bring her husband pleasure. To birth his children. It was not meant for her own joy. She had thought so until he had sat her down on his lap at the edge of the bed and he pried open her thighs in front of a mirror he brought in and whispered encouragement into her ear as she brought herself to completion. “That's my beauty.”

In her haze, she barely registered that her lord had come to her. It was not until he had pulled her drenched fingers from within her warmth and licked a strip down her soaked folds that she realized he had joined her on their bed. “I wish to have my dessert.” He did not wait for her to grace him with a reply. Her protest for him not to tease and to take her as she was, for she was more than ready to receive him, turned into a moan.

How could it not when his warm muscle so reverently lapped at her folds. Like a man dying from thirst. As if the damp meeting place between her chestnut thighs held an overflowing fountain laced with honey wine that he had been the cause of. Each lap sent a tiny shockwave radiating through her. Building up until they became a rapturous tsunami of pulsing ecstasy.

By the time he entered her Agatha had become a miasma of molten ecstasy. She would have curled herself into a ball from his lappings at her soaked cunny if it had not been for the fact that Anthony had taken hold of her hands. Bringing one to rest in his graying waves and pinning the other at the side of her head as he rendered her incapable of speech with his tongue and fingers.

She had nothing to compare him to. No one apart from the late Lord Danbury and that was not a fair comparison. Their couplings had never been half as pleasant and often bordered upon painful. Counting the minutes until her lord husband finished and she could be away from him. Watch off that odious stench he left her with, but the man inside her was different.

Agatha had never been left with such a wondrous ache before him. A want to feel his bare skin upon her own. A need to be filled. To be torn apart and put back together over and over. To be left boneless yet yearning for more. Never wanting to part from him. To be apart from him, it thrilled and frightened her all the same. For she knew the dangers of that want.

She had tried picturing Prince Adolphus once in his place. While she was alone in her bed. Restless at the hour of the devil. It had made her feel queasy. So very odd. Her thoughts soon enough turned back to him and all felt right.

She had come with his name whispered upon her lips. She knew she was gone. Had fallen into a hole which she could not or did not want to climb out from, but at that moment she did not care.

It was his weight upon her that calmed Agatha in the most serene way that she had not known possible. She felt safe under him. In his arms. Surrounding her in him. His smell. His taste. His touch. He stretched her in ways she did not think she could be. Taught her things that she had not known existed. Which she now could not live.

He was close. She could tell now by how he deepened his thrusts. Chasing their high. How his thumb upon her pearl increased the intensity of the circles he drew into the erect little bundle of nerves. How his kisses had grown sloppy as his lips and tongue would not part from her mouth.

She could tell by that deep grumble that he meant to pull away and empty his spend on her stomach but she drew her closer. Wrapping her legs around his middle and pulling his heated skin flush against her so that no space separated them. There could be no harm in it if her condition was as she suspected.

“Let go Anthony.” Agatha managed to moan into his ear as she began to pulse around him just as her body gave in to the pleasure it received. He was powerless to stop. To leave her warmth. He could not leave. Not when she fluttered against him. Her soaked cunny tightened around his rigid member. No, he was too far gone to leave her. He spilled into her with a groan of her name.

She had thought he would be cross with her for it now that they lay in the afterglow. He had done so once before. Chastising her in his quiet way. Peppering a dozen kisses into her skin as he did so. “We must be careful, sweet one.” He had failed to heed his own warnings in their rendezvous that followed and now they were here where it no longer mattered.

Agatha was the first to break the quiet. “Lady Allen.” She began still catching her breath. Wincing silently at the feel of the emptiness and the steady leak of his spent making its way upon her thighs and the sheets below. She nuzzled herself deeper into the heated slightly tanned skin at his neck wishing to remain in his hold. Resting her lips there as she made a silent prayer that the sun would never come out. “She is what kept me from you.”

Agatha did not know entirely what possessed her to answer his question when there was no longer a need to. Perhaps it was the fact that she was still reeling from her conversation with Lady Allen and Coral's silent disapproval and worry over her.

Or it was her general malaise these days of late or the million and one things upon her mind that swam back to the foreground. Or perhaps it was the fact the sun would make its appearance in a few hours and she must rise with it and she dreaded that most of all. Away from the vividness she had here with him and back to the muted shades of her life. Back to worrying over her precarious position and trying to secure her nephews.

“She came over for tea and she could not stop babbling about how I will be married by the end of the season.” Agatha held her breath. Lifting her head off of the love-soaked skin slightly to scan his face. Waiting for his reply.

Time slowed. It seemed an age before he let out a sigh into her hair. Placing a kiss into her frizzled coils as he gently stroked her forearm with the back of his calloused hand. He did not miss a beat. They knew one another too well for him not to catch onto her unspoken meaning. The unspoken party. “Perhaps you should not be so cavalier about the Prince's affections towards you.”

At his words, instead of the rush of air that Agatha had hoped would revive her, she felt only a dark ever-growing pit. A dark pit which her heart sank into. Her lover seemed to realize his mistake, for he began to make amends by brushing more kisses into her dark mane.

“I only wish to see you happy Agatha.” Agatha. A small intimacy that they had allowed one another. She was Agatha and he was Anthony. Their titles shed if not for but a moment of respite. Shielded away from the world by the other's embrace.

At this moment, however, it did not feel so very intimate. Only yet another reminder of their respective places. Of what they actually were. They had no title for one another. Not one that denoted anything. Any real connection. Any connection that would be recognized for those titles belonged to others. They could not call each other by any other names apart from their own and even then those names which had become so very dear to them were only uttered in secret.

“And well looked after.” He could provide her with neither. Not fully. He could give her some few hours of heaven upon this earthly plane. Of unrestrained joy, but that was the extent of it. That was the reality of it all.

It is quite cruel how our perspective can shift in the course of a few words. In a mere sentence or two. His words were pure-hearted no matter their sting. They came from a place of affection. Of great care and tenderness. She knew that by the way in which his eyes became doleful when he spoke of the prince and her safety with him, but they were not the words of a lover. Or at least not the words Agatha wanted to hear coming from her lover's lips.

They were not words of love or passion. They spoke only of duty. Of comfort. Of quiet contentment instead of a burning desire that made one never want that paradisiacal feeling of belonging to end. They were words of truth. A bitter reminder of what they were to each other and what they could never be to one another.

It did not matter what she gave to him or he to her, what pleasure they took, what pleasure they freely gave to each other, or what they made the other feel, it could not exist outside of the four walls of the cottage which they occupied. The tides of the Ton may have changed, but the circumstances that kept them apart from loving one another freely were more than just the division of the old Ton versus the new one.

Lord Anthony Ledger was a married man. He had a living wife. A healthy wife who unlike her late husband was in no danger of departing from this earth anytime soon. He was a baron. He was a respected member of the Ton. A title that his family had held since the Middle Ages. Agatha herself, though she may be in dire straits, had not one speck upon her name.

Of course, there were ways around the issue of his marriage. Divorce was allowed. As they had no children the church would more than like grant it. It was what it was founded upon. A quick tour out of the country, to Paris maybe, or Venice, somewhere where no one knew of them. They could come back in a year or two after the scandal had run its course and the dust had settled, but Anthony had never expressed a wish to be with her in that way. For her to be his outside of their time together. For her to be his everything? Did he want to be with her in that way? Truly?

He had not meant to hurt her. She knew that, but he had and as cruel and childish as it was she wanted to return the sting. So she leaned into his touch and began again. Remembering with great detail the last time she had been in the company of his beloved wife. His supercilious wife seemed to take glee in seeing her discomfort. My husband is so very thoughtful. He knows me as I know him. The ice overtook her irises as she reached a pale hand out to brush Agatha’s curl off her shoulder.

If he could talk about her suitor then she could talk about his lady wife.

“Lady Ledger had on a bracelet when I saw her last.” It was his turn to stiffen at her change in subject. Having the good sense to flit his gaze to the wall opposite of where they sat at the mention of his dear wife’s name. “A pretty string of pearls with a figurine at its center. She said that you gave it to her.” She lorded it over her.

“A wedding gift.” His reply was stiff. As stiff as the air had become in the room. Air Agatha could no longer breathe. She needed out of it. Out before she said something she would regret. Before words poured out from her mouth that she did not mean. That he could not know. That was utterly pointless. “It was a wedding gift.” He reached out a hand to her, but she sprang up from the bed, in search of her clothes. Letting the silence build.

“Perhaps I shall ask the prince to gift me one for ours.” Agatha had not wanted to, but she had only managed to put her underthings on. She turned back to the forlorn man. Wordlessly commanding him to lace her stays. He did not complain. He never did. He was so very patient. Always so patient and understanding. He never took more than what was offered. Never reached for her beyond their time even though she wanted him to. Hopelessly so. He knew the rules well and he never crossed the line. It drove her mad.

“Perhaps.” He replied quietly. She could feel his eyes on more than just her laces. They followed her every move. She could feel him exhaling a hand moving from the hooks on the back of her dress to her arm. The bed creaked as he began to lift his weight off of it. She wanted no part in that. “Agatha—”

“I fear I must take my leave now.” She rushed out in a single breath pulling away from him towards the cottage door. “I have to meet with the dowager Princess about Dominic’s title.” It was the truth, but they both knew she had no reason not to stay. The man was ever polite even in his displeasure; he would not stop her after she made her discomfort known.

Agatha pinned her hat back to her hair as best as she could with no assistance. Not giving too much of a worry about it. She threw open the door to the cottage. Coral would be the only one waiting up for her and she'd shoot off the rest of the servants if they came looking. The sound of the bang of the door shutting carried her home.

This time it was she who did not wait for his reply. She did not dare to. She did not wish him to stop her on the off chance that he realized the danger of letting her depart in such a state. With so much unsaid, but she did not wish to hear his apology.

She knew it would not amount to anything real. Anything which they could loudly proclaim without worry or judgment. Anything outside of secrecy and nights of passion and days of woe. That they should never have if not for a miracle and Agatha had never been one to believe in such things.

Agatha slept fitfully that night a total of. She awoke to a buzzing in her head that bordered on a headache that caused her to put her hand to her temples trying to soothe the splitting pain, A feeling of lightheadedness, and nausea.

The first two were what she had grown used to, but the last was a new symptom to add to her fatigue. She had thought she would feel better after a breakfast of buttered toast, a bowl of strawberries she only ate a handful of, which was about all she could stomach, and some tea. Surely the cause of it was a lack of proper nourishment, but the buzzing continued.

Agatha had to strain herself to listen to her fathers, chidings against the onslaught. Though the effort may have been spent better elsewhere seeing how his topic of conversation remained the same as the day last. The concern always lay with her forthcoming nuptials to the prince.

Critics on her lack of a proposal and her focus remaining too much on her young charge. With suggestions on how to get the prince to propose to her. On how it was her duty to flatter him so that he may see how amenable she was. How she had no choice, but to become his duchess.

He of course made pauses between his little chastens for her replies. Yes father. No father. I will father. I am father. A few simple chirpings in acknowledgment sufficed. It was all that she could get out between his ramblings which only served to add to her headache this morning, but she had borne them as she was made to. As best as she could. Quite successfully for she was nearly out of the wood.

Agatha had made it through breakfast. Through the terror of her father's prattling. She had reached the dining room's doorway. She was almost there. Almost out, on with her day to the business of Dominic's title, when the buzzing increased by a margin.

The blinding pain greeted her like a knock on her head. She had fallen to the ground clutching at her temples. Coral was by her side before anyone else could reach her.

“My lady, I must insist that we call the doctor to check on you.” For the second time. She had to give credit for her maid's boldness. It was a well-played move. Calculated to be sure, but it was born from a place of concern and not underhandedness. Perhaps it had even just slipped out in her urgency to make her see reason. Having been left with no other alternative. “I’m sure I can find Dr. Simmons's card among Lord Danbury's things. He examined you the last time. He would be happy to do so again.”

“The last time?” Agatha winced at her father's question. His umber face turned to ash. Mr. Robinson was not senile. The man may be old, but he was quick of wit. Those dark eyes that narrowed saw everything. He had a wife. He had a daughter grown. He was not naive. It would be hard to convince him what he heard was nothing, but try she must.

“I am fine Coral.” She took deep breaths regaining her strength as she kept her eyes upon her maid. In. She closed her eyes for a moment hoping it would help. “We need not call anyone.” Out. She opened her eyes. “It is nothing to concern yourself with Papa.” Let him be a fool just this once she silently begged whoever was up there to answer her. To hear her prayers. To give her this peace. Let him let it go.

“It is my concern if you have brought shame upon this house.” He sneered at her. Baring his white teeth. No longer controlling his volume. “Upon your name Agatha.” The name he had forced her into. The name she had helped make.

“I have done nothing, but try to preserve this name.” She would not be chastised for her decisions. Not when she had done so much for them all. Not how she had done what was her duty without complaint for years. For most of her life, she had only done what was asked. Chirping whatever song sounded prettiest. Not caring how much it wore upon her to hum it over and over with a smile as long as they benefited from it.

“It is the reason why we stand here.” The reason why they were seeing the progress that they had. Why they could go where they wished. Why they could do business where they wished. Why they mingled with each other. She had done that. Lady Agatha Danbury had done that. Agatha had done that. She would not let him forget it and for that moment it seemed as if he was to acknowledge her contributions.

“The doctor will examine you when you get back Agatha.” His grip loosened, but his eyes remained cool. There would be no argument. A thought that chilled her to the white of her bones.

She had tried to put it in the far corner of her mind. She would worry about it when it came to it, but she could not because she knew what would await her later. It was one thing to suspect something, but it is entirely another to have confirmed. A confirmation that would seal her fate.

She brought that chill with her when arrived at the palace. The buzzing reached its peak. She could feel the web she had carefully strung together all these months breaking one string at a time. Her fate closing in on her. Every door shut. Every demand was made tenfold. Setting her adrift.

The prince and his kindness. Lord Ledger’s patience and passion. His everything. His nothing.

Her father and his expectations. Corals worry. Lady Ledger’s ice smiles. A queen who was too preoccupied with keeping her husband in line with whatever ailed him to truly care for her people. The princess demands for more. Her need for information on a queen who shut them all out. On a naif of a girl who did not know her own power.

How her fate depended upon betraying the confidence of a girl who had been thrust into this savage court. She could not go to the queen. She could not go to the. She could not even return home without being bombarded by more demands and scowls. She could not even control her own life. She was alone at sea. Lost. Utterly lost to even herself.

At some point, Princess Augusta’s speech faded into the background. That buzzing would not let her make out anything apart from a word or two here and there. Her nausea returned with a vengeance. Rising like a storm at sea. Agatha tried to focus, to regain herself, but the current only pushed her further out into the depths of the ocean.

“Would it not be a shame for you to lose the very fine estate in which you reside.” Her face was drawn tight. Like she had sucked. She cracked. The storm overtook her as she burst into tears upon the settee.

Princess Augusta tried to hush her. Dismissed her manservant. Offered her pear brandy from Germany which Agatha had almost reached for it. Told her of how her own father-in-law, the old king, treated her and her son like they were his personal playthings. Little better than animals. When even that had not worked she Had hesitantly reached out a hand to pat her forearm, but her tears would not stop. The bile in her throat burned. Her head was a swarm. The room spun. Over and over. Nothing would stop. Everything unraveled with great speed.

Agatha’s own body betrayed her when she was made to jump from the couch. Retching her breakfast into one of the painted vases that decorated the room.

“Dear lord, what is wrong with you now girl.” Princess Augustus stood up. Her mouth still held onto that thin line of irritation, but her eyes widened the slightest with something akin to panic. Increasing the creases upon her regal face.

“I am not well, your highness.” She had never felt so unwell. Not even when she had last been

in this position. She did not need a doctor to tell her what her body already knew. That buzzing in her head would not stop. Her nausea would not stop.

Agatha glared up at the princess. At that moment she hated that look on her face most of all. The concern was only there for her benefit. She did not truly care. It was only a mask. They all wore a mask of falsities to cover up their own selfishness.

She wished to rip it off her. She wished for Princess Augusta to hear. For someone to hear her. For someone to see her. For someone to not treat her as an afterthought to their own wants or the demands of society. To see what she needed. To see what it had done to her. How a lifetime of chirpings had ruined her.

Her mask was gone, but she could no longer care. She gave in to that buzzing. Shouted over it. “I’m with child.” The buzzing in her ear stopped as did the nausea. The look upon the king’s mother's pale face, pinched and drained of all life, filled her with nothing.

Ao3 Link:

Taglist: @dd122004dd@nametoshort@gracienna@woahwwes-blog@librarydame

#lady danbury #lord ledger #agatha danbury #young lady danbury #lady danbury x lord ledger #lady agatha danbury #bridgerton fic #lord ledger x lady danbury #qcabs fic #qcabs fanfic #qcabs #bnbridgertonfics

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laurasanchez36 · 2 days

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Nightmare Emily/Emily the Animatronic Doll Humanoid My NEW MSA X FNAF 4 Enemy OC

Full Name: Poppy ___ (in the past), Nightmare Emily/Emily the Animatronic Doll Humanoid

First Name: Poppy

Last Name:

Nicknames:

Gender: Female

Profile Pic

Age: 24 (in the backstory and deceased)

Blood Type:

Occupation:

Actual Occupation: Member of Vladdy and friends' pizza dinner place

Favourite Shows/Games: ___/___/___

(___,___,___)

Favourite Food:

Instrument:

Favourite Animal:

Family Members Relatives:

Other Family Members Relatives:

Species: Human, later Animatronic Doll Humanoid

Friends: The good little kids and Shayla the Animatronic Humanoid Plush Doll/Ragdoll (in the past), Vladdy the forgotten Animatronic Demon/Vampire/Ghost Hybrid, Nightmare Lukes/Lukes the humanoid tv man, Nightmare Coral/Coral the animatronic singer, Nightmare Draker/Draker the animatronic humanoid snake, Nightmare Fredbear, Plushtrap,

Enemies: The Four Bullies (killed and deceased; in the past), Shayla the Animatronic Humanoid Plush Doll/Ragdoll

Alignment: Good (in the Past), Bad

Likes:

Dislikes:

Hobby:

Goals:

Weapons:

Powers and Abilities:

Skills and Abilities:

Skin Colour: ___ (in the past) ___ (her Animatronic Doll Humanoid from)

Eyes Colour: ___ (in the past) ___ (her Animatronic Doll Humanoid from)

Hair Colour: ___ (in the past) ___ (her Animatronic Doll Humanoid from)

Clothes: ___ (in the past) ___ (her Animatronic Doll Humanoid from)

Shoes: ___ (in the past) ___ (her Animatronic Doll Humanoid from)

Accessories: ___ (in the past) ___ (her Animatronic Doll Humanoid from)

Nationality:

@sfcabanasstarcgs and @mysteryideasgroup

This one sounds likes Amanda (from Amanda The Adventurer), Agatha (from Dark Deception) and Rambley the Raccoon (from Indigo Park)

#nightmare emily/emily the animatronic singer my new msa X fnaf 4 enemy oc #my new msa X fnaf 4 enemy oc #msa x fnaf 4 #msa au crossover #msa au

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full---ofstarlight · 6 months

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tagged by @sun-marie for this "people you'd like to know better" tag game! ty for the tag :3c

THREE SHIPS:

resisting the urge to fill this with my oc x canon ships, sO:

Roy Mustang x Riza Hawkeye from Fullmetal Alchemist I recently finished a book where within the first few chapters, I looked up on the subway and put the book down and squinted, thinking to myself wait. Is this Royai fanfic? Turns out, it probably was! The author posted about finishing the manga back in 2019, the book came out in 2022 (I think) and was billed as Fullmetal Alchemist meets (Something I can’t remember). Anyway, Royai has my entire heart, because if there’s one trope that has a stronghold on me it is Dedicated Leader with a Mission x Their Unflinchingly Loyal Second-in-Command Who Will Literally Follow Them Into Hell. The mission comes first! They cannot admit their love to each other! They’re also childhood acquaintances????? An apprentice x master’s daughter????????? And atoning for war crimes?????????????????? AHhHHHHHhHHhHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Haymitch Abernathy x Effie Trinket from The Hunger Games: Listen. Listen. I’m rereading the series now and apparently what happens when you read them ten years later is that instead of having a big crush on Finnick and shipping Finnick x Annie, you notice that Haymitch is a fantastic smart, snarky, tortured character and Effie is way more resilient and clever than she lets herself on to be and IDK I JUST. Must resist the urge to write the events of the Main Trilogy, but oops Haymitch and Effie were secretly hooking up the whole time. I have stuff to do. I have other fic to write!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Leorio x Kurapika from Hunter x Hunter: At any given moment, they are constantly in the back of my mind. I have my bad HxH brainworms from 2021 to thank for getting me back into fic and tumblr fandom and I just pulled a 35K fic outta my ass in 2021 somehow and even though I'm not writing for them much anymore, I love them with my whole damn heart and I can summon that love with a snap of my fingers.

LAST FILM:

I had to watch a movie for work last week that is out this week and I really wanted to like it but it disappointed me SO MUCH. :’(

CURRENTLY WATCHING:

I’m kicking off Season three of The Legend of Korra! I finally at long last watched ATLA this year (I KNOW I KNOW), and now I’m working my way through Korra. I’m also watching Spice and Wolf and the new seasons of JJK and Spy x Family.

CURRENTLY READING:

I am rereading the Hunger Games trilogy! I also checked out three new books from the library and I'm torn on which one I should bring on Thanksgiving vacation (it's an Agatha Christie, a dark contemporary fantasy, and a witchy rom-com). Might go with the Christie since it is the Lightest (like, physically).

CURRENTLY CONSUMING:

Chunky Monkey Ice Cream <3 (I have a pint in the fridge that my husband specifically got just for me since he's allergic to banana)

Ibuprofen for my sore shoulder :(

Coral Island

CURRENTLY CRAVING

A vacation that doesn't involve traveling to two different large Thanksgiving celebrations

A massage for said sore shoulder

A cup of tea (this one, at least, can easily be fixed)

taggingggg @theladysarmor @kelofmindelan @maryxoliver @rowingtherubicon @cynda-queer @gwaindrifter @birbycakes @n7viper @gwynbleidd and uhhh anyone who wants to do this!!!!! i will read your thing!

#will i catch up on my tag games #maybe so #you know its been a busy work couple weeks when im behind on my tag games lmao <3 #tama tags

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itsiotrecords-blog · 7 years

Link

http://ift.tt/2rjcNkm

The terms snake hole, swallow hole, sink, swallet, or doline are often used interchangeably but they all refer to the same thing – sinkholes. Those who have experienced this phenomenon were probably shocked to wake up one morning and find (if lucky) a big hole where their lawn used to be. Sinkholes can be found all over the world and can develop gradually or suddenly with no warning whatsoever. Take a look at our 25 most devastating sinkholes ever so you can understand the monstrosity of these occurrences.

#1 Qattara Depression Located in West Cairo, Egypt the Qattara Depression is the largest natural sinkhole in the world measuring 50 miles long by 75 miles wide. It is a 100% natural by-product of fierce which tear into the slimy salt beds right down to the water table. Due to its sheer size, scientists are attempting to develop a massive hydroelectric project that would harness the sinkhole’s hydroelectric energy potential. The plan for this project would require digging a ditch from the sinkhole’s edge to the Mediterranean and allowing the channeled water to fall into the sinkhole while passing through a series of hydro-electric penstocks thus creating energy.

#2 Mount Gambier Located between Adelaide and Melbourne in South East Australia, Mount Gambier is known for its geographical features such as water channels, caves, volcanic rocks, and the famous Blue Lake. Nicknamed “The city of craters”, its volcanic craters are actually naturally-occurring sinkholes that are filled with water thus creating gorgeous scenery.

#3 Berezniki The sinkhole in Berezniki, Soviet Russia began in 1986 as a result of a flooding event in a potash mine and has gradually worsened each passing year. At over 200m deep, 80m long and 40m wide, it is expected to swallow up the only rail line that leads to and from the potash mines, where 10% of the world’s potash used in fertilizer come from.

#4 South Florida Due to the weakening of the karst (a type of bedrock) in an urbanized area of South Florida, the ground gave way to a sizable sinkhole. The 20 feet wide by 10 feet deep sinkhole opened up near the University of South Florida in Tampa, swallowing a car and threatening a nearby condo. Eleven people were evacuated from the condo but thankfully no one was hurt (except for the car).

#5 Guatemala City 2007 In late February 2007, residents of Guatemala City heard some rumbling underneath them but were not sure what was happening until instantly a near-perfect circle of earth dropped some 30 stories. The sink hole killed two and forced the evacuation of over 1,000 people. Authorities believed that the sinkhole was the result of a corroded sewage system deep beneath the surface.

#6 Guatemala City 2010 Another giant sinkhole in Guatemala City swallowed a three-story building on May 2010. This 60 ft. wide by 200 ft. deep sinkhole could have been developing for weeks or even years, however the flood waters from the tropical storm Agatha accelerated the sinkhole’s growth and caused it to finally collapse.

#7 Bowling Green Undertaking a major development in Bowling Green, Kentucky can be a very risky business since the city is dotted with naturally-occurring sinks that could open up at any time. One of these sinks halted the plans for the construction of the Trimodal Transpark after the 200ft wide sinkhole gave way near the construction site.

#8 The Sinai Blue Hole (Dahab) A popular (and dangerous) diving site on east Sinai on the coast of the Red Sea a few miles north of the small town of Dahab, The Sinai Blue Hole is a submarine sinkhole which is around 130m deep. The sink hole is renowned for scuba attempts and free-diving, while the surrounding area has an abundance of corals and reef fish. However, it is also renowned for its danger and has been labeled “the World’s most dangerous dive site”.

#9 The Devil’s Sinkhole The Devil’s Sinkhole in Edward’s County Texas is a limestone wonder that has a 40 ft. x 60 ft. opening and a total drop of 400 ft. The sink is famous for being a vertical natural bat habitat for the Mexican Free Tailed Bat which houses an estimated 3 million bats.

#10 Boesmansgat The Boesmansgat, also known as the “Bushman’s Hole,” is believed to be the third-deepest freshwater sinkhole in the world. Approximately 270m (886 ft.) deep, the Boesmansgat in the Northern Cape province of South Africa was first explored by amateur diver Mike Rathbourne in 1977 and is home to the Guinness Woman’s World Record for the deepest dive (a 221m dive by Verna van Schaik on November 24, 2004).

#11 Sarisariñama The most beautiful and most mysterious sinkholes of Venezuela are natural wonders which include four types of round basins containing their own unique ecosystem found nowhere else on earth. Scientists are clueless on the origin of the stunning sink holes.

#12 Saskatoon Sinkhole The combination of underground pipe problems and extremely bad weather produced a three-meter wide sinkhole that opened up in Idylwyld Drive in Saskatoon, Sasketchewan on March 12, 2012. The constant freezing and thawing; and an unseasonably warm winter put pressure on the underground pipes causing a 20-centimeter pipe under the roadway to break spewing water and compromising the road’s integrity.

#13 Bimmah Sinkhole One of nature’s great oddities has been turned into a virtual tourist trap. Residents of Bimmah Oman have turned a spectacular looking natural-occurring sinkhole into a swim park. Located about 6km from Dibab along the coast graded road from Muscat to Sur the Oman sink hole boasts of clear blue picturesque waters.

#14 Toronto Even the biggest city in Canada is not immune to sinkholes two of which appeared in the city of Toronto within the space of a few weeks: the 10m long, 3m wide fissure that ruptured from the street watermain at Woodbine Avenue and John Street on September 28, 2011 and the 30m long 1.5m deep sinkhole on Bayview Avenue on November 4th of the same year. Thankfully there were no casualties when these sinkholes happened.

#15 Agrico Gypsum Stack The most devastating sinkhole erosion in Florida occurred in 1994 when a 15-story sinkhole tore open right beneath an 80-million-ton pile of gypsum stack. The cave-in dumped 4 million to 6 million cubic feet of toxic and radioactive gypsum and waste water into the Floridian aquifer, which provides 90 percent of the state’s drinking water.

#16 Winnipeg Highway Sinkhole The most dramatic example of all the Canadian sinkholes happened on the highway of Manitoba where parts of the highway simply disappeared. After days of heavy rains with up to 12 inches of precipitation, 200 meters of highway 83 near Inglis was literally washed away with some points of the highway dropping to as low as 8m below its original surface point.

#17 Macungie The Macungie sinkhole which formed in June 1986 is a man-made sink hole attributed to aging water infrastructure. At 75 feet wide and 35 feet deep, it caused major disruption of traffic and utility services causing around $450,000 in stabilization and repair costs.

#18 Dead Sea Holes Several large sink holes have been appearing near Ein Gedi, Israel. The phenomenon stems from a dire water shortage, compounded in recent years by tourism and chemical industries as well as a growing population. There are over 3,000 open sinkholes along the coast and likely just as many that haven’t burst open yet.

#19 Daisetta, Texas What started out as a small 20-foot sinkhole in a residential neighborhood in Daisetta, Texas spread to over 900 ft. with a depth of 260 ft. within a day and consumed everything in its path. This former oil town sits on the Hull Salt Dome which is a four-mile-in-diameter geologic formation of compacted salt. Consequently, geologists speculate that years of storing saltwater waste -a byproduct of oil production- caused the massive pit.

#20 Red Lake

#21 Xiaozhai, Tiankeng Also known as the Heavenly Pit, this double-nested sinkhole has 662m deep vertical walls. Located in the Chongqing District, this sinkhole is arguably the ‘world’s largest sinkhole’ at 626m long, 537m wide and between 511 to 662m deep. It is a double-nested structure with an upper bowl of 320m deep, while its lower bowl is 342m deep, and both of them are on average 257 to 268m across. It’s said that the sinkhole formed over the last 128,000 years.

#22 Dean’s Blue Hole Located in Long Island, Bahamas Dean’s Blue Hole is the deepest known sinkhole under the sea at the depth of 203 meters. This is a popular location for world’s championship of free diving and it’s the location where William Trubridge broke a free diving record reaching a depth of 92 meters (302 ft.).

#23 Harwood Hole Located in Abel Tasman National Park in New Zealand, Harwood Hole is one of several important cave systems in Takaka Hill, between the Tasman Bay and the Golden Bay. From the surface is a 50m round sinkhole entrance that descends into 183m. For adventurers, the long rope descent is considered to be one of the most spectacular caving experiences at Hardwood’s, which has an overall depth of 357m.

#24 Sima Humboldt The largest sinkhole in sandstone, Sima Humboldt is located on the summit of the plateau in Bolivar State, Venezuela. At 314m deep with vertical walls it is very unusual sink hole for several reasons: Its location is on top of the only forested tepui; it’s enormous in size and depth; and it has a patch of forest on its base due to the weathering process that formed the sinkhole.

#25 Great Blue Hole Part of the larger Belize Barrier Reef Reserve System, which was declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO; the Great Blue Hole is a spectacular sinkhole at 124m deep with stilted stalactites as its most unusual features. The largest submarine sinkhole off the coast of Belize, it lies in the center of Lighthouse Reef. It is circular in shape, over 300m across and 124m deep and was formed during several episodes of Quaternary glaciations when sea levels were much lower.

Source: List25

#IoTRecords

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bohemian-nights · 1 year

Text

Lady Danbury: Chapter 3

Word count: ~5,155

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Lord Ledger x Lady Danbury

Warnings ⚠️: Sexual assault

Description: The new Lady Agatha Danbury was decidedly not happy. Neither was Lord Ledger. Perhaps they might find a bit of happiness in each other.

AN: This is a Lord Ledger x Lady Danbury AU fic. Some plot lines from Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story have been axed🪓

Chapter 1, Chapter 2,

Charlotte of Mecklenburg and Strelitz was brown. Very brown indeed, yet she was the reason for all the fuss. The hurried invitations to the royal wedding. Their new titles. Their ascension into British nobility that had long been denied. All because their new queen was brown.

A fair young German bride they wanted for their Hanover king, but what they got was a girl with Moorish blood. Moorish blood that could not be so easily concealed.

The great experiment. That was what they were calling it. The great accident was more an apt term. Agatha did not believe that this had been the intention of the palace. She did not know Princess Augusta well or at all, but the woman did not seem as if she would knowingly marry her son, her only son, to a girl so obviously not one of them.

A king's early days are a shaky thing. King George’s was no exception. An air of discord could be felt in his court. Between the growing tensions in the colonies who wanted more freedoms, parliament who wanted a present king who did not isolate himself at Kent, and the palace with Lord Butte breathing down her neck, the princess would not risk her son's crown so freshly into his reign to try out some grand experiment.

A quiet chaos had erupted. One which no one wanted to name, an uneasy balance that could topple over at any moment. And Agatha had found herself thrust between Princess Augusta who wanted her as a spy and the new queen who wanted her as a friend.

Though precocious and clearly a bright girl, the queen was so very young. Her naivety shone through for all to see and if she were not careful it would be her downfall before she even had begun. The downfall of them all for this Great Experiment depended upon her success. A girl of seven and ten shipped off by her brother to be the queen of England with seemingly no real preparation.

She was not accustomed to English society. Charlotte was every bit the foreign queen. Her English was accented. Her manner of dress was ostentatiously European. Her hair was more African than Agatha’s curly ringlets that Coral set every night, but the queen's hair was Big and bold. Foreign. Her husband would never allow her to wear her hair in such a way.

She was far too trusting and willing to divulge what should remain private. The understatement and reserve of the English were lost to her. A girl with so much will and curiosity. The girl was a fish out of water. It would not do.

Of course, Agatha had been younger than their queen when she had been married off, but she had known her duty. She was molded for it even if she had failed said duty. She knew her place and she knew what was required of her, but the queen was unaware of her role.

“He was rude,” Charlotte complained to her when she had been invited to tea at Buckingham House. During the girls' honeymoon. A gaff which would have been disastrous if she had invited one of her other ladies or had informed them of what she had told Agatha. “He just wanted to go home.”

The king had left for Kew without consummating their union and the girl was ignorant of what the marital act entailed. Of how babies were made. Drawings. Agatha had to make her drawings of the act itself. Providing her with what little comfort she could. “It can be pleasant.” Though she had experienced that pleasantness herself. She sympathized with her, but there was so much at stake. Too much to leave with chance.

Charlotte failed to understand the gravity of the situation at hand. She was unaware of the importance of her. Wrapped up in worrying over whether her husband liked or disliked her, but that was not the point of her union. Love is seldom the point, nor is it the foundation upon which a marriage is built. Her marriage was certainly more than love. The queen had more to worry about than personal sentiments.

The Queen had one duty. The same duty as any other woman. To continue on her husband's line. To bear and birth the next king of England. If she did not do her duty, if she did not lay with her husband and produce a son and heir soon, those shiny titles their side of the Ton had been given because of her would be gone just as quickly as they had come about. The Great Experiment would become a mere blip in history.

The queen's womb could not remain empty. Princess Augustus had made it plain that a royal heir, a baby, was needed to seal this adventure. Even then a baby was not the only thing needed for this experiment to be a success.

“Girl.” They had called her girl. Lord Butte and Princess Augustus. Not Lady Danbury. Not Countess Danbury. Not the tile which they had kindly bestowed upon her. Not even Mrs. Danbury. Girl.

It stung like a prick on one’s finger. A reminder that they and their titles were so very new. Such a delicate thing. A delicate thing that Agatha was beginning to understand was not enough. A title was nothing by itself.

Not without land and income. They could not be denied membership at Whites and the taking up of their seats in the House of Lords or barred from any modistes they wished to take their business to. Their children should be allowed just as many seats at the likes of Eton and Harrow as the older gentry.

Hunts, teas, and balls had to be held where both sides would attend with great zeal. Dance, make japes, admire, participate in gentlemanly competition, and gossip with one another. They could not just be equals in name only. That is what they needed above all. Regardless of these more true measures of their status as the nobility, a baby would be at the center of everyone's mind. Babies for the crown were not eagerly awaiting the next generation.

Agatha’s own duty was brought back to the forefront. The baby race had begun anew. Mr. Danbury had finally become Lord Danbury. He had his title and he wanted the same as any other man. As any other lord. A son and heir.

What was a title if there was no son which to inherit it. To continue on his line. His legacy. The Danbury legacy now. The Earl of Danbury. A nephew would no longer do. It mattered not if Agatha had secured land, a home befitting an earl, and an income of five thousand a year for his new title. If she must be a spy for the palace so that they might have all of those hall markers of their new station, without a son it would all be for naught. What good was Agatha if she did not birth her husband a son?

She was still a very young woman. Her eighth and twentieth birthday had just passed. Lord Danbury mused that perhaps he had plucked her too soon from her garden. A damaged seed that had never been allowed to heal so that it may grow.

New doctors were called for. They had agreed with Lord Danbury's assessment. She had been too young. Made to bear a child before she was ready, but her body had quickened once. With a little patience, and the proper course of treatment, it could be made to do so again.

Neither the bloodletting nor the leeches were employed. Lord Danbury had seen the folly of that road. It had nearly killed so they were not to touch her. He needed his wife whole. He would not admit that it had been she who had secured him their estate, perhaps he was even oblivious of it.

Attributing his new possessions to his own connections and good name, but he needed her. It would be the most inopportune time to lose a wife. Especially one who had the ear and friendship of the young queen and the palace.

Her old regiment of teas, herbs, and tonics was renewed. They banned her from eating fish and drinking champagne. She was given a bedtime as if she were a child. Her meals were no longer a thing of enjoyment. An odd mix of bland fares. The same every day. She ate porridge for breakfast or buttered toast, occasionally some fruit was thrown in as a treat. Soups were served for lunch that were more broth than anything and boiled pheasant with turnips for dinner. Half her food was drowned in butter making everything a taste of grease.

The doctors had their disagreements and contradictions. One had boldly ventured to say that the fault of her failure to conceive may lie with Lord Danbury himself. “Mayhaps your lordship might find that at your age it would be beneficial to begin your own regiment. It would aid in your wife’s conception tenfold." The poor man had been hastily discharged of his services after receiving an earful from her husband. The others had made note of their colleagues' dismissal and were wise to keep their treatments regulated to Lady Danbury.

“Her ladyship must avoid stress,” Dr. Cots, a wiry man would repeat to her a dozen times with a tisk. He was well-meaning, but it was easy for him to tell her so when he was himself and allowed to be as he was.

He did not have to deal with a princess who only saw her as useful so long as she provided her with the private details of a naive homesick girl, a queen who was oblivious to the needs of her subjects who looked like her, or a husband who obsessed over her womb more than she herself. He did not have to deal with the ever-growing list of demands made of her. To keep everyone happy or at least satisfied so that they may all get their piece.

She could not rest. She was not just some simple woman. She was Lady Agatha Danbury now. She had her duties. Anytime not spent trying to conceive was spent trying to equalize their station. She could not sit upon her laurels at her leisure. Especially not now. Not when she had a ball, the first of the season, to plan. A ball which she had to go behind Princess Agusta’s back for.

A ball that had been met with a not-so-quiet opposition. Invitations had been sent to both yet none apart from her side of the Ton had answered with a firm acceptance and that was due in no small part to Lady Vivian Ledger who was leading the charge of said opposition.

Agatha knew that the dowager princess did not like her, looked down upon her, and most certainly believed her to be an overly opinionated person. She had thought her to be a quiet little meek thing that would do her bidding without complaint or questions asked.

She soon found that her church mouse had more mouth than she had expected and while it was an irritation, she, like Lord Danbury, had need of her so she tolerated her bouts of insubordination for the crown's benefit.

Lady Ledger did not find her to be a thing in which to be tolerated in any such capacity. She made no secret of her disdain or at least she did not hide it very well. Of how she disliked being in her presence. Of having to associate with the new members of the Ton at all and she and Lady Danbury’s paths crossed frequently. Familiarity did indeed breed contempt for the more time Agatha spent in Lady Ledger’s company the more her own dislike of her grew. Boycotting her ball had been the latest in a long line of affronts from the horrid woman.

Along with three other wives of the Ton, Lady Sylvia Cowper, Lady Margaret Meredith, Mrs. Camellia Thorpe, and Lady Lavina Allen, the two had both been chosen to be a part of the queen's court as her ladies. Those ladies were an overall horrid bunch of women that reminded Agatha of a pack of feckless birds.

Their titles and the age of said titles, that was the first slight that Lady Ledger penned upon Agatha. It happened over the seating arrangement at tea. ”I believe that is Lady Danbury’s seat, Lady Ledger.” Charlotte gave Lady Ledger a polite smile when she had sought to seat herself to the queen's right. A place of honor reserved for the lady who held the highest title.

“You may sit there.” The young queen pointed to the settee further to her right. A countess outranked a baroness. The order of rank took precedence in their new queen's court, but that ought not to be the order of things in Lady Ledger's opinion.

Agatha was the wife of an earl, but the ink had not fully dried upon her husband’s title. “Lord Ledger is the eleventh Baron Ledger.” That was what Lady Allen had told her when she had pulled her aside at tea with their queen. “Quite rich too my dear. Lord knows that it is the only reason why the two were matched together. Poor devil.”

Lady Allen was a tall, older, dark-haired woman with a pointed nose which gave her the appearance of haughtiness. Out of the horrid bunch she was the most agreeable. She had a reputation for her eccentricity; she was, however, not a truly awful woman.

Her husband was a baron twice her age who seemed to renew himself with every year passed, the third Baron Allen, but she herself was the daughter of the Late Duke of Redford. A fact which she liked to lord over Lady Ledger whose own father had been a mere baronet, but from an old and rich line. Though it was nothing compared to the Dukedom of Redford and as such the two women were often at a crossfire. Agatha suspected that this crossfire was the reason why Lady Allen was so eager to make niceties with her in spite of her newness.

To some, the age of the title Agatha had come to find mattered just as much if not more than the title itself. The Earl of Danbury was a new title. They were a part of the new Ton. With the wrong set of features coming from distant exotic lands for good measure.

What was the name Danbury compared to Ledger? The Ledgers may be just barons, but their family had held the title uninterrupted for four and a half centuries. “A fresh coat of paint stains one’s dress, soiling it beyond repair in most cases, when sat upon.” Lady Allen whispered before taking a sip of her tea. She was never one to mince words as uncomfortable as they may be, however, Agatha appreciated her frankness.

Lady Ledger, whose title carried every bit the weight of those four hundred years of good gentile English society, believed that they would never dry and she would not let the new members of the Ton forget so.

That stain followed Agatha everywhere she went. With every action she made. She was the outsider. That was made plain. Others followed her lead with glee. Her perfect little soldiers. Keeping the newly titled inline. It united the old Ton who were always at each other's throats with their schemes and plots brought about by petty grievances. They had a new enemy in which to ice over and out.

Whenever she took up her seat beside the queen she was met with stony glares from the ladies in attendance well after the issue had been settled. If Agatha voiced her enjoyment at these gatherings, be it the music, the treats baked by the chefs, or something as simple as the weather, they would voice their objections to it. How very droll he plays. It is too sweet. The weather we had last week was much more pleasant. It is a bit too hot for my blood.

Her visits to their modistes were met with whispers. They would without an apology given, green, blue, or dark eyes that watched her every move like a hawk as she flitted about the store. If she tried to meet their gazes they would turn their own and feign interest in the silks that were on display.

The modiste herself, a mousy French woman with a heavy accent, never turned her away, but if there were other patrons, patterns with pale faces who would not look her in the eyes, but would murmur to themselves around her. Mrs. Thorpe had rather loudly invited all of the queen's ladies to her estate for the hunting season. Everyone apart from Agatha.

It was not just she who received this icing. It would never just be one or two of them. They were all stains upon the Ton and were treated as such. Lady Kent was barred from the very same modiste Agatha had ordered her new gown for the ball from. The Duke of Hastings was refused entry to Whites. Lord Danbury had gone to hunt with the king but was denied from joining them.

He had used it as an excuse, as if he really needed one for it was his right, to take his frustrations out upon her. Coral had insisted that she draw her a bath, not caring if she washed away his seed, and procured some salve for inner thighs that had been rubbed raw from his badgering.

The ball was a chance at remedying this deadlock in progress. They could not go on like this. Without recognition their titles meant nothing. Agatha had sent out invitations a month before the ball, but every Lord, Lady, and untitled gentleman in between of the old Ton found some excuse that kept them from attending or took to avoiding giving an answer to said invitation in its entirety.

The dowager princess was no help to them. She wanted her to cancel her ball. “The crown can not choose sides, Agatha.” She had told her with Lord Butte's sore face hissing on impartiality before being dismissed. Impartiality was the crown’s approach to everything,

Yet it was they who had chosen to go through this experiment. To make them titled members of the Ton. To integrate them within society, but no one could say that any true integration had taken place. They would stay stuck in this place of limbo with no recourse. Would flounder and not even their queen seemed to care.

Months rolled by, and their honeymoon was long over, but the queen's attention remained preoccupied, or rather obsessively fixated on her husband and his whereabouts. Agatha had tried to hint at the desperation of their situation, but the girl lived in her own world. She was entirely ambivalent about the needs of her people.

To that too Agatha could see that the fault did not lie with her. Charlotte was a girl who was unused to being othered. She had grown up with her place firmly set in the world. Her parents had ruled over their own land and her eldest brother after them. Their title and land had passed onto him without contest.

She did not understand what it meant to be considered a foreigner in one’s own home. To be excluded from appropriate society. Not allowed lands or a title. Not even allowed attendance at a ball. She did not even see that she was different from the people who she ruled over now. The ones who sought to exclude her people.

She had tried to get the girl to understand with less forthright means, but Agatha could no longer hold her tongue. “You hold our fates in your hands.” Charlotte was the queen. She had to be the queen. It was all up to her. It was now or never that they would be seen as equals or fall back to the edges of society, to exclusion, back to where they were supposed to be according to these people. “Your palace walls are too high, your majesty.”

Truthfully Agatha did not know what to expect when she had left the queen on such a note. She had hoped that she had not driven the girl further away. She prayed that she had actually listened to her. The girl was so hardheaded, but she needed her to listen to her. For she could not cancel her ball. Not now.

We are all given a lot in life, but that does not mean that circumstances can not change. Change is a constant in life and things had changed. They just needed a little push for those who doubted them to see that the only way was forward.

Agatha would not have chosen this life for herself. She certainly would not have chosen to be Lord Hermain Danbury’s wife. To be made to simper to those who wished her to mind her place. To be made into a vessel To go through all these treatments, the pain, the humiliations, in hopes of birthing an heir for a man who she loathed in so many ways, but could never fully express so. She had no control over that, but this she might.

They deserved more than to be used and discarded as if they were rats in some madman’s lab. She would see that they got more. She could influence the queen. She prayed she could influence her.

In the end, her fretting had been for naught. It was not a mere minute past Lord Danbury obsessing over his appearance and worrying saying that their guest would never arrive did their first guest indeed arrive.

None other than Lady Ledger herself accompanied by her husband Lord Ledger. Her pale face strained under the weight of a poorly constructed smile that did not reach her icy irises. Agatha wondered how long she could hold that smile before it finally cracked and revealed some measure of truth.

Her husband, Lord Ledger held that very same false smile at first glance. It was not until Lady Ledger had taken back her hand with some speed to head into their drawing room that had been transformed into a ballroom with Lord Danbury hot on her heels, did his eyes, which were a friendly shade of brown Agatha would later decide, warm.

With a jolly smile, with a glimmer of mischief upon his face, he told her that Lady Ledger planned upon skipping their ball, but received a personal note from the King stating that he would be in attendance. Lord Ledger went on to state his admiration, offered his friendship, and invited her husband to join him on his hunts.

His disposition was the opposite of his wife. It would appear that Lady Allen’s judgment of “poor devil” may have been the truth of the matter. Though at that moment she did not have much time to think on it. Her hosting duties quickly distracted her from the case that was Lord Ledger.

Agatha breathed easier as the guest trickled in one after another. From both sides of the Ton. Thanking God above that the queen had listened to her. Of course getting both sides to attend the first ball of the season, the ball of the season, was only half the battle.

The mood was low. Neither side would interact with one another. Once they had arrived they merely stood there. Huddled together making conversation with their old friends. Whispering to themselves and eyeing the other half or dancing only with partners from their side but making no move to venture out. Making no move to mingle. It might as well be that they were not even attending the same party Princess Augusta and her orchestra as always provided no help.

The dowager princess fanned herself as she looked around the tense room. Her eyes would catch Agatha’s every so often. Narrowing her gaze in disapproval. Lord Buttes' expression was as acerbic as ever. There was no joy in his stiff constitution. Agatha ventured to guess that his face may be permanently stuck in that position for she had not once seen him with so much as a hint of a smile.

The champagne flowed freely, the music played on. She had provided everything she could, but she could not force them to play nice with one another to mingle. To make merry in the revelry as if they were old friends.

The king and queen had arrived late, but they had arrived. Agatha had to thank the lord above for if they had not—she would not think of it. She could not think of it for Lord Ledger was making his over to her. Asking Lord Danbury for her hand for a dance.

Agatha could not recall the last time she had danced with another. Danced at all. Her husband would always complain of a bout of gout or the quality of the music. “What a ghastly noise that fellow makes.” Lord Smthye-Smith at his wife’s urging, who had taken pity upon her when she had seen her staring off wistfully at the couple’s twirling around in front of them, had asked her to join him for a turn once, but Lord Danbury had refused his friend's offer.

He blamed it on the pace of the dance then. “It is far too much exertion for Agatha.” However, her husband would not be able to deny Lord Ledger’s request nor did he want. The man practically jumped at the chance. A grin stretched his umber face. Exposing the cracks in his ashen skin It was on her to turn down the invitation.

Agatha wondered if it was a joke at her expense. Judging by the face Lady Ledger made her mouth drawn in a tight line, icy blue eyes scanning the room before she settled upon throwing glares her way, Lord Ledger’s request was sincere. She reached for his outstretched hand. Letting the lord lead her to join the king and queen on the dance floor.

She did not pay much attention to the song playing. Her mind was distracted with a thousand thoughts floating around. The man who had claimed her hand was chief among them. Perhaps it was wrong, but she could not help comparing Lord Ledger to her husband.

Lord Danbury's hands were always cold when he took them in his for a round. Damp and clammy. Chapped and calloused from poor management and age. His grip would always pinch. He was a rather stiff dancer. Clumsy in his movements it was his croaky voice that made complaints upon her dancing abilities.

Lord Ledger’s hands were warm. They showed signs of age, but they were steady. He glided around the dance floor with ease. His voice was not very deep, but it was soothing as was his smile. Making her cheeks warm ever so slightly with something light turning in the pit of her belly as he complimented her home and person. Everything about him was comforting as she took him in.

“I had the pleasure of meeting your father the other day.” The lord began with after the second turn. Breaking her from her musings with a jolt. Nearly losing her footing at the change in conversation. A lump formed in her throat as she inquired about what might have been said. Dreading the answer.

“I hope he was not too much of a bother my lord.” The years had not softened him quite the contrary. The man for all intents and purposes had become a recluse. With his only child married off, there was no need for him to be out in society. Joseph Robinson was content with his own company. He was not a man who had the ability to converse so easily. All stubbornness. Worse than Lord Danbury.

Her husband would dismiss her suggestions and then employ them without so much as giving Agatha credit for them, but he would listen. With her father, it was his way or none at all. His self-imposed solitude seemed to drive him further into his convictions.

“None at all my lady. Though I admit that he is quite the character.” His chuckle was as easy as his smile, it was meant to be reassuring but Agatha felt a flush. This time with embarrassment rather than those butterflies.

She knew how that conversation went. My daughter is Countess Danbury. He’d make sure to mention that half a dozen times. She is one of the queen's ladies in waiting. Agatha must have taken to biting her lip or staring off for Lord Ledger gave her hand a small squeeze. “He could not stop speaking of you and now I do see why.” Levity returned as did that same fluttering. They danced in silence for the rest of the song.

It was over far too soon. Their guests left with laughter on their tongues and a twinkle in their eyes. Agatha herself felt overjoyed, reeling from the excitement of the evening. The dancing, the champagne which she was allowed a glass, or two of, that buzzing which would not go away, but her elation at their success all ended when Lord Danbury dragged her to his bedroom. She was not the only one who had been left in a state of jubilation. The swell of the night caused for celebration.

Her husband took her from behind with much vigor. Knocking her into the headboard with each thrust no matter what measures she took. Agatha always felt as if she were a mare in that position. Hated being reminded of the fact that she was one, but it had its benefits. It was preferable rather than having to face Lord Danbury. To have him wheezing down upon her and on that occasion, it might have saved her life. Or at least might have saved her from the humiliation of being found crushed half naked underneath his great weight gasping for breath.

For all the doctor's visits at the Danbury residence, save for one, they had missed a more worthy patient. The circus of her womb was no distraction for Lord Danbury’s race against mortality. When it was said and done his quest for legacy had been in vain. He had not lived past three months of gaining his title. With no legitimate heir of his body in sight.

And so Agatha’s marriage to Lord Danbury had ended in the way it was consummated. Staring up at the ceiling as her husband took his rights, hammering at her womb. While she waited for it all to be over. Prayed for it to be with each jab. Only this time, that prayer had been answered with a thump and a smile that would never fade.

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bohemian-nights · 11 months

Text

Lady Danbury Chapter 4

Word Count: ~6,353

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Lord Ledger x Lady Danbury

Description: The new Lady Agatha Danbury was decidedly not happy. Neither was Lord Ledger. Perhaps they might find a bit of happiness in each other.

AN: This is a Lord Ledger x Lady Danbury AU fic. Some plot lines from Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story have been axed🪓

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3,

Death is not always a great tragedy. Befalling on those not deserving to be taken away so soon. It is not always a burden. A misfortune to those closest to them. It is a fact of life as simple, as involuntary, as breathing. Depending on one’s definition it can be a release of said burden. Bringing about long-awaited freedom, but it is not quite the freedom one hopes for those left behind. Especially the freedom which is bestowed upon young widows.

Freedom is a most curious and strange thing. Agatha had learned that over the years. The definition of the word she had looked up many a time. Liberation from restraint or the power of another. That is the definition she liked best. The one she lacked.

She had felt as if she were a bird. Trapped in a pretty gilded cage made to do tricks, chirp out niceties, and sing songs for all those who visited her. For those who owned her. She had no recollection of life outside of that cage. Of sun on her, the wind fanning her with a gentle breeze. She had been put there before she had learned the world around her.

That gate was now open. She could venture out any time she wished to. To come and go as she pleased or never step foot in it again. She was free. Freed from her capturer. Freed by death. In name she was free, but name is different than practice.

Death is simple. It is the easy part of it all, Agatha decided. Freedom is not. For it is living and living is never so simple. It was living that followed after it all, after being trapped in that cage for so long that she found the hardest.

Coral found her wandering the halls alone in the wee hours of the morning after Lord Danbury's funeral. Drinking a glass of port. There was a whole case of it left without its owner. “His favorite,” Agatha told her. Not hers. Never hers.

It had been a long day and an exceedingly tiresome fortnight. The doctors had come and gone the morning Lord Danbury was carted away for one final time at the Danbury residence. The hermit had come out of his shell. Arriving at first light, word had been sent to him by one of her late husband's men, from his country house where he spent his widowerhood in seclusion with a daughter off married, but she was no longer married.

She had joined him in widowhood. Agatha supposed she gave her father a renewed purpose. He had presided over the whole business. The first order of which had been her womb. Ordering his doctors which he had brought with him to inspect her person.

“One has to be sure of these things, Agatha. We must know.” They would not take her word for it. They had to be sure that she did not carry the Danbury heir inside her. The new Lord Danbury. The pronouncement was the same as all the times before. She was not with child. Her belly remained empty.

With the last of the doctors dismissed, the funeral was the next line. To that, too her father took command of. Agatha had not left her bed for a week. She did not grieve for her husband’s passing. She had not the grief for grieving. She honestly did not know what she felt then, but she did not wish to deal with it all. To fake her sadness which she did not have.

She wished to run and never stop, but would not be allowed to be out and about, to go on, and she did not wish to deal with the army of those who wanted to pay their respects to her. So she feigned fatigue. Melancholy. Despondency. Whatever she could, she said. Whatever act she had to perform, she did.

She burst into tears when Lady Kent and Lady Smythe-Smith had come up to visit and would not take no for an answer. When her sister-in-law had come down from Bath she had fainted at tea. Having to be carried back up to her room by a footman as Coral took to fanning her. “Give my lady some room to breathe.”

Agatha had tried the same with her father when he had called her to Lord Danbury’s study on some opinion on the service, having set up camp there among her dead husband's things, but he saw through her act. “My dear it is just us. There is no need for theatrics.” He would not bother her as long as she kept appearances. “You will need to save it for his funeral.”

She did. Lord Danbury’s funeral was a procession. It seemed a silly thing to dress up so fine for one in mourning. Her act of pretend languishing around her room seemed more real than having her stays laced so tight that she could barely breathe. To be stuffed into an ostentatiously black embroidered gown like a bird for show. A lace veil fastened to her curls to hide her tears that would never come, but yet that is how one mourns.

Lord Ledger was there. His wife was nowhere in sight as he stood a lone figure draped in black like and unlike the others. A shock to her eyes for he was one of the few from the old Ton, along with Lady Allen who winked at her from where she stood with an ever-present ill-contained grin, who had come, well Agatha could not name why she had come other than to imagine herself in her place and Lord Allen in Lord Danbury’s.

Agatha wished to speak to the lord. He was the only person among the parade of falsity she wished to speak to, but she was whisked away to greet and thank the murmurers who wanted to give their vain condolences. Apart from Lady Allen who had paid her respects with a kiss. Not so quietly imparting to her with glee that caused a stir from the other mourners, “Now the fun begins my dear.”

Lord Ledger had disappeared when she gazed back at the spot where she saw him last when she had managed to pull her attention away from the jackals. Agatha half wondered if she dreamt his person for she found nowhere in sight once Lord Danbury had been lowered into the ground. She put the lord out of her mind for a time. Everything that morning had passed by in a blur.

Soon enough she had found herself in the entryway of her home. Standing in the morning she thought was still night. Drinking a glass of port. Finally giving words to that feeling which she could not name. Emptiness.

She felt empty. Lord Danbury took up so much space in their marriage that he left no room for her. Agatha was a foreign creature. She caught glimpses of her in her reflection some days, but Lady Agatha Danbury was his creation. She was molded for and now he was gone.

Lady Agatha Danbury drank port because that is what he drank. She suffered through blood lettings, stale food, lecherous doctors, and foul tonics because she had to bear him a son. She wore gold far too often for her taste because that was his favorite color. She did not dance at parties, becoming a sentient who stood on the edge of the dance floor gazing on because he could not or would not do so.

Lady Agatha Danbury wore gowns of black because her husband was dead. She wore a veil over her face because she must mourn a man who had taken away her girlhood. She had to cry, to faint, to languish around, or say her thanks to those who pitied her loss all to show her grief over his death.

That girl who wished to drink what she may, wear shades of violet, and be twirled around the dance floor with laughter was stifled under Lady Danbury. Agatha could not exist. Her existence was a thing that continued to be ignored. Lady Danbury may be free for she could no longer exist as she was, but Agatha was not.

The funeral had not put an end to the mourning business nor had it given her the freedom and independence of a widow. Her freedom had in fact become a complicated matter. Agatha was a widow, yes, but a childless widow. A young childless widow who had yet to reach the age of thirty.

“You are not me Agatha,” Her father warned her when he had called her to Lord Danbury's study that morning after. A room that she wanted to lock up and never step foot in again, but it was slowly turning into her father’s place. Joseph Robinson had become a permanent fixture at the Danbury residence. “You are too young for widowhood. The Danbury line is lost to us, but our line must continue on.” His dark eyes had grown uncharacteristically soft, but his words told another story.

There were girls, respectable girls from the best families in the country who had never married at her age. The Danbury’s, the Robinsons, and families of the like were the new blood of the Ton. They could not afford to make mistakes. They could not afford to do as the others did. Especially when so much of their futures remained uncertain.

Agatha was not free. This widowhood was a temporary thing. A thing that would be remedied once her mourning period ended. She was young. Well bred. A pretty thing that men wished to gawk over. More than like fertile with a more virile match.

Agatha of course made her protests. Tried to argue. She had her duties. She was the queen's lady-in-waiting. She had married once. She had tried to give birth to her husband's big-headed babe. She had done that duty, perhaps in time she might find some worthy man to, but her father held firm. She could not stay a widow for there was one area in which she lacked. An area that prevented her freedom. Income.

He treated her like a child because of it. Ordering her about. Keep watch over her. Telling the servants to keep an eye on her when she ventured from her room. It was fine when he had first come down, a relief in fact when he helped her with Lord Danbury’s funeral arrangements, but Mr. Joseph Robinson had begun to overstay his welcome at his daughter's home.

Though he had not been entirely wrong about her predicament, he, much like Princess Augusta, would not help her solve her circumstances. Not when it benefited him to do nothing.

The Dowager Countess Lady Agatha Danbury was not a wealthy woman. She had found that out when her husband’s solicitor had been called for. It was he, and a host of others who Agatha herself procured replaced the doctors who frequented the Danbury residence.

Under normal circumstances, her late husband's title and estate would pass on to their eldest son, but they had no children let alone a son which to pass his earldom and all that was entailed upon him to. His title would die with him. His estate would wither. A fact which caused the other lords and ladies, of the new ton, much distress

“Lord Danbury was the first of us to pass on.” Lord Smthye-Smith had said when the lot of them came over requesting an audience with her. “What is to become of us?”

That was their woe. Their titles and estates. What would become of them when they too followed Lord Danbury to the grave? What would become of their children? Their heirs. What would become of the next generation after them?

Would their sons inherit what had become their birthright? Their titles, their land, and their place in society. Will their daughters be seen as the sweet genteel young ladies of good breeding they were? Would their children be seen as worthy matches for the sons and daughters of their fellow lords and ladies? Would they be accepted and seen as true equals in mind and title? Or would this progress be gone in a generation?

The crown was no help with providing no answers to these dire queries. “It is up to the king to decide whether or not this experiment will continue on past this generation.” ‘Twas Princess Augustas reply at the palace. The king, that is how she skirted around the issues. How she loved to remind Agatha that she was the king's mother, not the king himself. She did not have the authority to act. She, like the others, was but a humble servant. Serving at his majesty’s pleasure.

“How is our queen?” Information. That was her price. Her face was marble as she sipped upon her infernal tea. Lord Butte sat a sour-faced statue at her side though he looked pleased with the Princess's steadfastness. The other lord’s in attendance were not worth noting. They simply did nothing.

The representatives' crown and the government would never act to secure their interests. Princess Augusta would not advocate for them unless she saw some manner of gain or benefit in it for said crown. They would watch on and see how things played out as if they were an orchestra merely there for their entertainment.

Mayhaps the king might have been more sympathetic to their needs and endeavored to resolve their precarious state, but the king was nowhere to be found. His queen was too busy worrying over her distant king on top of her carrying the next. Agatha would not add to her stress nor would she be the case of. So they were set adrift. Their circumstances were left to run their course unaided. Oh, how they ran.

Under normal circumstances, Agatha would be a wealthy woman. By the laws that governed their country the bulk, which amounted to two-thirds of her husband's fortune prior to his lordship, was to be inherited by Dominic Danbury, her husband's nephew. The boy was his closest living male relative and his chosen heir in the absence of a natural-born legitimate son.

The remaining third, a mini fortune that could sustain her independence, as well as her dowry, which was rather a meager sum of five thousand pounds, was entitled to Agatha as his surviving widow. However, Lord Danbury’s estate had been left in near ruin.

“These are unprecedented dealings. Of course, we know that Dominic can not inherit your late husband's title or estate. The crown would never bestow the lordship and its holding upon anyone who was not Lord Danbury’s direct male descendant.” The solicitor had begun when he had answered her summons.

Riffling through her late husband's papers in that study of his. Their meeting place after she had forced her father to vacate Lord Danbury’s chambers. Agatha was still the lady of the house and her father a guest. He could not nor would he keep her from conducting her affairs.

The solicitor was an older fellow. Agatha reckoned that he had attended Eton with Lord Danbury. He was not patronizing. He did not treat her as a simpering widow or speak to her as if she lacked sense. Quite the opposite for he did not mince his meaning.

“Your husband spent a great deal trying to appear as one befitting of his new station that he failed to take into account the limitations of his income.” The man let out a sigh as he peered up at her. “His personal holdings not tied to the earldom are few and far between.” Agatha felt as if she dunked in ice water at his words.

“My husband was one of the richest men in the country.” She wondered if perhaps she might be dreaming. Retracing her steps that day and her surroundings to see if anything was amiss. Surely what she heard had to be a lie. A figment of an overactive imagination from sitting inside this cursed house most days with her only outlet being teas where she was made to simper and conciliate.

The late newly titled Lord Danbury was the son of a king. One of the wealthiest kings in Africa. He held one of the greatest fortunes on the continent. That kind of wealth could not be spent in a lifetime. “My husband's fortune could rival even the wealthiest of dukedoms. How can it be gone?”

Gone it was. Lord Herman Danbury was a spendthrift who was prone to bending the truth. On so many accounts it seemed. He had spent his money on well-bred horses and fine carriages. New staff, lavish furniture which to decorate their new estate, tailors who made their suits and dresses, and club fees. “The fortune I'm afraid was not so great as your late husband led you to believe.”

Her dowry along her husband's fortune, a mere fourth of the sum he boasted of holding, was near depleted. Spent to assuage the man’s avarice. The money that was not spent for mere vanities sake was put into the estate. Out of reach to Agatha and her nephew.

The old estate where she had spent the majority of her marriage was gone as well. a considerable number of linens was placed upon the property in exchange for lines of credit. Her late husband's greed knew no bounds.

Agatha needed to remarry. She could not stay a widow. She lacked. Her freedom would be sacrificed and she would become some other lord's wife. His plaything. With haste. Or attempt to secure Dominic’s position. Secure a lordship for the boy. Attempt to secure her position as a woman in her own right by way of his guardianship, she could be free from the will of a cruel master twice over.

She had taken a page from Princess Augusta’s playbook. Inviting her sister-in-law to join her for afternoon tea in the sunroom. The woman had not left for her home, but Agatha could see that she, unlike her father, grew weary of her continued stay at the Danbury residence.

“I trust you find your stay with us pleasant under the circumstances dear sister.” Even to Agatha’s ear, her words dripped of false pleasantries. The woman sat before her had never been dear to her nor a sisterly, however, appealing to one’s better nature, establishing a more familial connection never harmed. Especially when one was trying to keep her son for her own benefit.

“I have never been one for society or these people. Not as you or Hermain.” Her sister-in-law's characteristic air of disdain was absent. She looked hesitant as she sat her tea down. Drawing nearer to Agatha to occupy the seat next to her.

“I leave for Bath on the morrow. I have already told your papa.” The two got along well. Agatha imagined that her papa would prefer a daughter like Mrs. Danbury to herself. A daughter who did her duty without complaint. Who had secured the family line .“I do appreciate what you are trying to do for Dominic, but your father is right about your widowhood.” She placed a pat on the back of her hand. If it had been meant to comfort Agatha it only served to distress the lady further. Hoping that her leave would trigger her father to make his own preparations for his leave of her.

True to her word Mrs. Danbury departed for Bath that morning. Leaving her son in Agatha’s care. However, her father showed no signs of preparing for his departure. Mr. Robinson seemed content to stay right where he was.

He was content watching Agatha scramble for independence. Content to see her make her way back from teas at the palace dejected. Or coming home from visits with the queen at Buckingham House with a headache. Quite content to see her under his thumb once more. Floundering and clawing trying to reach the surface. Drowning and he would not save her. Even to toss her a line so that she may save herself. Sinking deeper. Suffocating.

It came to a head when she had come back from tea at Buckingham house, reassuring the queen over her own woes, to find a man in her sitting room. Seated in her husband's favorite chair. A gaudy thing which, as with most of their furnishings in this tomb of a house, cost thrice than what it was worth.

Richard Stokeworth. Dickey, he wanted her to call him. “Your papa tells me that you are fond of art. Montague House is to open a new exhibit this weekend with some pieces from Macedonia. It would be my honor if you would oblige me with your company, my lady.” A smile stretched across his face as he leaned back awaiting her answer.

He was tall. A head taller than Agatha. Handsome with a straight white smile that stood out against his dark skin. Young. Not a blemish to cloud his complexion. He couldn’t have been older than six and twenty. Richard Stokeworthwas a statue carved from onyx yet she felt nothing, but a creeping pit of dread when she gazed upon him.

She stuttered for a moment before sprouting up from her chair with a start. Words caught in her throat. She couldn't speak. She did not wish to speak. Fearing what words that might slip out. I’m sure you are perfectly lovely. You might be lovely for someone else, but I would rather fall into a nest of thrones than be your wife. With one last stammer. her eyes flitting to her father's ashen face, Agatha ran from the room as if she were a child.

She needed out. To be out of the house. To be out of the race. Out from the demands of the queen, crown, and the Ton alike. Out from under him. That man who sought to tempt her back into imprisonment. It was a prettier cage than the last, but a cage nonetheless. She’d lose herself all the same. She'd lose her mind if she did nothing.

Sitting there staring at the walls in her room. Attending endless teas where most of the ladies in the room wanted her gone, or to use her be it for information or to soothe themselves Finding strange men in her parlor while her father held a self-satisfied countenance standing lurking in some shadowy corner of the room. A puppet master who had grabbed ahold of her strings and would not release them until a new master was procured. This time one who would get the job done.

Coral had offered to come with her when she had seen her darting out from the parlor into the entryway. Forgetting her cloak along with proper shoes as she grabbed ahold of her veiled hat. Her maid and her father rarely got on, but both acted as mother hens watching her every move, albeit her reasons were much more benevolent than that man.

Agatha waved away her maids' concerns. “I shall be fine Coral.” She needed solitude. Required it. A break. A breath. That is what she needed. Setting out on her into the wilderness of her estate, well her estate for as long as the crown did not recall it.

She could not recollect the last time she had felt the sun kiss her face. A sable face covered by black lace, for she was supposed to be in mourning despite the pulling of forces that would not let her be and her own lack of feelings besides resentment towards her late husband, nonetheless she could still feel its warmth on her cheeks. The breath she held in, released. Carried off into the air.

Her run had turned into a walk once she had made it to the edge of her garden. The green manicured lawn turned to wild brown grass. It would have reached her shoulders had she not walked along the narrow trail cut between the blades. A well-worn path. Blanketed by sunbaked grass with its rays beating down on it. As if someone had wandered upon it without a destination a thousand times before as Agatha did now.

She happened upon a small house. A shack really. Mayhaps it once had been a gamekeeper's cottage, but its occupiers had long since deserted the desolate place. A carriage wheel and an assortment of broken ends and odds were placed in a half shed next to the cottage.

An old, but sturdy in appearance, bench sat in front of the structure's entrance under the cover of shade. A lucky find for her feet, which were still in her heeled black pumps, an entirely impractical shoe for her wandering was starting to hurt. The leather of her shoes pinched at the skin.

Setting herself on that dusty bench, whose appearance did not lie of its durability, she hiked up her layer of skirts to slip off her shoes. Freeing her aching feet from their confines. Focusing on trying to draw circulation back into her lower limbs she was utterly oblivious to the sound of steady footsteps nearing until a voice spoke.

“I would not think those were quite the best shoes for the fields.” She had not seen him in weeks, but there Lord Ledger stood before her. Cloaked in green with a walking stick at his side and a hint of a smile. Bowing, not forgetting his manners as Agatha scrambled to put back on her blasted heels.

The lord's presence was not entirely alarming though a bit startling. For she had not expected him. “What are you doing out here?” On her estate in the middle of this little valley. Only it was not her estate nor her valley. It was in fact his.

“There is your estate.” He pointed a finger over to where she had come from. “And here is mine.” His stick planted itself softly into the ground “We abut, my lady.” She was the trespasser though he did not seem to mind her presence in his fields. Promising to not set the hounds upon her with a smirk holding no menace. It was teasing yet kind.

“I cannot fault you for taking a ramble.” Rambles that is what he called them. To assuage Lady Ledger. One could not have a mad husband. Or the appearance of a mad husband. Agatha imagined that appearances meant more to someone like her than personal satisfaction and happiness. To all of that side of the Ton.

A ramble was merely a break from all the chaos. Not a break of one’s mind. Insanity is the key difference between an aimless walk and a ramble. Though Agatha felt as if she were on the edge of it. Her father would not care if she were on that edge. If she walked off that ledge just as long as she did her duty he would not question. The dowager princess would not waste and queen might spare a two

“I do not believe I am rambling. I am sure it is just a walk. For I feel mad.” A walk nowhere. A walk perhaps into insanity. Marching to a slow doom set out to consume her. “Or that I will go mad.” She felt like screaming at the wind. If Lord Ledger had not come upon she would have. If that was not madness she did not know what was.

Concern was written across his lined face. His amber eyes softened as he apologized for her loss. Agatha had to bite her lip to keep from saying that she was not very sorry. Angrier at the fact that Lord Danbury’s death had not freed her from want. That it had brought on a new set of complications. “Walking or rambling, it will make you feel better.”

He straightened as another smile overtook his face, wiping away some of her weight that held her down. “I expect you to wear riding boots tomorrow.” He pointed to her shoes with his stick. “We shall ramble together at the same time tomorrow.” He took his leave of her with a bow. Leaving no room for argument nor did Agatha wish to. Curiosity seeped through her bones overtaking the melancholy she had felt from inaction and invisibility.

True to his word, Lord Danbury was there. At that same gamekeeper's cottage. That same time when the sun's light was at a high. The corner of her eyes crinkled up when he caught sight of her. It increased the lines upon his face, but she thought it suited him. He greeted Agatha with a My Lady and she with a Lord Ledger. She felt her cheeks heat when their eyes met. Thankful that her chestnut skin hid her blush.

They talked for hours. Of nothing, and nothing was a great distraction. Her worries and fears faded away as she focused on what was there. They talked about nothing as well. The plants they came across. The trees. The birds. Games. Wordplay. Riddles. Poetry. He recited to her poetry. His eyes held a warmth in them when he spoke. A warmth that traveled throughout her. No topic was too small or too great for the other ear. Sometimes they did not talk at all and yet that pause did not need filling.

They walked for hours. Her legs burned from the exertion. Her curls frizzed from the intricate style Coral had carefully crafted, but In those hours spent in his company that blush did not leave her. Nor that fluttering when he spoke or when he simply turned his gaze towards her. A Fluttering of life. She felt alive. She knew that now. She had not been alive. Not truly. She had been existing, occupying space on this plane, but existence is not life, and this was just a taste of it.

A ramble turned into a dozen. Turned to two dozen. Meeting at that little cottage. They would walk side by side along that narrow brown path where they were undisturbed apart from the rumblings of nature. It never lost its appeal.

It was easy enough. Finding an excuse to get out of that suffocating house. I am going for a walk, father.” Just a walk. “I shall be back before dinner.” It was the truth in a way. Agatha had found that a partial truth was always easier than a lie.

Mr. Robinson did not mind. He did not ask to accompany her. Even when her dinner sat cold Why would he when she was just wandering around the estate's empty land? She never took a carriage. Her dress was not askew upon arriving. Her makeup was untouched and her hair was kinked by the wind.

No strange men lurked about in shadows or letters from unworthy admirers were delivered at the Danbury residence. She was just in need of a clear mind.

He knew of her frustrations. Her will for independence, but she in turn knew how things went. A walk was the extent of the relief from those frustrations. She could gain. After all her father thought it better to have a contented daughter if he were to auction her off like cattle once more. Give her some measure of freedom, some measure of control, leave that door open and she shall not complain of her cage too much when it is shut. She will always want to come back through that door.

While her father remained oblivious to Lord Ledger's presence with her in what was supposed to be a solitary exercise out from her cage, Agataha suspected that her maid knew. Coral was, if ever, a busybody. A gossip who could rival the likes of Lady Kent or Lady Allen. but she would not tell her father or another soul of whose company she kept on her walks. She was good for keeping her secrets.

“Do not forget your hat, my lady.” Gifting her a sly smile that made the corners of her mouth upturn in a feline way while she helped her pin her veil and hand her an umbrella.

Off she went and yet when she came back she was reminded of just how dreary her reality was. The queen who was a mere girl beyond her depth that their very place within society depended upon. Princess Augusta and her displeasure with her absence of information. The line of suitors her father had procured that looked at her as if she was a piece of meat or a trinket to be possessed beneath their pleasantries.

She had lived for a few hours in Lord Ledger’s company with the wild surrounding them and when she arrived back through that door her cage was there to greet her. Agatha had lost and she had gained so much yet she was still in that gilded cage.

And so those talks of nothing turned to something. Sitting upon that old bench under the cottage's awning with Lord Ledger at her side. Squinting as the day's dying light sought to impair his view. The Lord was a more than willing audience as she unburdened herself to him.

“What is there?” His gaze was upon the grassy landscape before them. His voice a gentle timber. Apart from Coral, it seemed as if he could sense her moods better than anyone.

“My maid Coral.” Her friend. Her only friend. She was Lady Agatha Danbury the widow of an Earl who was the son of a king and the only true friend she had which she could depend on and who wanted her complete happiness was her small maid.

“What is not there?” She let out a sigh at that question. Pursing her lips as she ruminated. The absences. The wants. There were too many to name.

Her title. Her estate that could be recalled by the crown at any moment. The men who vied for her hand who viewed her only as a vessel for their own ambitions. To further their line. Her father among them. Her supposed access to the crown. They wanted it all.

Everything. It seemed the appropriate answer, but at the same time, it failed to convey the extent of her troubles. It was far too simple an answer for that. “A future in which I do not dread waking up in the morning.” The truth. She did not wish to go back to the life she lived.

“Lord Danbury?” She turned to face him. His eyes remained glued to the landscape, but his tone was hopeful. He wanted an answer. A real answer. He would not judge her for telling the truth.

“I would not say he is something that I lack.” She missed him least of all. Agatha did resent him for the mess he left her to deal with but did not miss or want for his presence. “ I might be a monster for thinking so.” She teased the lord before her with a smile. It was the unchristian thing to say. Not a sentiment that any good respectable wife, a grieving widow, should voice.

“You are no more monstrous than I.” He finally turned to her. His eyes held a sadness as he continued on. Freedom. He called her free. She had to hold back a laugh. If this was freedom. If this was the extent of her freedom then she was truly doomed.

“My father wishes to see me marry again.” She did not dare glance over at him. Her smile was gone as she joined him in his watch of the setting horizon. “I’m a girl to him. He is my keeper.” Lord Ledger was trapped in a loveless marriage, but he was a man. He could do as he pleased even in the confines of his dreary marriage.

“Next week is my birthday.” Another year gone. “And I have nothing to look forward to.” Another year was wasted. Another year to come that would not be her own.

Perhaps with a babe on the way. That is what her dear papa would want. What her new husband, who she will doubtlessly be married off to by the end of the year when Agatha could no longer use the excuse that she was in mourning, would want.

That was what awaited her. Nothing apart from life as someone's pet once more. Someone’s doll, an incubator, a spy, a servant who was to perform and act as they all wished with no account of her own wants and desires. Happiness and joy were not hers to have. She was a reed bending in the wind at other's whims.

Agatha supposed she had one final option. The life of a nun. No one would stop her. No one could stop her from saying those vows no matter how much it inconveniences them, but that was not a life either. That was not a life for her. Not a full life.

She had the allusion of freedom for a few moments. For a ramble every evening beside Lord Ledger, but that was the extent of her freedom and that freedom too would be gone like the others all too soon. Trapping her forever in darkness.

“Rambles are there.” It was as if he had lit a candle in her darkness as he spoke to her. The lord turned to face her. A quiet conviction in his voice. With hope in his eyes. A hope that reached past her woe gripping her. Commanding her to wake from the abyss that surrounded her. Guiding her out of it. Into something unknown yet it made her feel riant. “I am there.” Agatha felt her breath catch. “Are you?” He beckoned her to him and she followed. Eagerly. Heading towards that light. It was like a spell as they leaned into one another. An internal magnet drawing them together. Lord Ledger's breath, which smelled of mint and spice, fanned her warm face as he hesitated for the span of it before they plunged into each other’s depths. His lips landed upon hers and Lady Agatha Danbury was gone.

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