#ask the baronet
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Wrapped #14
[send me a number 1-100 and i will try to write a short drabble based off whatever song that corresponds to in my spotify wrapped]
14: The Kids Aren't Alright by Fall Out Boy
And I still feel that rush in my veins
It twists my head just a bit to think
All the people in those old photographs I've seen are dead
"Well, here's the spot!" Scar popped open the door of the antiques store, ushering the pair in. "My contact owns the place."
Jimmy wandered away, looking up and down the aisles as the other two walked towards the counter. It was the kind of place that piled up on itself and twisted inward, becoming a labyrinth of shelves and boxes. He idly poked at a box of old black and white photographs.
There was one near the back, clearly quite old. It showed two men, standing stiffly in the typical fashion for a portrait, but close to each other—dressed simply. He was ready to scan past it, but felt a shiver up his spine as his eyes passed across the faces. The very familiar faces.
"Tango?" He called out. "You're never going to believe this."
Tango scrambled back over, clearly ditching whatever conversation he'd been engaged in with the proprietor. "What'd you find? Some cool tool, or—well look at Mr. Handsome over here."
Jimmy's fingers traced the outline of their faces in the portrait. "Do you want it?"
"Of course I do."
#ask the baronet#my writing#funeralverse#spotify wrapped ask game#schrodinger's fv canon lmao it both is and isn't canon until I make up my mind later#no context epilogue spoilers <3
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tell me about scarland HVAC engineer OC? I'm Deeply curious
okay they're my hermitsona! last summer i was an intern for an HVAC design/construction firm and when scar built the air conditioning units for scarland i went haha i know that and my hermitsona was born. they're name is cris/cristina, mid 20s, and they're the design engineer onsite for scarland's HVAC system. so yeah my hermitsona doesn't work for scarland, theyre a contractor, because i want realism in my minecraft amusement park damnit! the idea for the writing is it's a transcript of behind the scenes footage but i havent written a whole bunch. i've just had fun thinking about cris dealing with scar, who i bet is an annoying and picky client lmao
It's a bright, sunny day. In a red polo shirt and black slacks is Cris, short and brown and feminine, curly black hair in a ponytail. They're standing in front of bushes, hard hat in hand and safety glasses on their head. "Hello, I'm Cris, an HVAC design engineer working here at Scarland." A pause, as someone off-camera speaks inaudibly.
"I'm not head engineer, no." Cris replies, their smile growing tighter. "That would be my boss, Cole. I'm the engineer onsite. You'd think that'd be the head engineer!" They wince, a full-body recoil at their words, and mumble, "That was petty."
cole is named cole because that summer i was one of three (3) POC in that building, but there were four (4) people named cole. FOUR.
#thanks for asking baronet! idk if im ever gonna finish this tbh but i like cris#i dont miss being an intern there tho lol#bidoof answers#baronetcoins#hermitcraft#wip: HVAC hermitsona
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I saw your post about how in Thomas Sharpe's bio he was considered effeminate and not seeming particularly heterosexual. Do you think he has a complicated relationship with his potential attraction to men because he's also fearful of them due to his father's abuse? He wilts so easily around Edith's father. And Lucille is the one that "avenges" him.
I think Thomas Sharpe sits within a very unfortunate vortex of circumstances that would lead anyone to develop a myriad of complications when it comes to any sort of relationship-- father, sister, lover, you name it. Realistically, acting on any potential attraction towards men is automatically made almost impossible given the time Crimson Peak takes place . While capital punishment was no longer in the cards, "gross indecency" could still land a man in jail for a decade. And the Sharpes already had a reputation on paper, what with Lady Sharpe's gruesome death and all.
That being said, any kind of abuse leaves marks that linger. It's wholly up to interpretation if his father's particular brand of abuse somehow dissuaded Thomas from even considering looking at other men with genuine desire. Maybe it gave him serious daddy issues and made him thirst harder but there was just no space for him to even allow himself to explore that aspect of his sexuality due to everything else going on in his life. With, you know, the scamming, and the murder, and the sis banging.
As for Carter Cushing, I think it's more to do with him not being used to dealing with American men. (From a meta perspective, in regards to genre, you have that clear line between Carter's "brusque, protective father/no-nonsense American capitalist" and Thomas' "limp-wristed baronet with sopping wet eyes/the obvious object of a vain young man's woman's desires" that is prevalent in romances, especially period romances, so his withering is more to do with trying to show him as this harmless, pathetic fella.)
Lucille wasn't so much avenging him as she was putting their plan into action, which actually brings up another subtle yet brilliant aspect of Thomas' sexuality. It's the fact that he serves the role of femme fatale (homme fatale?), relying on his wiles and looks and charm to lure in women. His wilting is tactical. It serves his and Lucille's purpose as the dream team of fucked uppery.
In my little homosexual brain, I choose to believe that if any of their cons were to have gone sideways and getting Thomas to seduce a man would've proved more fruitful to their endgame, not only would he have jumped on it ASAP but enjoyed it all the way down. Lucille would've been only been a fraction less annoyed than her usual.
#asks ho!#........... this got away from me sorry. keeping a coherent line of thought? don't know her.#anonymous#crimson peak#meta#is this meta? idk i'm but a humble homo who's down bad for the baronet#incest mention
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Didn't George want to marry Nancy??? He sets his cousin up for the wolves???
Well, we don’t know what George has been told is going to happen to Nancy.
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lover | mattheo riddle x reader
song; lover [taylor swift]
pairing; duke!mattheo riddle x fem!baronet's daughter!reader
genre; marriage of convenience, s2l, fluff, angst, hurt comfort
word count; 9,1k
timeline; bridgerton au (again lol)
warnings; abusive parents (verbal, neglect, psychological), implied anxiety, panic attacks, near death experience (illness)
summary; born into a loveless family, you had been denied the opportunity to marry for many years. that was, until, a duke noticed your situation and gave your parents an offer that they simply couldn't refuse - but would it be a love match?
suggested by @fictionisjustbetter ! (sorry this took so long)
icl mattheo is just so perfect for period aus
masterlist
"all's well that ends well to end up with you."
———————————————
Sir Vincent Malton was a baronet and nothing more. Of course, while being a low title, it was still a part of the aristocracy, which was much better than the alternative. He took his role very seriously, as his father before him had, and his father before him.
So, when the first Lady Malton of his passed during childbirth having sired not an heir, but a daughter, he had arranged for a new wife to marry ready for his first day of it being considered acceptable to be out of mourning. The second Lady Malton of his was more successful in the heir department: during her first pregnancy, she sired twins, both a boy and a girl. And then after two more girls (of separate pregnancies), she had another boy. Sir Vincent Malton then finally felt safe in the security of his baronetcy lineage.
But he never spoke to any of his six children. He left them up to the second Lady Malton, including his firstborn, who was not her blood. Where other ladies would have accepted their stepchildren as their own, Lady Daria Malton did not. As far she was concerned, Y/N was not her child and thus not her problem. But Sir Vincent was a traditional man who saw the children as the mother's business, so she kept up appearances to continue her life of comfort.
Sir Vincent didn't even bother with the marriage mart, instructing his wife to simply inform him when a suitor (with a title) proposed to any one of his daughters. And Lady Malton had - with her own eldest daughter, Samantha, when a baron asked for her hand. He was twice her age, but Lady Malton (like her husband) cared about title more than anything. Samantha was quickly married off to her new life as a baroness.
One thing Sir Vincent didn't know was that Lady Malton had never officially debuted Y/N. She brought her along to more casual soirées that other non-debutantes attended to keep up appearances, but as far as the one-and-twenty-year-old's actual debut - well, it was significantly overdue. The thing was, Y/N had received callers after such events before, but callers were received by the baronetess and not the baronet, and she quickly sent them away. Thus, the actual stage of proposal was never reached, so Lady Malton was by all technicalities following her husband's instruction.
Y/N knew that it was unfair, that her stepmother's abuse was unjust. She didn't see why she couldn't just allow someone to propose and get her out of the home: Lady Malton clearly didn't like her, so why not be rid of her?
But, she supposed, someone like Lady Malton must quite enjoy having a scapegoat around to target their frustrations at.
***
"Last year was a tremendous success by all means," Lady Malton spoke as her lady's maid attended to her corset, "To have Samantha married off in her first year as a debutante was a splendid result."
Y/N subtly rolled her eyes: Samantha was eighteen and her husband almost forty, it really shouldn't have been a permitted pairing. But, her husband was a baron, and title was all Lord & Lady Malton cared for. They couldn't choose to be fussy as the lowest titleholders of the aristocracy.
"Thus, Y/N, I do not wish you to cause any interference," she explained further, glaring at you through her reflection in the mirror, "I am bringing you along to Lady Bridgerton's birthday soirée out of necessity, as she always includes young ladies of whom have not made their debut."
You knew that: you had attended Lady Bridgerton's birthday event the year prior for the same reason.
"Rumour has it the Duke of Covenshire has returned from his travels to the Americas and will be attending tonight," she proceeded, "And it would simply be marvellous if Grace could secure him as a match in her first year as a debutante."
You glanced over at Grace, sat at the dresser as her lady's maid applied her makeup. She was putting on a remarkably brave face, but you could tell that she was nervous: she was too young to debut. After Samantha's success, Lady Malton had felt confident enough to debut Grace at only seven-and-ten. It wasn't entirely uncommon, but typically Mamas waited until their daughters were at least one year older.
Meanwhile you were one-and-twenty and still yet to have your debut. At this rate you would be a spinster before you had even entered the marriage mart.
You looked to your other side at Tia, your youngest sister at fourteen, who was more than thrilled to be allowed to attend that night. You never saw your brothers, really: Vincent (creatively named after your father) was away at Cambridge, and Henry, the youngest of the lot, was away at Eton.
"Right, is the carriage ready?" Lady Malton snapped at one of the servants, who quickly nodded.
And then with a curt bob of her head, the baronetess proceeded over to the door - a silent instruction for her daughters to follow - and they all headed to the front of Malton House, the London lodgings of the family.
***
"Lady Bridgerton! How good to see you," Lady Malton beamed at the dowager viscountess, "Such a lovely soirée."
"Why thank you, Lady Malton," the kind woman replied, "Pleased to see all your daughters could make it."
"Oh, is Samantha here already?"
"I believe Lady Halterton is over there," Lady Bridgerton vaguely pointed in a direction, "But how are all the Miss Maltons?"
"Grace is excited to make a match this year," the poor girl was pushed forward, "With any luck, she shall follow in her sister's footsteps."
"And what of the oldest Miss Malton?"
You looked up and gave Lady Bridgerton a hesitant smile.
"You know how Y/N is - still doesn't want to debut," Lady Malton sighed, "At this rate she shall be a spinster before even trying for marriage. But, we love her and support her decisions."
You scoffed internally, wanting nothing more than to blaspheme at your stepmother in that moment.
The conversation with Lady Bridgerton wrapped up and the focus then became the considering of various potential suitors. It was the first social event that you had the privilege of attending since the year prior, so you fully planned to savour the moments you were free from the house.
And then the room hushed into whispers as the door opened, it being remarkably noticeable how all the ambitious eyes of the Mamas zoned in on one particular man gracing the room with his presence.
"That's him- that's the duke!" Lady Malton whispered, mainly to Grace, but anyone close by could have heard her.
"Gosh, he's handsome," Tia mumbled to your left, "Shame I'm too young."
You kept your eyes glued on to the pale man with curly brown hair gelled somewhat neatly. His eyes were narrowed like that of a cat's, and his very presence commanded authority - yet he was polite to every hopeful Mama who approached him. Dismissive, but polite.
"Ah, Lady Bridgerton," he spoke, near enough to you for you to hear his gruff monotone voice as he bent over to kiss the dowager viscountess's hand, "Thank you for the invitation, and happy birthday."
"It is an honour you attended, your grace."
The man nodded, chatting to her for a few moments longer as the noise and bustle returned to the room, so you couldn't hear the rest of it.
"Now is our chance," your stepmother said as the duke's conversation wrapped up. She quickly sped towards him. "Your grace!"
The duke paused, and half-turned so he was fully facing your brood.
"Lady Malton, Baronetess of Catury," she curtsied, "And this is my daughter, Grace," she gestured towards the girl.
When his eyes flicked to Tia, she hurried to introduce her, but when his eyes flicked to you, she remained silent.
"And you are?" he inquired.
Your eyes widened: you were rarely spoken to, "Y/N- Miss Y/N Malton," you corrected.
"Don't pay her any mind, your grace," your stepmother quickly said, pinching you in the side as subtly as she could which made you flinch - as it always did. You didn't notice the way the duke's beady eyes followed the interaction. "She isn't a debutante."
"She looks old enough to be." He was clearly referencing the fact you obviously had a few years on Grace.
"It is her own choice."
You couldn't help the scowl that itched at your eyebrows, and the duke couldn't help but notice it.
"Would you care for a dance with Grace?"
The duke's eyes flicked over your sister again, "I have no intentions of dancing this evening- if you excuse me."
And with that, he departed, just to be ambushed by yet another Mama.
Your stepmother turned and glared at you, "You ruined Grace's chances."
"I didn't do anything," you said simply.
"You spoke. You know you're not supposed to."
"He asked me a question."
"I respond to the questions about you."
"Mama," Grace interrupted, shooting you a sympathetic look, "Is that the Earl of Kilmartin over there?"
Lady Malton's head snapped in that direction, "So it is! He has returned from India."
You couldn't be more grateful to Grace for the distraction.
***
"Saunders," the duke, Mattheo, called from his work study in Riddle Manor, his London residence. It was merely a couple hours after he had returned from Lady Bridgerton's soirée.
The secretary hurried into the office, "Yes, your grace?"
"What do you know of the Malton family?"
Saunders paused, "Sir Vincent Malton?"
Mattheo nodded.
"He is married to Dame Daria Malton and has six children. He attended Eton and Cambridge, studying history."
"And of his children?"
"Two sons and four daughters, I believe."
"And what of Miss Y/N Malton?"
The secretary immediately recognised the name, "She is the oldest, your grace. She is one-and-twenty and well-known for not having debuted yet."
Mattheo frowned, leaning back in his chair, "Is there a way in which she is different from her siblings?"
"I-" the secretary thought for a moment, "I believe she has a different mother than her younger siblings, if that's what you mean."
"Lady Malton is not her mother?"
"Well, yes and no. The current Lady Malton is not her mother, but the Lady Malton before her was. She passed in childbirth, I believe."
Mattheo hummed, "I see."
"Is that all, your grace?"
"Prepare the carriage to journey to Malton House tomorrow morning, Saunders, and locate my mother's engagement ring."
Saunders' eyes widened, but he quickly nodded, "Of course, your grace."
Nothing made Mattheo angrier than cruel parents.
***
Lady Malton and Grace were up bright and early the next day, as all debutantes and their Mamas were after a social event. They were to dress in some of their nicer but not so fancy attire ready to sit in the upstairs drawing room in await for any callers they may receive in the downstairs drawing room. You, however, stayed tucked nicely into bed until a more reasonable hour, since your stepmother certainly wouldn't want to catch sight of you until lunchtime - if then.
Still, you rose from your slumber at around eleven o'clock and called for your lady's maid, getting dressed in a simple baby blue piece that you had purchased a few years ago. You rarely got new dresses under Lady Malton's reign.
"I'll take my breakfast in here, please, Melinda," you smiled.
***
The Duke of Covenshire had been up at an exceptionally early hour, having taken a ride on his favourite stallion at sunrise, to then return to his city house and retreat to his office for a few hours accompanied by some breakfast.
He was still there at eleven o'clock.
"Your grace," Saunders began after having knocked on the door, "The carriage is ready for you."
"And the ring?" the duke inquired.
"Here," the secretary presented it, "It was still safely in the dowager duchess's bed chamber."
Mattheo had seen no point in keeping it anywhere else since that room had remained unoccupied for quite some time now.
"Excellent," he murmured, "Now, let us make haste."
***
It wasn't a long journey to Malton House, so really it was no time at all by the time that the Covenshire carriage pulled up to the smaller but still grand home. There were two or three other carriages parked outside, likely belonging to other potential suitors.
Mattheo wasn't worried: he was a duke, after all, and the Maltons were merely baronets. They would jump at the opportunity to marry a daughter off to be a duchess.
After knocking on the door, he was greeted by a short balding man with a seemingly permanently curved eyebrow.
"Here for Miss Malton?" he asked.
"Yes," Mattheo replied, although he had a feeling they weren't referring to the same one.
"Name?"
"Mattheo Riddle, Duke of Covenshire."
The butler's eyes widened, "Right this way, your grace."
Mattheo was led through the hallway into the downstairs drawing room, where Lady Malton and Grace were perched on an orange settee. On the other side of Grace sat an older gentleman, meanwhile on the settee sat across from them were two others. One of them was roughly the same age as the first, whereas the other was much younger - closer to Grace's age.
"Your grace," Lady Malton instantly said, shooting up to curtsy.
"Lady Malton," Mattheo nodded, "May I speak with Sir Vincent?"
"Yes, yes, of course," the baronetess said with widened eyes, "I'll go fetch him at once."
Typically she would have sent a servant to complete such a task, but clearly the shock had consumed her to the point she sprung into action. Once she had departed the room, Mattheo turned his eyes to Grace and the other three gentlemen who were all staring at him curiously.
"Who are you gentlemen?" he asked.
"Edward Cann, Viscount of Sancourt," one of the older gentlemen introduced.
"Gareth Warner," the other older one spoke.
Mattheo couldn't help but question the audacity of an older man to pursue the hand of such a young woman when he didn't even possess a title. Still, his eyes turned to the youngest man.
"Sir Charles Robinson, Baronet of Rackney."
"And how old are you?" his eyes were still on Charles.
"Twenty, your grace."
Mattheo hummed, that was more appropriate for Grace. Unusual for a man to seek a wife at such an age, but not unheard of.
"Lord Cann and Mr Warner," he began, and they perked up at his address, "May I ask what the devil men of your age are doing pursuing such a young woman?"
They were clearly taken aback by his blunt honesty, as were the servants littered around the room.
"I certainly will have to rethink my family's business with your estates in light of such news."
And with apologies to Grace and Mattheo, the two older gentlemen quickly vanished from the room, moments before the Lord & Lady of the house made an appearance.
"Your grace," Sir Vincent spoke, holding out his hand, which Mattheo shook, "To what do I owe the honour?"
"May we proceed to a more private location?"
"Of course, right this way."
"Your presence won't be required any longer, Sir Charles," Lady Malton said, clearly confused at the absence of the two other gentlemen.
Mattheo interrupted, "Oh, I'm sure it will, Lady Malton. I wouldn't dismiss the young gentleman."
Before she could ask what he meant, he was being led out the drawing room and to the baronet's office.
"I believe you know what I am here for," Mattheo stated simply, after declining the offer of brandy.
"I shouldn't want to get my hopes up, your grace."
"I would like your daughter's hand in marriage."
Sir Vincent nodded, "Of course, I shall dower her fairly-"
"Unnecessary. I have no use for a dowry, no matter the size."
"Oh- okay," the baronet paused, "Which daughter is this?"
Mattheo almost frowned: was Sir Vincent not aware of his daughter's status in society? Perhaps he left such matters up to his wife.
"Miss Y/N Malton."
"You're the first suitor that we have received for her."
The duke's breath hitched.
"This is such a relief - of course, we will arrange the wedding right away."
"I would like to marry her quickly," Mattheo said, "We will need to procure a special license."
Sir Vincent nodded, "Whatever you wish, your grace. It is an honour to be your father-in-law."
Mattheo turned to leave after saying his thanks, but paused and faced the baronet again, "You should definitely consider Sir Charles Robinson to marry Miss Grace Malton, he is a fine young man."
The baronet was clearly confused at such a statement, but absently nodded nonetheless.
***
You had been shocked when your father called you down to the drawing room: you couldn't remember the last time that he had requested your presence. Not that he requested your sisters' presences either, you were pretty sure your brother Vincent was the only of his children he spoke to.
"Excellent news for our family," he began, with Lady Malton looking thrilled at what she expected him to say, "Excellent news indeed."
You almost rolled your eyes, expecting that you had simply been called down to receive the announcement of Grace's engagement.
"The Duke of Covenshire has proposed."
Lady Malton stood up, "This is fabulous news! Well done, Grace."
"No," Sir Vincent silenced his wife, "Well done, Y/N."
Your head snapped up.
What?
"Whatever do you mean, Father?"
"His grace has asked for your hand in marriage," you had never seen your father so happy, "And naturally I accepted."
Lady Malton stood in absolute horror.
"I was beginning to become worried about your lack of proposals," he continued, unaware of his wife's reaction, "But clearly God was holding out in await for this massive surprise."
"But- what about Grace?" Lady Malton finally spluttered out.
"I am in the process of discussing that matter with Sir Charles Robinson, the duke recommended him himself."
You noticed the way Grace smiled to herself at that and looked abashedly to the ground. Clearly she was happy with such an arrangement - had the duke known that and so used his influence to help her?
"His grace wishes to be married quickly."
And thus, at the end of the week, you were married.
***
You had no idea what a honeymoon night was supposed to entail. Typically, a Mama would give a bride-to-be 'the talk' the night before her wedding, but Lady Malton would never do such a motherly thing for you. Thus, you were left completely clueless.
Plus, apart from the exchange of your vows, you had hardly spoken to the duke before, so you really didn't know where the evening was going to take you as you stepped out of the carriage outside Riddle Manor. You were both to spend the night in his London home before beginning the three day journey to his countryside residence the next day. It was a typical agenda for newly weds.
You were introduced to the various staff, including your new lady's maids - you now had two of them, as opposed to one - before you were both led through to the dining room. Your eyes fell on the long dining table, with the two distanced ends laid and nothing more.
You grimaced.
"Is salmon not to your tastes?" your husband asked you.
"Tis a very formal set up," you explained simply, but said nothing more as you assumed one of the seats.
"I mostly take dinner in my work study, so this will be a rare occurrence."
You ate the entire meal in silence, and then it was time to be shown your bed chambers.
"This is the duchess' chamber," he gestured to the door, "You may redecorate it however you so wish."
You hummed.
"My chamber is next door - we have an adjoining door, of course."
You said nothing.
"Are you going to enter?"
"But what of our consummation?" you asked.
Mattheo paused - he hadn't expected you to be so blunt.
"Lady Malton did not give me a talk like she was supposed to," you explained, somewhat shyly, "I do not know what is meant to happen, but I know that something must."
"Right," he said slowly, "We will consummate."
***
You lay awake in bed next to the duke the next morning, unable to get the memories of the night prior out of your head. Never would you have guessed that that was how babies were made, something that felt so heavenly, so good. But, you were also confused, many women muttered about it in fear, as if their consummation was unenjoyable.
Perhaps it differed with each man. Regardless, with Mattheo, it was completely and entirely soul-consuming, and you wished to experience it a countless number of times over.
A knock sounded on the door, "Your graces, breakfast is ready."
Mattheo was still sound asleep, "We'll take it in here," you replied.
You weren't used to having power in a household.
Also, how did the servant know you weren't in the duchess' bed chamber?
Mattheo woke up once the servants had wheeled in the breakfast selection, and once you were both loosely dressed, you began eating. It was then that he began speaking.
"Now is as good a time as any to set out the details of this marriage," he said, making you look up from your eggs, "I married you because I can't stand when parents mistreat their children."
Your heart warmed at that: he had noticed how Lady Malton treated you?
"I do not intend for love, but obviously at some point there will need to be an heir," he said, "You may have conceived last night, but it is unlikely. In the probable case that you haven't, we can wait a couple years to produce one should you so wish."
You thought over what he was saying - perhaps part of you had hoped that he had fallen in love with you at first sight, but you knew that was childish. This was a marriage of convenience.
"I only have one condition when it comes to children," you said slowly.
"Which is?"
"That you are an involved father," you said, "Like the Bridgertons are known for being."
Memories flashed through Mattheo's mind of his childhood: his father's coldness and distance all throughout the years until he returned from Cambridge a grown man. Only then did the late duke want anything to do with his son.
"I shall be involved," he said.
***
You couldn't look Mattheo in the eyes, you soon realised. He scared you, not in the way that Lady Malton had, but in a way you didn't quite understand. He made you nervous, made you unable to speak more than a few words at a time. Not that you did speak much: the entire journey to Covenshire Hall had been very much one of silence. The only sound to accompany you was the wheels and hooves against the cobbled roads.
The nights were spent in inns, in separate bed chambers.
Covenshire Hall was enormous: far bigger than the Catury estate that you had spent half your childhood on. It made sense, obviously, you were no longer a mere baronet's daughter, but a duchess.
"Your graces," the butler greeted you as you stepped out the carriage, "Welcome."
"Dantle," Mattheo replied, "Gather all the servants in the entrance hall."
"Right away, your grace."
The man disappeared inside, and you soon had entered through the same doors that he had, to be greeted by the largest entry room that you had ever seen. Symmetrical stairs curved around the walls either side of you, carpeted in plush blue velvet. The walls were decorated in a branch-design, but the once deep maroon colour had faded over time: it was evident to you that there hadn't been a lady of the house in quite a few years.
And then, quite quickly, the room filled with lines of house staff - more than you had ever seen for one household before. You were introduced to them all, including the primary housekeeper, Ms Godley. She was an older woman, with mostly grey hair that still held evidence of her brunette days, and a lightly wrinkled face that seemed more to do with the permanent pursing of her lips rather than age. Her eyebrows were ghastly thin, much like the rest of her, which could only be described as bony. She wore a pleated black dress down to her ankles, suggesting that she was in mourning.
You smiled politely at her, but she did not return it.
"I will leave you in her capable hands," your husband said to you, "She will provide a tour of the grounds."
"Where are you going?" you couldn't help but ask.
"My office."
You watched as he left, before turning back to Ms Godley.
"Where shall we begin?" you asked, attempting to be friendly.
***
You didn't like Ms Godley - not one bit. She reminded you of your stepmother, except this time you didn't even have younger siblings to provide a distraction. It was quite evident that she wasn't particularly fond of you either, although you had no idea what you could have done.
"This is the nursery," the woman said tightly, "It has been empty for some years now."
Gazing around the room of faded yellows and purples, you were cast back to when you were in your nursery, though you always got the short end of the stick when it came to beds. Nonetheless, it had been a relatively pleasant time for you, back when your sisters were too young to notice that Lady Malton treated you differently, so you would all play together as children do.
You didn't want any of your children to feel left out.
"Your grace," Ms Godley said curtly, "We don't have all day."
You sighed, exiting the room.
***
Loneliness was a familiar emotion to you, so a week of solitude in Covenshire Hall wasn't all that much of a change from your old life, other than the fact you now had servants waiting on your hand and foot. Although, you were growing quite bored: at least with the Maltons, you were always distracted by gauging your stepmother's mood.
You decided that you needed a distraction, and since the prestigious house was in desperate need of a fresh lick of paint, you landed on redecorating.
"You called for me, your grace?" Ms Godley stood before you in the duchess' office that you had taken to using regularly.
"Yes," you stood up, walking around your desk, "I have a matter to discuss with you."
It took everything in you to act courageous in front of a woman so similar to Lady Malton.
"I wish to redecorate the house," you said simply.
By some miracle, Ms Godley's lips pursed even more.
"Starting with the entrance hall - since that is the first room guests see, then-"
"No."
You paused - was she allowed to say that to you? "No?"
"No. This estate is not a part of your lineage, you have no right to tamper with it."
The amount of bravery that it had taken for you to have this conversation with her, just for her to pull a line that sounded so eerily similar to Lady Malton's.
"I am the lady of the house," you said, but it was obvious you weren't speaking as surely of yourself as moments prior.
"The dowager duchess was never permitted to redecorate either," she said, "And I imagine that the late duke would especially not want somebody as measly as a baronet's daughter interfering with his heritage."
You stood in shock for a few moments, eventually managing to splutter out, "You are excused."
Once she was gone, you finally gave in to the panic consuming you, feeling your breath beginning to dramatically labour and push against your corset. You felt trapped, suffocated, like you had your entire childhood, and you didn't like it. You had to escape.
So, you did.
You weren't running away by any means: you just needed fresh air, and the woods on the Covenshire grounds seemed perfect to hide away for a while. Just a couple days ago, you had taken a walk through them. Of course, that was on one of the paths that navigated between the trees, this time you simply started running straight ahead once you breached the tree line.
But you could only go so far when you had to hitch up your thick heavy skirts to make progress, so it wasn't long before you collapsed against a tree, your lungs pounding against your rib cage which were in turn pounding against your corset.
It was then that floods poured out of your eyes and down your cheeks, leaving a sticky, puffy trail behind.
You should have known better.
Just because you were a duchess didn't mean you suddenly had control over your own life.
You failed to notice the looming grey clouds gathering above, up until the sky thundered, and the familiar trickle of heavy rain commenced.
***
Mattheo was sat in his office, going over estate finances, when a knock sounded on the door.
"Your grace?"
He hated being interrupted during work, but still said a grumbled, "Come in."
"I am so sorry to disturb you, your grace," Dantle said, bowing his head, "But the duchess appears to be missing."
Mattheo's head shot up, "Missing, you say?"
"Ms Godley was the last one to speak to her, approximately two hours ago."
"Where has she gone?" the duke was now standing up.
Dantle appeared uncomfortable, "I do not know, your grace. Apparently she ran down into the woods."
"Ran?" Mattheo felt his blood boil, "Have you gone out to look for her?"
"No, your grace, the storm-"
"The storm?" he saw red, "The bloody storm?" He then let out a sound somewhat adjacent to a growl before pushing past Dantle out his office.
He was going to find his wife.
***
You probably had pneumonia or something at this rate, you thought to yourself. Your body was completely freezing and soaked, and your lack of cloak was becoming apparent as a massive problem in terms of your well-being. You should have gone back inside the second the rain started, but that was when you were still in the depths of your upset. It wasn't until you were too cold to move did you calm down a bit more.
To be honest, you were about ready to accept your fate.
"Y/N!" a faint cry came from nearby, and as much as you wanted to call out and alert them of your location, your voice was weak.
By some miracle, the man - your husband - managed to locate you.
"Y/N, oh, God," he blasphemed, "Are you okay? What are you doing out here?"
You couldn't even reply.
Mattheo scooped you up into his arms and began making haste back towards the mansion that you shared.
"Stay with me," he murmured at irregular intervals, right up until you felt the warmth of a fireplace hit you on the cheeks. You were in your bed chamber, you realised, upon noticing the faded floral pink wall decor.
Your skin was so numb you hardly felt your husband begin to peel off all items of your clothing, including your undergarments. Typically, you would have felt embarrassed, but you were completely spent.
As he picked you up again and carried you through to the bathroom, where a bath had been prepared, you couldn't help but curl into him.
"I ordered it be run before I went to find you," he said softly - the softest you had ever heard him speak.
The warmth of the water felt heavenly.
"What happened, darling?"
You shivered, this time not because of the cold, but because of the nickname.
"Godley," you forced out between your blue lips.
"Ms Godley? What did she do?" he asked as he began to wet your hair.
"I wan- wanted to redecorate the house," your teeth were chattering, "She said I couldn't change anything."
Mattheo said nothing.
"It's- it's the way she said it," you clarified, not wanting him to think you were a brat who had simply been told 'no', "She was so mean."
"How did she say it?" you didn't miss the edge to his voice that hadn't been there before.
"She said it would upset the- the late duke - and that- that he especially wouldn't want a measly baronet's daughter to-" you choked on re-emerging sobs, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry, my love," you felt him press a kiss to your forehead, "I will handle this."
***
After you had warmed up in the bath and been wrapped up in thick clothing, Mattheo gently escorted you to one of the larger drawing rooms, where, to your horror, every single staff member of the house was gathered. Including Ms Godley.
"It has come to my attention that the duchess is not receiving the respect she deserves in this household," your husband sent an icy glare in the housekeeper's direction, "As the lady of the house, it is her right to decorate our rooms however she so pleases."
Ms Godley's lips pursed.
"The redecoration that her grace desires will commence immediately," Mattheo gave a forced smile, "Follow her every instruction. Any questions?"
"What of the late duke?" Ms Godley asked.
"What of a man of whom is dead?"
"Surely you should respect his wishes."
"How I choose to treat my father's wishes is none of your concern, Ms Godley. You are overstepping."
The old woman opened her mouth to say something, but decidedly shut it before saying, "My apologies, your grace."
"Apologise to my wife as well."
"My apologies," Ms Godley gave a stiff curtsy.
You had been glancing nervously between your husband and the housekeeper throughout the entire exchange, feeling overwhelmingly put on the spot. It was the second after Ms Godley apologised to you that your chest tightened and you erupted in a coughing fit.
"Darling?" Mattheo asked worriedly as you fell forward.
"Can't- breathe-" you choked out.
You felt a hand press to your forehead.
"She's overheating," the duke said loudly, "Help me get her to bed. And call the doctor."
Murmurs of, "Right away, your grace," came in reply.
"You're going to be okay," Mattheo said softly to you as he picked you up for the millionth time that day, "You must be."
***
The doctors concluded that you were pneumonic, which had been what everyone suspected but were too scared to say in front of you. But, you weren't an idiot, and understood what your symptoms meant.
There was a good chance that you would die.
It was dark outside: it often was when you came to from your fever dream episodes, for a few minutes of painful consciousness. You lurched up in bed, quickly producing horrific gurgling coughs and splutters, unable to stop yourself from groaning in pain in between. Tears pricked at your eyes as you placed a hand on your chest, your blurred vision just about making out the duke running in from the door between your bed chambers.
Mattheo grabbed the cloth from your bedside table and dipped it into the pot of water placed for this occasion, hurrying to press it to your burning forehead. You let out a brief sigh of relief, before you began coughing again.
He rubbed your back, "You can get through this."
You weren't sure if you could, in fact, you felt deathly, as it were. But, your husband's words gave you a sense of strength and hope, and it was all you could do but nod after the coughing subsided.
"If- if I make it," you murmured, falling back on to the pillows. Your voice was low and cracked. "Please- may we go to London?"
"Whatever for?"
"I..." you trailed off, "I would like to make friends."
And before Mattheo could question you further, you drifted back into unconsciousness and shallow breathing.
***
It was three days later, on a chilly but sunny morning, when you awoke naturally instead of being forced awake by coughs. Your breathing felt stronger, and you weren't overheating, which was the best feeling you had felt in forever.
You heard voices outside your door.
"Is she doing any better, your grace?" who you assumed to be the doctor asked.
"We were about to check," your husband's familiar voice replied.
The door opened, and you blinked a few times to clear your vision as the two men approached you.
"Mattheo," you said softly, your words still sore to speak.
"You're awake," he said simply, pressing his hand to your forehead. The physical contact comforted you.
"How do you feel?" the doctor asked.
"Better."
He raised his eyebrows, "In what way?"
"Every way."
He performed a more thorough examination, and concluded that while you likely still had a couple more days of illness, you had pushed through the worst of it and were well on your way to recovery. You were relieved to hear that, but even more relieved to finally be able to take a bath and and cleanse yourself.
"You wanted to return to London," Mattheo said simply at dinner that night, as he was taking it in your room with you.
"I said that?" you asked. You knew that it was what you wished to do, you just couldn't recall mentioning it to your husband.
He hummed, "While you were feverish."
He had been taking care of you?
"Well, yes- I wish to finally have a social circle."
"You mentioned that also."
You said nothing.
"Once you are fully returned to health, we shall make the journey," he said simply.
You couldn't help but beam, "Really?"
"Really."
"Thank you- thank you so much."
He shook his head, as if to say 'don't thank me'.
"I'm so glad you're my husband."
Mattheo chuckled, "I'll take care of you no matter what, darling."
***
Two weeks later, and the doctor had determined that you were back to being healthy and thus your convalescence was able to come to an end. It was then arranged for you and Mattheo to return to London for the remainder of the season but three days later, once you would have passed an appropriate honeymoon duration. While you were terribly excited to be able to properly socialise, you were also nervous. For one, your stepmother would be there, and for two, you weren't that experienced with the correct customs for socialising. The only comforting factor was that your husband would be there with you: a man who you held a lot of adoration for, and felt an immense amount of comfort from.
After the pneumonia episode, he hadn't distanced himself quite so much. Granted, you still hadn't engaged in your wedding night type of intimacy again yet, but you ate meals together, and frequently found yourself wandering over to his bed chamber in the night. The first time you had done it, it had been most nerve-wracking.
It had been a few days since you had snapped out of the fever dream episode, and were feeling much more energetic. Unfortunately, you had also been dealing with bouts of insomnia, which you suspected had something to do with your fear of falling asleep and re-entering the fever dream. Like usual, you found yourself up at the early hours of the morning, only the exhaustion was catching up to you and you could feel your chest tighten as hysteric panic began to set in.
Before you completely freaked out, you forced yourself up and over to the adjoining door, aiming to seek comfort from Mattheo even if the prospect of doing so petrified you. He stirred the second that you entered the room, at least it appeared like he did from what you could make out in the shadows. "Y/N?" he murmured.
You let out a sob.
"Come here," he said without hesitation and you gladly obliged, finding that you could finally drift into a slumber once in his arms.
And, thus, you went to him whenever you couldn't sleep.
But, now, you were in the carriage back to London, with your hands folded neatly in your lap and your husband sat across from you. You weren't sure why, but there was an awkward silence present.
***
Mattheo was conflicted.
He didn't know why he cared so deeply for you, why he was so willing to aid you whenever you were in need.
A strangled, screaming part of himself deep inside knew exactly why he felt how he did, but the part of him that he listened to feigned ignorance and told him it was simply expected of him to take care of his wife.
But the thing that confused him the most was the fact he felt the urge to tell you about his childhood, about his father, and about the lack of family and love he had endured. Why would he want to tell you such personal information that didn't even matter any longer, since the cause of it was dead?
Why did you make him feel this way?
"Mattheo?" he looked up at you sat opposite him. Your voice sounded small and timid.
"Yes?"
"Are you mad at me?"
He could have sworn he actually felt the searing pain of his heart breaking at that moment. He wasn't sure he was capable of being mad at you. "Of course not, why ever would you think that?"
You gave a gentle shrug, "You're quieter than normal."
"I'm often quiet." It was true: he was often regarded as a grumpy and brooding individual.
"Yes," you said tightly, "But not like this."
It stunned him how easily you could read him, but, then again, maybe he had never been close enough to anyone for them to know him. Maybe his emotions were obvious to anyone who cared enough to try and figure them out.
"Do you not wish to return to London?"
Mattheo paused for a moment. He hadn't put any thought into whether or not he wanted to go back to the capital, but initially it seemed like an obvious answer since he had always despised the season. Overbearing Mamas and their brood of debutante daughters were his idea of hell, but now he felt different. He realised that he did in fact want to go to London, not just because he was now married and off the Mamas' radar, but because you wanted to go. Mattheo was faced with the overwhelming realisation that he simply wanted to do whatever you wanted to do.
"Oh, dear, you don't, do you? We can turn around," you said quickly, making him snap out of his thoughts.
"No," he rushed to say, "We shall go to London."
"But you don't want to go."
"I do."
"But-"
"We are going, and that's final."
You opened your mouth to say something more, but decided against it, and turned your gaze to out the window.
The rest of the journey was silent.
***
"We need to discuss the rules for our time here," Mattheo said once you had settled into Riddle Manor for some dinner.
"We do?"
He hummed, "I will not be attending every social event we are invited to."
"But- people will think our marriage is rocky if you're not with me. The ton will talk, they always do."
"I said not every social event," he reminded, "I will attend some."
"You have to attend the first one," you said, "That one is the most important."
Mattheo agreed, "Of course, but from then on, it will be events here and there. You are welcome to attend alone."
You deflated a bit, but nodded your head, "Maybe we can host a ball at some point."
His eyebrows raised. Riddle Manor hadn't been the location of a ball in almost thirty years - there had been no lady of the house to host it.
"Perhaps," he replied pensively.
***
The next social event, to Mattheo's great horror, was the infamous Smythe-Smith musicale. Otherwise known as a torturous cacophony of four tone-deaf girls of whom were trusted with instruments that should have undoubtably never been allowed within five feet of them. You had heard what the quartet were like, having never attended yourself, and - honestly - you were rather excited to finally be a part of an inside joke of the ton that you had been left out of. Your husband was not nearly so enthusiastic, having attended exactly twice before, but not for a good many years.
Unfortunately, as selfish a woman as Lady Malton was, she was more than willing to sacrifice her hearing in order to secure impressive marriages for all of her (biological) daughters. So, you weren't surprised to enter the Smythe-Smith ballroom and see her stood with Grace closely by her side.
"Introducing, the Duke and Duchess of Covenshire," the man stood by the door announced, making your half-sister and stepmother quickly turn their attentions in your direction.
You squeezed Mattheo's arm tightly, to which he patted your hand and nodded when your family members approached.
"Your grace," Lady Malton gave a gentle curtsy - to Mattheo, not you, "How fares your marriage?"
It was a question that bordered on the edge of improper for polite society. "Most excellent," the duke replied coolly, making you smile to yourself.
Lady Malton gave the politest smile her sour face could muster.
"What brings you here?" Mattheo asked, trying to gauge why Lady Malton would put herself through the Smythe-Smith musicale with no daughters on the marriage mart.
"Marriage prospects, of course."
"Is Miss Grace Malton not engaged to Sir Charles?" he asked.
"Well- uh- yes."
The duke raised an eyebrow at the woman, and you must say that you were thoroughly enjoying this interaction.
"They shall be married at the end of the week," she said reluctantly, "But until the vows are complete, things can change."
That was when you realised: Lady Malton was praying on securing a last-minute proposal from someone of a higher status than Sir Charles. If it meant marrying into more wealth and more powerful connections, surely your father would agree to it.
"You should come to the wedding," Grace blurted out, "We thought you would still be in the country, so we didn't send an invitation."
You knew the real reason that you hadn't received an invitation was because Lady Malton would have taken control of all the wedding arrangements, and you were most certainly not on her invite list. But, she couldn't revoke the invitation to the duke's face and in a public setting, so she forced herself to smile and agree.
"That would be lovely," you beamed, purposefully showing as much enthusiasm as possible, simply to upset your stepmother, "Now, if you excuse us, I wish to secure front row seats."
Multiple people around you stared at you like you were insane - they just wouldn't understand your motivations.
"Trust me, front row seats are never the ones that need to be fought for here," Mattheo whispered to you as you both moved over to the rows of chairs set up.
You shrugged, "You're sitting with me whether you like it or not."
"Ah, Lady Danbury," he spoke as you came face to face with the renowned old woman sat in the very central front seat.
"Your grace," she raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Come to enjoy the musicale?" your husband asked, the sarcastic undertone impossible to miss - at least to you.
"But, of course," Lady Danbury smiled, "I attend every year."
You desperately wanted to enter the conversation, but you didn't know how.
"You're the eldest Miss Malton, aren't you?" she said towards you, making you freeze on the spot.
"Uh, yes - Lady Riddle now, actually."
She hummed, waving her cane around despite being sat, "Yes, Duchess of Covenshire. Quite grand, no?"
You awkwardly smiled.
The dowager countess turned her attentions back to Mattheo, "I must admit, I didn't think you would marry for quite some time, your grace."
"Nor did I," he simply replied, which for some reason, slightly hurt you. You had inconvenienced his life: you were a burden to him as a result of him being a good person.
"I fear that love does tend to have the effect of uprooting our lives," Lady Danbury said wistfully, a gentler emotion than you had ever witnessed on her from afar at the few social gatherings you had been allowed at.
Love.
"I only wish I had been so lucky as to have had it been with my husband."
You looked up in surprise. To be honest, you knew very little of the dowager countess' life: she had been a widow for as long as you had been alive, so it was hard to imagine her having a husband. All you knew was that she was widowed very young, and chose to never remarry. Part of you had assumed that it was because of how much she loved her husband, like the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton. It was clear now that you were wrong, but you knew better than to pry.
"Alas, let us enjoy this musicale," she said with a glint in her eye, "It is meant to be a joyous occasion, after all."
You knew she said it sarcastically, but, for you, this was indeed a joyous occasion. You were more than thrilled to finally be a part of London society - the ton.
Sparing a glass in Mattheo's direction, you were surprised to see that he was already looking at you.
***
The duke did not attend another social event with you for the rest of the week, but almost every night you were out. It was strange, not needing to be chaperoned as a married woman, but you quite enjoyed it.
The first two events alone you spent as a wallflower - albeit a married one - which weren't so enjoyable. But, once people realised that the Duchess of Covenshire was present at the social events, you began attracting a lot of attention from fellow ladies who aspired to be friends with someone of such a powerful status. Soon, you were mingling with the ton as if you had always done so, although your social skills were still inept. Thankfully, most were willing to overlook this due to you being a duchess.
Then, your sister's wedding came around, and it meant that you would have your second outing with your husband accompanying you. That made you more excited than you were willing to admit.
"Blue is most becoming on you," Mattheo spoke from behind you, making you jump. You hadn't heard him enter your bed chamber.
"Thank you," you replied, "I had it tailored on Tuesday."
"How much?"
You blanched - it had been quite expensive. You had felt guilty at the time, but found it difficult to say no to the Madam who had been dressing you.
"Darling, you are free to spend my money, I am simply curious," he reassured you, "My wife deserves only the best, after all."
Butterflies swarmed in your stomach. Was it normal - for you to feel this way towards your husband when it was merely a marriage of convenience? You were snapped out of your thoughts when he moved closer to you and began kissing along your neck.
"Mattheo," you murmured.
He hummed, "Shame you're already dressed," and then he reluctantly pulled back, "But, we must depart now anyway."
That was the first hint you had received that he wanted to repeat the intimacies of your consummation. And it made your skin feel hot and prickly.
***
Your half-sister was a gorgeous bride: her elegant dress matching her eye colour and making her glistening smile seem bright. It was obvious that she was elated to be with Sir Charles, the incredibly young baronet who hung off her every word. One could only describe it as a love match.
"Thank you," you said to Mattheo, who was stood next to you as you applauded the newly weds.
"For what?"
"For recommending Sir Charles - and for marrying me."
He chuckled, "There is no need to thank me, darling. I can hardly complain about having a breath-taking wife, can I?"
Yet again, butterflies, and the overwhelming sense of desire.
Soon, it was time for the first dance of the newly married couple, celebrated back at Sir Charles' London residence. After they danced the first number alone, more couples joined the dance floor for a waltz. You couldn't help but look up at your husband hopefully.
He sighed fondly and held out his hand, "My lady?"
"My lord," you murmured, taking his hand and allowing him to lead you on to the dance floor.
As you moved into position, you found yourself avoiding looking at Mattheo's face, as for some reason it scared you. Maybe it was the proximity, or the emotions you had been consistently feeling for the last few days. Regardless, you felt timid.
"Darling?" your stomach flipped, and you were forced to meet his eyes.
"Yes?"
"I prefer it when you look at me," Mattheo muttered before he could stop the words from tumbling out. Momentarily, he froze, unable to ignore the way his heart burned in his chest.
"Okay," you said breathlessly, now not being able to tear your eyes away from him.
"You're so perfect."
A lump formed in your throat, "No one's perfect."
"Perfect for me," he said so quietly you almost didn't hear, just as the dance came to an end.
You stood in silence for a few moments, unable to process his words.
Eventually, you spoke, "Mattheo, I- I..."
The look in his eyes beckoned you on.
"Heaven knows I know nothing of love nor what it's like to be loved, but- but I think I love you."
His expression was unreadable, and you felt as if you had said the wrong thing, right up until, "I think I love you too."
God, why were tears pricking in your eyes?
No one had ever said that to you before.
And then you shoved yourself into his arms, desperately seeking warmth and affection as if it were your life line. The other people at the wedding and propriety be damned.
Mattheo moved his head to whisper in your ear.
"All's well that ends well to end up with you."
————————————————
masterlist
written; 09/08/2023 —> 04/10/2023
published;05/10/2023
edited; —/—/——
#harry potter#hp oneshot#hp#hp fanfic#harry potter oneshot#fluff#harry potter fanfic#angst#mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle x y/n#mattheo x reader#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo x you#mattheo x y/n#mattheo#marriage of convenience#bridgerton au#hurt comfort#strangers to lovers#period au
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wait how bougie was Tom Riddle Sr.? How nice would his Manor have been? Was he like an actually Lord with a title and stuff?
thank you very much for the ask, anon!
in half-blood prince, dumbledore refers to tom riddle sr. as "the squire's son" - which allows us to state with certainty that he was a minor aristocrat.
however, the word minor is important here.
there are - historically - two levels of aristocracy in britain. the first are the peers of the realm - which refers to families which hold one or more of the titles of duke, marquess, earl, or viscount. these are the elite of the elite - these gradations of nobility were created in the middle ages as a way of distinguishing those who held the titles from other noblemen, usually because of a close relationship [often one of blood or marriage or both] to the king.
the titles are hereditary by male primogeniture, and the holders - while this is no longer the case - used to have political power [such as the right to sit in the house of lords], simply by virtue of their birth.
[this is why they're called "peers" - it refers to them historically being close in status to royalty, and therefore expected to serve as royal advisors.]
there is another class of peer - a baronet - whose title is similarly hereditary, but whose position doesn't come historically with the right to sit in the lords or advise the king by virtue of birth. [baronets may - of course - have been members of parliament, or royal advisors selected at the king's discretion, but this would be separate from their title. a duke, in contrast, could historically expect to request a meeting with the king simply because he was a duke.]
while some families have historically been ennobled at the king's discretion, access to any of these titles is pretty much restricted to the small group of families who've held them for centuries.
but below the peers of the realm, there is a second, more minor class of aristocracy, the landed gentry - of which a village squire is a textbook example.
historically, what is meant by "landed" is an ability to live off of the rental income of one's country holdings, which would be leased to tenant farmers. that is, they are landlords in the original sense of the term - lords of the land. this is what tom sr. tells us his family does in half-blood prince:
“It’s not ours,” said a young man’s voice. “Everything on the other side of the valley belongs to us, but that cottage belongs to an old tramp called Gaunt, and his children. The son’s quite mad, you should hear some of the stories they tell in the village - ”
what is also meant by "landed" is that the family in question is of the upper-classes, but that they are still "commoners" - which in this context doesn't imply a value judgement, but which is a socio-legal term which simply indicates that they don't hold an aristocratic title such as duke, earl etc.
[and gentry families certainly aren't common in terms of financial standing... the most famous member of this class in literature? fitzwilliam darcy, whose ten thousand a year is something like thirteen million quid in today's money...]
gentry families might be very old - they might have received their lands from the king in the middle ages as a reward for knightly service, and it's interesting to imagine generations of gaunts and riddles brought up alongside each other in little hangleton - or they might be comparatively newer - tom sr.'s great-grandfather [feasibly born c.1810] could have been a self-made victorian industrialist who bought the lands from the original holder and established himself as gentry.
by 1900, it was becoming much harder for the gentry to live on rental income alone, and many would also have had jobs. these would have been elite, and very frequently were in politics, the civil service, the military, or the law. tom sr's father - whom the films call thomas, so let's go with that - might, for example, have served as a high-ranking officer in the army [including during the first world war], be the local magistrate, or be the local member of parliament.
in terms of titles, thomas riddle would almost undoubtedly be sir thomas - and this is how it would be correct to address him. but this title would be a courtesy, and it wouldn't be hereditary unless the riddles were also baronets [which it's entirely plausible that they were].
which is to say, tom sr. would not have a title while his father was alive - although he would have the right to be referred to formally in writing as mr thomas riddle esq. [esquire]. the correct form of verbal address for anyone other than friends and family would be to call him mr riddle, although the riddles' servants would probably refer to him as mister tom.
tom jr. would not have a title while his father or grandfather was alive. if the riddles were baronets, he would technically inherit the title after he kills the rest of the male line... but given that tom sr. never acknowledged him and his existence was presumably unknown to the riddles' lawyers this wouldn't be something which happened in reality. the estate's executors clearly took control of the riddles' property, the land was portioned off and sold, and the house became a standalone property for sale.
the riddle house - which is a name used informally for it in little hangleton, it would have a different "proper" name - is described in canon in ways which show that it's a typical manor house, which means it would look something like this:
these houses are obviously very impressive, but they're tiny in size in comparison to the magnificent stately homes - places like blenheim palace, chatsworth, burghley house, holkham hall - lived in by the titled aristocracy. the riddles would entertain - for example - by giving house parties, dinner parties, hunting parties, etc., but they wouldn't have a ballroom or a dining hall capable of seating hundreds.
[they would probably also own a property - probably a flat or small house - in london.]
they would have servants, but not colossal numbers - they would undoubtedly have a butler but not footmen, and the upstairs maids would report to the butler since they probably wouldn't have a housekeeper. they canonically have a cook, who probably had one or two kitchen maids assisting, and they canonically have a gardener - frank bryce - who probably doesn't have any assistants. they may, depending on the size of the estate, have a gamekeeper. sir thomas undoubtedly had a secretary and a chauffeur, and his wife might have a lady's maid. tom sr. would have had a nanny and then been educated until at least the age of eight by a governess, but would then have attended a prep school [either day or boarding] until the age of thirteen, and then gone to a boarding school, from which he likely went on [on the basis of social class rather than talent] to oxford or cambridge.
the family would have enormous social influence locally. most people - and also businesses - in little hangleton would be their tenants, and they would also probably have a say over the appointment of the local clergyman [an important figure in the community in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries], since the parish church is likely to have been something called a "living" - the thing which turns up again and again in jane austen - which means that the church and its parsonage technically belongs to the landowner, but is granted to the vicar as a freehold while he's in post.
gossip about the riddles' doings would also be the main source of local interest - the servants were dining out for months on tom sr.'s elopement and return.
so they're something resembling celebrities - but they're local celebrities. nobody in london - and even nobody in cities we can imagine are nearer to little hangleton, such as liverpool - would particularly know or care who they were. tom sr. might have made it into the london gossip columns if he was part of a particularly scandalous "set" [a group of friends] who socialised in the capital, but these mentions would have been fleeting - and the press would have been much more concerned by the doings of members of his set who were genuinely titled or who were legitimately famous.
[this is the reason why mrs cole doesn't recognise the name. if merope had said her son was to be named cecil beaton after his father, she may well have been prompted to hunt him down...]
so tom sr. is elite - but he's elite in a way which is extremely culturally-specific, and which is [just like the portrayal of aristocracy in the wizarding world - the blacks, for example, are far less aristocratic than the riddles in terms of canonical vibe] often exaggerated into the sort of pseudo-royal grand aristocracy which the british period-drama-industrial-complex makes such a big deal of.
and tom jr.'s character is affected by this in a series of extremely interesting ways.
by which i mean that, in terms of blood, he's probably the most aristocratic character in the series - the absence of grand aristocracy in the wizarding world would mean that [were he raised by his father] he would come from a social background which was equivalent [even as it was divided from them by virtue of being muggle] to any of his fellow slytherins, and would help him easily blend into their society because the manners, genre of socio-cultural reference points [he would recognise, for example, that quidditch heavily resembles both rugby and polo], accent and way of speaking etc. that he would possess would be broadly indistinguishable from those of his pureblood peers.
[this is why justin finch-fletchley and draco malfoy speak in essentially the same way.]
but he would then be given the enormous boost in cachet - one which would genuinely elevate him above the rest of his cohort - of his maternal line.
and we see in canon that this does bestow some privilege on him among his peers while he's in school:
Tom Riddle merely smiled as the others laughed again. Harry noticed that he was by no means the eldest of the group of boys, but that they all seemed to look to him as their leader.
“I don’t know that politics would suit me, sir,” he said when the laughter had died away. “I don’t have the right kind of background, for one thing.”
A couple of the boys around him smirked at each other. Harry was sure they were enjoying a private joke, undoubtedly about what they knew, or suspected, regarding their gang leader’s famous ancestor.
where he's let down socially is that people like slughorn - to whom he can't reveal his slytherin ancestry and hope to maintain cover for his wrongdoing - don't think he's come from anywhere particularly special. this is because he has a muggle father - absolutely - but it's even more that he has a muggle father who, since he left him to be raised in an orphanage, was presumably working-class.
what the young voldemort lacks is any socio-cultural familiarity with the muggle class performance which the class performance of the wizarding world parallels. abraxas malfoy boasting about how important his father is would be something a tom jr. raised by the riddles could match - "oh yes, my father gives to all sorts of causes too. in fact, he was invited to buckingham palace because of it." - establishing himself as an equal in terms of class and social influence even if he isn't an equal in blood.
what actually happens in canon is that the orphaned tom - with his uncouth manners and his working-class accent - has no hope of gaining any sort of social equality with his posh peers.
so he becomes determined to outrank - and humiliate and control - them.
#asks answered#asenora meta#tom riddle sr#tom riddle#lord voldemort#surprise! it's the class system!
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the final Lady Sharpe part 5: sent away
Series Masterlist
See my full list of works here!
Part of the 500 Follower Celebration
Requested by: @ellooo0ooo
Summary: Your plans with Thomas are coming to an end as his machine parts arrive and you both head into the city to set into motion Lucille's arrest.
Pairing: Thomas Sharpe x Reader
Word Count: 5.2k (get a drink ready)
Warning/s: 18+ | smut (minors & pearl clutchers exit the room i only ask nicely once); vaginal fingering; oral sex (f receiving); Lucille Sharpe (yes she's a warning) [let me know if i missed anything!]
Things to be aware of: married blorbos are snowed in (oh no how terrible 😈😏); Thomas is a simp for his wife; mutual pining sad blorbos hours
Dick-tionary: smut starts at "If we cannot lay together, then at least let me pleasure you." and ends at "…except one somber truth"
Logically there was no good reason why Thomas would wake this morning in a significantly better mood, considering that he was still stuck in this manor, a death sentence care of his psychotic murderous sister still looming over your head, and tasked with a nightly distraction that even the mere thought of it made his stomach want to turn. And yet somehow, in these few moments when he got to rouse from sleep before you did, getting to really look upon your features at a seemingly peaceful rest while he held you in his arms, there was a contentment that blanketed him and kept him warm despite the biting cold of winter.
If he could keep even at least this after this treacherous endeavor was done with, if he could keep you, then perhaps he could believe himself still deserving of happiness despite all the devastation he'd wrought throughout the years. There was no version of the near future that he could picture where he would be denied the simplest pleasure of getting to see you, perhaps even hold you. And with those thoughts, his mood had begun to sour, fully knowing that that was what awaited him at the end of the road. Dissolution of marriage.
And he couldn't even fault you for that. Why would you wish to stay with him given the context on why he'd chosen to court you? Why would you have any reason to believe him if he could muster up the courage to tell you that he'd fallen irretrievably in love with you and that he wanted more than anything to try to make this marriage work? To make it real?
He traced the back of his finger across your cheekbone, his heart twisting and melting all at once when you smiled and nuzzled your cheek against his chest. "I love you," he whispered, hoping that somehow his message would reach into your dreams. "I don't want you to leave if we make it through this. I wish to stay with you. Wherever you wish to go, I'll happily follow."
You began to stir in his arms, soft groans coming from you as you slowly roused in your husband's embrace. "Hmm?" The baronet's heart caught in his throat when your eyes fluttered open and met his, a soft smile stretching across your face. "Morning..."
He couldn't resist the urge to press a kiss to the tip of your nose, doing his best to fight back the desire to do nothing more than simply to stay in bed just like this when you rewarded him with such a lighthearted, melodic giggling in response. "Good morning, wife."
"Big day today," you mumbled, failing to fight back a yawn as you worked your way out of his embrace to sit up on the bed. "Your machine parts arrive today if your supplier and the postal service is on schedule. I just have to get all the duplicate documents I've had hidden away in your workshop together so I can send them over to my contacts in Scotland Yard." Excitement colored your features as you reached for his hand, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "It's almost over. We actually did it. You're almost free."
Thomas' stomach dropped as the reality of the situation dawned on him, mentally counting back on how long it had been since he carried you in his arms across the threshold of Allerdale Hall and you concocted a plan that might grant him his freedom from Lucille's reign of terror. Three and a half weeks. He would be expecting the notice from the post office any day now. Tears prickled in the back of his eyes as your words haunted him.
You'll be free from me, too.
You seemed oblivious to the darkness that begun to plague him as you bounded your way over to the wardrobe, starting to dress yourself so that you two could grab something to eat. And check on your mail for the day.
Thomas made his way to you, gently placing his hands over yours while you did up the buttons up the back of your dress. "May I?"
"Go ahead," you said breathily, releasing your hold on the stiff buttons. Your husband took his time carefully slipping each stiff button through its loop, softly kissing your temple as he worked his way up your back.
He rushed to grab for your collar piece before you reached for it, making you both break out into light chuckles as he tightened his other arm around you, pressing a kiss to your cheek once he'd successfully grabbed the piece of fabric. "Never pictured you to be the type that had a playful mood, husband," you giggled, righting yourself and gathering your hair in your hands so he could secure the piece around your neck.
Before he could stop himself, he pressed his lips to the back of your neck, the sound of your staggered breathing and faint whimper spurring him on to press another. And another. All so that the words that danced on the tip of his tongue couldn't escape. Come back to bed. I wish to hold you a while longer. I have no desire to leave this room.
And the most dangerous words of all. Words that he never thought he would say to another and fully mean them. I love you. And I wish to spend the rest of my life with you.
"Thomas," you gasped his name like you were fighting for breath, reaching behind you and holding on to him to keep yourself upright. He groaned against your neck when your hand met the bare skin of his stomach. "What's gotten into you?"
His adamant words from many nights ago nearly slipped from his lips. You're my wife. I should be with you. It should be you.
"Can I not simply indulge in greeting my wife--"
The sharp rapping of knuckles on your bedroom door pulled you both harshly out of the moment, worsened by the shrill tone of Lucille on the other end. "If you both dawdle about, breakfast will get cold."
"We'll be down shortly, Lucille, just start without us," you called back, muttering something about mood ruiners. "We should go," you told him with a downhearted exhale, your breath hitching again when it seemed that the last few moments seemed to have no effect on Thomas, who resumed with kissing along the column of your neck. "Thomas, didn't you hear your sister? Breakfast will get cold."
"Then we'll eat it cold, darling," he mumbled, setting your collar piece back down on your dresser so he could wrap his arms around you. He turned you around in his arms, mesmerized as he watched your hair slip from your hand and fall to frame your face. "Have I told you how exquisite you look in the morning light?"
You broke out into a smile, averting your gaze from his as you made a motion to step out of his hold. "Thomas come on, we should go you need to--"
"Or how I think you're absolutely brilliant?" he cut you off, framing your face in his hands before pressing a tender kiss to your lips. Will I ever get to tell you that I've fallen in love with you? he thought to himself, savoring the fleeting moment where you returned his kiss before breaking it, taking a step backward and looking visibly flustered.
There was a long moment of deafening quiet before you spoke again, your tone soft, almost wistful. "If you keep this up, Sir Sharpe, I'll have no choice but to miss you when this is all over." Your expression became guarded, veiling to your husband the poignant fact that you, too, dreaded what would come after today.
The truth was that you already missed him, longed for him, even when he was already within your arm's reach. Just as he longed for you.
"There is still no mail that has come for your wife, Thomas," Lucille seethed the moment she made his way to his side as he fixed some tea for both of you. "I am growing quite impatient, it's nearly been a month and still no correspondence regarding her inheritance has come for her. In fact, no correspondence has come for her at all. As if there isn't a single soul that even cares to check up on her. Keep in touch. Could it be possible, sweet boy, that this Y/N is playing us for fools?"
A lump formed in Thomas' throat at his sister's suggestion, panic rising inside of him knowing how close her speculation actually was to the truth. "She did mention her father was quite the busy man, perhaps he has been overwhelmed with his work and will reach out soon."
"Well the old fool better hurry," she hissed. "The sooner we get what we need from this one, the sooner we can build toward an even better life together. Perhaps even make our way out of this decaying house. Finally let it sink to the ground."
The only better life I can envision is with the woman waiting for me at the dining table, he wanted so desperately to bite back. "Has any correspondence arrived for me, sister?" He struggled to keep his composure, forcing a smile on his face as he faced her cold, calculating features. How could you ever have convinced me that what we had, what you had me do, was love?
She was visibly taken aback by how he diverted the conversation, no longer speaking in a hushed tone and ensuring that you could hear from where you sat. "There--There is. A notice that those parts you ordered for your machine have come in. You'll need to sign for them at the post office."
"Excellent, I can bring Y/N along with me. Make a day of it."
Your face lit up at the mention of the notice. His supplier was perfectly within schedule. The end of your time together truly was drawing near; nearer than he ever wanted. "I would love to come with you to the city, husband," you beamed at him. "There are some letters I wish to send to my family as well. Keep them apprised of what I've been up to since getting married. All about Allerdale Hall and its rich history."
"That sounds like a perfect idea," Lucille told you both through gritted teeth. "I hope you two have a lovely time, then. Do try to get home before the blizzard strikes." Before Thomas made his way back to you, Lucille grabbed his arm in a talon-like grip. "The moment any form of correspondence comes for her, you are to tell me right away, dear brother. My patience can only last for so long."
"Ah, Miss Y/L/N, aren't you quite the sight to behold. How long has it been since you've aided us in a case with your expansive knowledge?" Detective Jeffries, a colleague of yours from Scotland Yard, was there to pick up his own mail from the post office and bumped into you and Thomas right as you arrived.
"Too long, Jeffries. Hopefully not so long that you'd all forgotten that the reason for my prolonged absence has been my acclimation to married life. I actually go by Lady Sharpe now," you politely corrected him, giving his hand a firm shake before gesturing toward your husband. There was a noticeable pinch at your heart calling yourself that. Lady Sharpe. You wouldn't be for long if things worked out according to plan. "I'd like to introduce you to my husband, Sir Thomas Sharpe. Lord of Allerdale Hall."
There was a fleeting moment of pure glee on Thomas' face at your introduction before he settled into a more cordial expression, stepping forward to shake the detective's hand. "Good to meet you, Detective," he greeted, placing his other hand on the small of your back before stepping back to your side. "I shall go see to my deliveries now, darling." Before he walked away and let you catch up with your colleague, he pressed a kiss to your cheek, giving you a soft smile before walking further into the post office for his parcel.
"And here I once recalled a feisty consultant insisting that she'd never fall in love or become the marrying type," Jeffries teased, wagging a finger at you as if to tell you 'I told you so'. "Matrimony becomes you, though, my friend. Both you and your husband are positively radiant with your adoration for one another. It doesn't take a detective to notice that."
His remark sat heavily in your heart, every part of you struggling not to give it away that the words struck a nerve. This marriage was a sham, and it would all be over soon. Thomas was just doing a remarkable job at pretending, and you…you didn't have to. Out here in public, feeding into the image of a newlywed couple happily in love, this was the only time you could let your love for him show. To communicate the sentiment that you would never dare to with words.
"Right well uhm…" You cleared your throat, shaking your head as if to shoo the conversation away. "What you said about aiding you all with a case…that's actually what I came here for. You remember those cases on the board that we could never make any headway on? Enola Sciotti? Edith Cushing? Pamela Upton? All missing persons cases?"
"Don't tell me you were spending your honeymoon investigating these cases, Y/N, that's simply depressing--"
"I didn't actively seek out the information, I stumbled into it," you cut him off, clutching the envelope of documents in your hand with a death grip. "Married into it, really."
Sheer horror colored your friend's features, throwing a look at the baronet currently making small talk with the workers inside as he signed for his parcels. "He--"
"No, Jeffries, not him. His sister. Lucille Sharpe. Right piece of work, that one. Sad to say they're no longer 'missing persons' cases." You placed the envelope into his hands, holding his gaze and hoping that he could see the desperation in your eyes. "These are copies of death certificates, marriage certificates, and money transfers. It paints a morbid timeline that will tell you what happened, what's been happening, behind the doors of Allerdale Hall. I've also made a transcript from recordings I found from a phonograph. One of his former wives caught a confession from Lucille Sharpe. There's a map of the manor in there as well, showing you where you'll find all the original documents and the recording cylinders."
"Y/N, if this is all true, you're not safe in that manor." His tone was laced with more than understandable concern. "Neither of you are."
"That's why I need you to get those documents to Scotland Yard as soon as you can and come to Allerdale Hall to arrest Lucille," you told him, your own fears starting to creep into your words as they stumbled out of your mouth. "She's already getting stir-crazy waiting for an inheritance to come to me that doesn't even exist. We've only barely managed to convince her that there's a windfall coming my way, but it won't be long until she grows impatient enough to kill me anyway and start fresh. Jeffries, we can't let her harm another woman for the sake of satiating her bottomless pit of hunger for money and status."
Now the detective clutched the documents tightly in his grasp, giving you a nod before flagging down a carriage. "We should have a squad there tomorrow. Until then you two stay safe. Perhaps try and spend the night elsewhere, just to make sure." He reached out to you, both of you grasping the other's forearm in a show of trust and respect. "Thank you, Y/L/N--I mean, Sharpe. You're about to bring closure to a whole lot of distraught families with this."
You only nodded, fear for your own safety creating a lump in your throat you found near impossible to swallow. "Let's focus on putting Lucille behind bars before we focus on what comes after. Thank you, Jeffries." You closed the door to the carriage and tapped on the wooden panel twice. "To Scotland Yard!" you called out to the coachman, who tipped his hat to you before the carriage began to move.
As you made your way back into the post office, you tried to force a wide smile onto your face, stomping down any fears you had for what awaited you once you made your way back to Allerdale Hall. And any anticipation you had for the heartache that would accompany your inevitable divorce.
Once you were within arm's reach, Thomas reached for your hand, pulling you towards him and wrapping his free arm around your waist before softly kissing your lips. "There you are, sweetheart." He quickly noticed the absence of the envelope from your hands. "It's done?"
You gave him a tight-lipped smile. "It's done," you confirmed. "We really did it."
The entire time that Thomas inspected the coil springs and other machine parts that were delivered for him, he kept his arm around your waist, his hand over yours and lacing your fingers together. His face was a mix of emotions, the plainest to see being relief, no doubt from the realization steadily creeping in that in a few short days he truly would be free from all of this.
There was a disquiet in his eyes, too. One that he tried so hard to mask, but you'd gotten to know him well enough ever since your courtship that no smile, no matter how bright or breathtaking, could ever mask it from you. And you knew exactly where his concern lied. It wouldn't take long for Scotland Yard to conclude that even though he had not been the one administering the potion, or the one holding the cleaver, he still bore a great amount of responsibility for the deaths of all his former wives.
Thomas would be seen as an accomplice to his sister's crimes; perhaps a case could even be argued for third-degree murder because of his administering of the cyanide. Sure the documents would reveal Lucille to be the mastermind, but they would also reveal that in some of those cases that had gone cold, Thomas was partly the executioner.
You flinched in his hold when the sound of the post office's main doors slamming shut hit your ears, all of you inside turning your heads toward the man holding the handles, a frantic look in his eyes. "The storm's gotten too strong," he huffed out, slumping to the ground. "No carriages in or out of the area, if the lot of us value our safety."
Your husband let out a sigh of relief, holding you closer against him before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Perhaps when we arrive at the manor tomorrow we need not even face her," he whispered into your hair.
"Yes, and while that is a marvelous turn of events, husband, we are faced with one…tiny problem." He tilted his head at you slightly, prompting you to continue. "We're still stuck here, and the nearest inn to rent a room is a good walk away. In this storm we'd likely freeze before we even reached the front door."
"Ah, yes…that," he murmured, brows knitted together as he tried to look around the post office for a possible place to pass the time.
"Erm…we might have something that could house yous," one of the workers spoke up, jerking his head towards the back of the office, signaling for you to follow him. "We 'ave a little suite here set up for whenever the owner comes by and wants to spend a few days in the city. Sure he won't mind if you use it for tonight."
He opened the doors to reveal a quaint bedroom that felt a far cry from the echoes of faded opulence that your room in Allerdale Hall held, and yet still emanated the feel of a warm embrace that home was supposed to feel like. When you looked upon Thomas, you could see from his expression that he likely held a similar sentiment.
"This will do more than fine," he stated, holding out his hand to the worker to shake. "Thank you."
"So now that your grievous time with Lucille is finally coming to a close, what are your plans for…well, the rest of your life? Your freedom?" you asked Thomas through the divider in the room, trying to keep your tone casual as you changed into your underdress, preparing for sleep.
He answered you with a sharp huff. "In truth, darling, I haven't even begun to think about it yet. I feel as if I am not completely in the clear yet. Best to focus my attention on that first before thinking about what I wish for my freedom to look like."
You took out the final pin in your hair, setting it down on the little table by the window, next to your blades, before stepping out from behind the divider, your husband immediately catching sight of the furrowed brows and the grimace on your face. "I'm sure Scotland Yard will have a degree of leniency, considering that Lucille's arrest will lead to the closing of multiple cold cases on their board."
"That was entirely your work, Y/N. Your work in making the arrest possible is all that they will see--"
"And I wouldn't have been able to accomplish any of it if I didn't have help," you cut him off, making your way over to him and placing your hands on his shoulders, giving him a slight shake. "Not just from the spirits in that house, but from you. If I didn't have you in my corner, I would've been caught that first night. I know that I owe you a great debt for what you--"
The rest of your words died in a muffled squeak as he pulled you to him, the jerking motion causing you to straddle him on the bed as he captured your lips in a sudden kiss. Your eyes fluttered closed at the feel of his lips moving against yours, his hands roaming your body freely until they buried themselves in your hair.
He groaned against you, the sound melting into the sweetest sounding whimper when you crossed your hands behind his neck, pulling him closer. This would be the last night that you could call him your husband; perhaps you could allow yourself a sliver of indulgence. When he broke the kiss, he wrapped his arm securely around your waist before flipping you onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress with a soft thud.
"My beautiful, brilliant wife," he rasped, the gravelly tone of his voice sending thrills up your spine. He proceeded to kiss along your neck, softly sucking at the base of your throat while he undid the tie at the top of your underdress. A mix between a gasp and a moan escaped you when he hooked your leg around his waist, pressing your hips together.
"Thomas what are you doing?" you asked him dumbly, breathlessly. "We don't need to do this tonight. Or ever again--"
"I want to," he mumbled, pressing a kiss above your heart. "I wish to lay with you, Y/N Sharpe." He kissed his way back up to your lips, looking at you with those pleading pup-like eyes that made him near impossible to resist. That whittled your resolve down to nearly nothing. "Please…"
You were finding it increasingly difficult to deny him, especially with how he was pressed against you, and you could feel his erection even through the layers of his trousers and what sheer clothing you had on yourself. And considering how you'd come to feel about him in the weeks past, how alarmingly quickly you recovered from the shock of his true predicament and the actual circumstances of your marriage, and you still found yourself falling so recklessly in love with him, most parts of you wanted nothing more than to say yes to him.
But then there was the borderline unwelcome party in your internal argument. The logical voice in your head that rationalized his actions as an overwhelming gratitude mistaken for desire. That you had done so much to get him out of the diabolical inescapable captivity that Lucille manipulated him into, and he couldn't articulate his gratitude to the point that in his mind, he saw it as an urge to lay with you.
"Thomas…" you said his name slowly, trying so hard to keep your head level and work against your more primal urge to just shout your assent. Taking deep breaths wasn't any help; it just pressed your bodies closer together, the slightest shift in his hips threatening to drive you mad. "Think about this for a moment…Wouldn't you rather wait until you could lay with someone that you love?"
There was a split second where a pained look crossed his face, before he leaned back down to softly capture your lips, moaning into the kiss when you threaded your fingers through his curls. "I wish to at least do something for you." He kissed you again before presenting you with another all too tempting offer. "If we cannot lay together, then at least let me pleasure you."
He kissed a trail along your jaw, his breath warming your skin before he traced the shell of your ear with his tongue. His next words had you letting out a whimper of his name, your desire for him that had been simmering for weeks now starting to boil over.
"I've been reading through the books in the manor's library, and all I wish to do is show you what I've learned. To explore these avenues of pleasuring with you. My wife. Please. Let me at least do that."
Another whimper escaped you, the only sound you could manage to make as you finally relented and nodded your head. There was a glimmer of excitement in his eyes as he scanned your face, eyes never leaving yours as his hand made its way under your dress and up between your legs. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan once his fingers made contact with your slick arousal, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a half-smile.
He breathed your name, carefully studying every detail of your face as he traced up along the length of your slit, his mouth breaking out into a devilish grin when you arched your back off the bed, screaming for him when he touched the hardened bundle of nerves above your entrance. "Exquisite," he rasped, repeating the motion and causing you to let out a sharp moan. You could only manage a whimper when he started to kiss along your collarbone while those sinful fingers kept on stroking you, dipping into your warmth before making their way back to your clit.
Before long you felt a tension at your lower stomach, begging to be released. Whenever you'd reached this point in your solitude, back in the city, from your own touch, you would close your legs. The sensation was too great and you would stop yourself. Catch your breath. Having your husband situated between your legs made it impossible to close them now, his fingers still diligently stroking you. "Thomas p-please," you squeaked, struggling to breathe. "'S too m-much for me."
"Not enough," he muttered against your skin, stroking at you faster as he kissed at your collarbone. "Let go, darling. I've got you." He pressed an open mouthed kiss to your neck, flicking his tongue against the spot and letting out a whimper that sent you over the edge, your walls fluttering and clenching around nothing as he continued to stroke at your clit.
Thomas proceeded to kiss down your chest while you tried to catch your breath, pulling back his fingers from you to firmly hold on to your hips, pinning you to the bed as his lips descended further down. You uttered his name in a breathless question, your heart beating even faster when his hands moved to hike your underdress up your legs and place your thighs on his shoulders.
"I'm not done yet," he said with a whimper, kissing his way up your inner thigh and looking up to meet your eyes, his pupils blown out so wide his eyes were near black. Shining with a sincerity that stole what air remained from your lungs. "I wish to taste you."
"Thomas what are you--Oh!" You arched your back off the bed once more, letting out an obscene moan as he licked up your entrance and closed his mouth around the oversensitized nub above it. The sight of his onyx curls subtly moving with every bob of his head, his hands grasping your thighs to keep you in place, immediately burned itself into your memory.
You would remember every devastatingly pleasurable moment of tonight for as long as you'd live. Remember him.
It wasn't long before he brought you to the brink of orgasm again, mercilessly flicking his tongue against you until you came undone, your husband making you ride his tongue while you came down from your high. Soft groans slipped from his mouth while he licked away at your release, kissing along your inner thighs again when he brought the fabric of your underdress over your legs again.
There were no words left in your mind except one somber truth. "You're going to make a fortunate woman very happy in the future, Mister Sharpe."
Thomas couldn't sleep that night, holding your sleeping form in his arms as he absently stroked at your hair. His life felt like a stick of dynamite that could set off and crumble around him at any moment now; while he allowed himself to feel a touch of relief that soon he would finally be free from Lucille and her wretched ways, that freedom came at a heart-wrenching price.
You.
Your words before you went slack in his hold haunted him, ringing constantly in his mind now like an eerie church choir. You're going to make a fortunate woman very happy in the future, Mister Sharpe.
His day ended the same way it began, watching your peaceful features as your head rested on his chest. With him speaking words he hoped would somehow reach you in your dreams. "I want to make you happy, Y/N." He didn't bother fighting back the tears that welled in his eyes as the thought slammed into him that this may very well be the last night he had with you.
And then you would disappear from his life. You'll be free from me, too.
"I don't want to be free of you," he whispered through the suppressed sobs. "I wish to be free with you. I love you, Y/N Sharpe." He pressed his lips to your forehead, a tear rolling down his cheek as he did so. "Please don't leave me."
A/N: In today's episode of "YN is stronger than all of us" 🥴 I know that this is super slow going but I promise there are plans to guide me through writing the rest of the series and I'll get to finishing it 🫡
'everything' taglist:
@simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist
#thomas sharpe x reader#thomas sharpe smut#thomas sharpe x female reader#crimson peak fanfic#crimson peak fanfiction#the final lady sharpe#muddyorbs writes#fic requests#500 follower celebration
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The Phantom of Asgard - Part Two (Thor: The Dark World!Loki x Reader)
(Thank you @michelleleewise for this artwork)
Summary: It has been three days since you or anyone else in Asgard has seen a sign from the Phantom. Meanwhile, your friend tries to use a book from Midgard to convince you that ghosts exist.
Warnings: dark!Loki ,hypnotism, mentions of the plot of "Crimson Peak"
You closed the door behind you. "What are we doing here? I thought you were too scared of the Phantom to venture in the palace after dark."
"This library is different from that one. We're safe." Revna sat down on one of the comfy armchairs, leaning back. Ingrid, on the other hand, immediately searched through several books within a section of the library labeled as "Midgardian literature" as soon as she finished lighting a few candles. She pulled out a dark red hardcover book with a black stripe on the binding. "This is where Prince Thor kept his special books from Midgard. I heard from one of the Warriors Five who heard it from the All-Father himself that these books were brought from another library found in a place called New York."
"As in…New York where Thor fought alongside a bunch of so-called heroes?" You raised an eyebrow.
Ingrid placed the book in a table in front of Revna. "I thought I would show you this book since you still don;'t believe in the existence of the Phantom of Asgard."
"Actually…" Revna adjusted her position on the couch, "you never told us what happened two nights ago when we went to investigate the Phantom. We heard you screaming…and then nothing."
You ran your fingers through your hair and knelt beside her. "I told you what happened. Nothing," you lied.
"I'm not buying it."
"Well, I'm not selling." You quipped. "Crimson Peak?" You turned your attention to the hardcover, stroking the leather cover and eyeing the gold lettering.
"Crimson Peak, written by Edith Sharpe." Ingrid opened to the first page, which contained a dedication to the author's father and to her childhood friend Alan McMichael. "It's a book about this woman who married a dark, handsome man whose family home is filled with ghosts hiding in red clay!" Ingrid moved a candle closer to the book. "Maybe Lady Sharpe will change your mind about phantoms."
For the next hour, Ingrid took it upon herself to play narrator, putting on a dreamier-than-usual voice to reenact Edith's thoughts when she encountered the Sharpe siblings for the first time.
As for Revna, she quickly became invested in the story. All she needed was the writer description of Edith's first kiss with her husband Baronet Thomas Sharpe in his workshop - the way he lifted her skirt and pinned her against the window, his passion overtaking him in the moment as he crashed his lips onto hers. "That's it." Revna declared with a loud sigh. "I want a Thomas Sharpe of my own."
"Well, why don't you ask Prince Thor to bring you one when he visits Midgard again?" You teased her.
Ingrid tutted. "Don't be hasty, ladies…"
"Please, I would bet that he could out-dance all of the men of Asgard." Revna leaned back again, crossing one leg over the other.
"That's because no one here knows how to waltz." Ingrid turned the page and continued to read.
With every detail about Lady Edith's experience as the wife of Thomas Sharpe, encountering ghosts in 'Crimson Peak" that warned her of Thomas's previous marriages, you begin to picture eery, faceless monsters - no, walking skeletons - covered in red liquid that dripped with every movement. It was a far cry from the Phantom you encountered, who was truly just the God of Mischief in hiding.
But just as things started to sound too grim, the story would mention some intimate detail about Thomas, like the part of how surprisingly strong his arms were underneath the loose white shirts he wrote. And those were most entertaining to listen to, not because of how perfectly Edith expressed her love for her husband in a nuanced manner, but because of how they made Revna close her eyes and sigh, almost as if she were the one in Edith's place. You and Ingrid - how on earth was she still able to maintain a good narrative pace? - couldn't hold back peels of laughter.
"Ingrid…" Revna moaned softly, throwing her head back, which was starting to bead with sweat. "I want him."
"Even after he murdered his father-in-law, and his ex-wives?"
"He's a human and we're from Asgard" Revna countered. "I'll deal with his sister before the wedding. I'll set her up with someone."
You snickered. "Oh, so we're talking about a wedding?"
"Yeah, why not? I'll have him stay in Asgard with us."
"Let's hope the Phantom doesn't get to him," Ingrid reminded you both, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.
"Still scared?" Revna rested her chin on her palm.
Ingrid closed the book. "No one has seen him or heard from him in the past three days." She lowered her voice to a whisper, "What if he's planning a murder? Or worse…?"
"Then we'll just have Thomas's sister deal with him."
"You're insane," you interjected under your breath and hugged your knees underneath your gown while your thoughts wandered to the Phantom. Maybe no one has heard from him because he's left Asgard. He was, after all, the God of Mischief. It would be easier to search Midgard for a Thomas Sharpe doppelgänger than to attempt to completely understand Loki's psyche. And whatever he did, or wherever he went, you were bound to find out about it at some point.
Still…there was one thing you hadn't managed to understand about your encounter with the Phantom: why you? Or rather, what did he want with you? Before going into hiding as the phantom, the god of mischief was known for his silver tongue, begrudgingly praised by Asgardians. He always knew how to get what he wanted, how he wanted, and when he wanted it, one way or another. So there must have been an ulterior motive behind him showing you his magic. Some twisted, dark reason for him holding you close, touching you so intimately while he confessed the truth behind the Phantom of Asgard.
And what of the lilly he left behind when he disappeared into the night? You could still picture its pristine white petals and perfectly-cut stem, which was decorated by a green silk ribbon whose hue resembled the cape worm by the younger prince in formal events. Perhaps if you'd encountered two or more other maidens with similar 'presents' from the Phantom of Asgard, you’d have suspected that the God of Mischief had adopted a philandering persona. Though between the two princes of Asgard, it was Thor who cavorted with noble girls and laid with whomever caught his eye. Loki, on the other hand, struck you as the more romantic one, the kind of prince described in tales whispered among girls as they brushed each others’ hair. The type of prince who would never think to look at anyone else with desire after he lost his heart to someone.
“Hey?” Revna snapped her fingers in front of you, amidst Ingrid giggling. “Hello? You alright?
You blinked, accidentally saved from your own wandering mind. “We should probably head to bed…I’m fine, just tired.”
"You’re bluffing.” Revna crossed her arms. “Seriously, what happened that night? You refuse to tell us anything, and clearly you are off.”
“Look, the phantom just…” You swallowed and stood up reluctantly, wrapping your finger around the edge of another sofa. “He…he didn’t do anything. I couldn’t see him but I…I felt something hold me.” You increased your pitch to sound more nonchalant. “And then he sent me on my way.”
“So he hugged you?” Ingrid stepped closer after she returned the book.
You confirmed her words. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
“That’s weird.” Revna made her way to the door and Ingrid extinguished most of the candles in the library fro the night. “Well, try to get some sleep. Who knows, maybe it was a one-time thing. At least he was nice…”
You mumbled a ‘yes’, and Revna decided that all three of you ought to head to your bedroom now. She descended down the steps of the library with Ingrid following suit.
But before you could blow out the last candle in the library, the doors swung shut with a booming thud. Holding the flickering candle by your side, you strode towards the entrance of the library only to be stopped by a harsh whisper.
“No.”
You turned around to find none other than the beautiful Phantom of Asgard standing behind you with his silk gloves, tailored black waistcoat and signature emerald mask. His raven curls and pale, square-like forehead not obscured by the mask glowed in the faint candlelight.
Your fingers pressed further into the candlestick, not caring if they left an imprint in the wax. “You…you’re not supposed to be in this part of the library.” You muttered, inching your other hand towards the doorknob and twisting it.
“And why not? Because I’m a phantom, doomed to haunt only the darkest hall, past the throne room?” He darkly chuckled, taking a step forward. With a simple flick of the wrist, the doorknob you held instantly went stiff. “Don’t pretend you don’t know the truth.”He delicately clasped your chin. “Tell me who I am.”
“You’re the God of Mischief.”
He wrapped his gloved fingers around your cheek and leaned in even closer. “Say my name.”
Heat rose in your cheeks and between your thighs. You closed your eyes, struggling to believe just how easily he could make you flushed with just a single touch. “You’re Prince Loki.”
The God of Mischief answered you by pressing his forehead against yours, while his other hand held your shoulder.
“My prince….” You felt his lips against the tip of your nose. “Don’t tease.”
“And what should I do instead?” He taunted, whispering against the side of your face. “This?” He lightly kissed your neck, and smirked when you let out a sigh. “If only you knew how much I have missed your warmth. Have you been thinking of me, sweet one?”
“How did you know?” You tried to look down only for the God of Mischief to force your eyes to meet his. “Forget I ask,” you faltered. “You’re the God of Mischief.”
“Exactly.” Loki walked backward, leading you to a couch. “Honestly, must you ladies always be in packs like she-wolves?” He remarked in a playful tone. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you alone in this palace once.”
You chose to remain silent as Loki’s hand rested on your waist, and you sensed him reappear behind you, his chest pressed against your back. “It pains me to be away from you, sweet one.”
Your hand slid down across your body, towards his. “My prince…”
“Loki.”You glanced over your shoulder. “You say that I am the only one who knows the truth…”
“Yes?” He goaded with a light kiss behind your ear.
"Then why…” You began, wondering how best to pose your question to the god of Mischief. It certainly didn’t help that his other hand inched towards your rib, lingering just below your breast. “Why? Why are you….touching me?”
He froze. “You don’t like it?” In that moment ,Loki’s voice dropped to a scared murmur, a voice so innocent and fearful that it could’ve been mistaken for a boy’s.
“No…I do like it but…” You took a deep breath. “You could have any woman in this palace, in any of the Nine Realms. Why me?”
“Because you are the only one who sees me as I am, and yet chooses my company.” Loki pushed a few locks of your hair aside. “I do not want you solely for your beauty, sweet one. I also want you for your heart.” He nuzzled against your hair. “Were someone to take you away from this place, I swear that I would burn this palace to the ground…”
“Loki.” You swallowed. Did he just say that he wanted your heart? That he would set Asgard on fire at a moment’s notice?
“Stay by my side, even if it’s only for a few moments,” he pleaded, caressing your hair. “Turn your face away from this garish light of day,…and simply take delight in this darkness, with each of its sensations.” Loki wrapped his long fingers around your neck. His intoxicating whisper drove away any defensive part of you that wanted to flee.
“As you wish,” was all that left your lips.
He rested on the couch, with you in his arms. “Someday, I’ll show you the stories in this library I enjoy the most. But tonight, all I ask is that you relieve me from my solitude.” Loki kept his fingers entangled in your hair, with the other hand resting on your own arm. He whispered, for your ears only,
“I ditt smil mitt hjerte finner ro,
I dine øyne, kjærlighet jeg for alltid skal tro."
(In your smile, my heart finds peace,
In your eyes, love I shall forever believe.)
He repeated the couplet two more times, and a strange calm fell over you. Your eyelids started to grow heavy, and your limbs became numb, like you were melting into a puddle. In a matter of moments, you fell fast asleep, a peaceful smile on your face.
“My beauty…” Loki whispered. For a brief moment, Loki lifted his mask and leaned down to kiss your eyelid. He slid the mask back on and simply held you for a few moments. While you slept in his embrace, Loki pondered to himself about the future of Asgard. He contemplated about how or if he would ever convey the news of him “not quite dying” to Thor.
How would he explain the disappearance of the All-father from Asgard? Would his punishment be worsened? No, that wouldn’t be possible, given that his original sentence was to spend the rest of his godly not-terribly-signifiant life in the dungeons.
“In due time,” Loki uttered to no one in particular. With those words, the God of Mischief lifted you in his arms in a bridal carry, and opened the library doors with a silent spell.
Once he brought you to his chambers, the God of Mischief placed you on a round bed adorned with ivory white satin bedsheets and gold pillows. He gently positioned you so that you lay on your side, and pushed the strands of hair obscuring your face. Then he conjured an emerald green cape and draped it over your body.
Would that he could, he would join you in his bed and hold you close as your heartbeat lulled him to sleep. But it would leave him far too vulnerable. What if you tried to remove his mask while he slept, lest you became repulsed by his looks, leaving him in the early hours of daylight? Alone in his bed, surrounded with his own demons and his own battles to fight? It was better that he suppress his own desires, at least for now. Forcing himself to tear his gaze away from your perfection, the God of Mischief closed the door of his own chamber and disappeared into the night.
Tagging: @icytrickster17 @mischievoushiddleston,@lokischambermaid , @lady-rose-moon , @lokisgoodgirl , @lokisninerealms @jennyggggrrr ,, @tom-hiddleston-imagines , @lokiismineforever @smolvenger @winterfrostlovetriangle , @the-haven-of-fiction , @turniptitaness @cakesandtom ,@sallymagnoliaposts @leahs-reading-nook @holdmytesseract @muddyorbsblr @anukulee @acidcasualties @lotsoflokilove23 @caffiend-queen @aesonmae @asgards-princess-of-mischief @eleniblue @fruityfucker @el-zef @huntress-artemiss @evelyn-rathmore @lovingchoices14
#loki#loki laufeyson#loki x reader#loki odinson#loki god of mischief#loki fanfic#mcu loki#Loki x female reader#loki of asgard#marvel loki#loki x reader fic
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Deliriously In Love
Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader
Summary: Nikolai is deliriously in love with you...
A/N: This is just Nikolai being an absolute simp for his wife. Pure fluff
The demon no longer consumed his sleeping hours. Nikolai’s sleep was deep, restful, and peaceful, only interrupted by the press of your lips on his. You, his bride, his queen, the woman he’d fought like hell to make his. It hadn’t been easy: you were the daughter of a lesser noble, one who had been in support of deposing Nikolai after the War. The daughter of a baronet couldn’t marry a King, or so said his advisors, it wasn’t proper.
But Nikolai didn’t care. He was the damned King of Ravka, and if he wanted to marry a baronet’s daughter, then he would do just that. But when Nikolai extended his hand in courtship, your father made it clear that his advances were not welcome. You would marry a respectable man, not a “Fjerdan-bred bastard.” It didn’t matter that you loved the King, that you wanted to marry him, not to your father.
But Nikolai Lantsov was never one to back down from a challenge. Secret meetings became your norm, midnight walks around the gardens, meals by candlelight in an abandoned dacha. Anything to see you, to kiss you, to hold you in his arms. When the King went home and fell asleep, you consumed his dreams. Fleeting visions of you sitting across a table from him, you reading at his side, you wrapped in his arms, you beneath him as he made love to you. And when he woke, Nikolai was happy. Deliriously, giddily happy.
When he made you his bride, Nikolai assumed the dreams would stop. What need would he have to fantasize about you sharing a meal with him when it was his reality? What need did he have to dream of you tucked into his side, a book in your hand, when you did just that every night? What need was there to yearn for your body beneath him when he had you several times a day? Those dreams had been a bridge to get him from being your intended to being your husband, so logically, now that he was yours, so irrevocably yours, they would stop.
But they hadn’t. Where once his demon would occupy his slumber, thoughts of you still resided. Nikolai certainly wasn’t complaining, why would he? His sleep was restful, and he dreamt of his darling wife each and every night. And when he woke, it was to find you curled against his chest or peppering his face with gentle kisses. Truly, Nikolai was the happiest man alive.
This morning, the King woke to find you propped up on an elbow, looking at him with adoration. “Well, good morning, my love,” he said, pulling you to him and kissing you deeply. “Good morning, Kolya.” Your husband kissed you for several uninterrupted minutes, only pulling away to ask, “How long have you been up?” You smiled, running a hand through his golden locks. “Not long. I like watching you sleep. You look so happy, so peaceful.”
“Do I now?” You nodded, brushing your lips against his. “Mhmm. What do you dream about that makes you so happy?” Nikolai blushed, turning his face from yours. “You’ll laugh at me,” the King said, and you gently tilted his face towards yours. “Kolya, darling, I could never. Please, just tell me?” Nikolai pursed his lips, and after copious amounts of kisses pressed to his face and neck, he caved.
“It’s you,” he said. “I dream of you. I still dream about you even though you’re mine. Every single night, Y/N, my dreams are about you.” You fell silent, and Nikolai feared you’d think he was insane. Then a tear sprung to your eye. “That is quite possibly the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.” Your husband looked at you. “Really?” “Of course, Kolya! You see me every single day, fall asleep with me in your arms, and you love me enough to dream of me?”
“Of course I do,” the King said, pulling you closer, kissing you deeply. “I love you so much, my darling. More than I ever thought it was possible to love someone else. And I will always love you.” You curled into his embrace, and Nikolai tugged the blankets over your shoulders. “So tell me, husband of mine; what am I doing in these dreams of yours.” And he told you, and with every word, you fell deeper and deeper in love with him.
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A Crimson Peak Timeline
(based on the art book, documents shown onscreen in the movie, and the character bios GDT wrote- where the bios don't contradict film canon. I've attempted to combine the two where contradicting elements are unavoidable.
Sometime during the reign of Charles II (1660-1685). Edward Sharpe created Baronet for services to the crown in providing clay for construction projects. Allerdale Hall built in the parish of Above Derwent, Cumberland, England.
1841. Carter Everett Cushing born the second son of six in an impoverished family that traveled the eastern US for his father's masonry business.
1863. Beatrice Alexandra Chetwynde, eldest daughter of a large, wealthy family, marries Baronet James William Sharpe. The marriage is contracted solely for the Chetwyndes' land, which adjoins the Sharpe estate.
April 1, 1865. Lucille Sharpe born.
Sometime between 1865 and ~1873. Carter marries 18-year-old socialite Eleanor Wyndham-Beckford, to the immense disapproval of her family. Though she is disowned and the couple struggles to make ends meet for years, Carter ultimately becomes a successful developer.
February 18, 1867. Thomas Sharpe born.
C. 1867-1872. The Sharpes employ a wet nurse- and later nanny -named Theresa, who would become the only adult to care about the children in their lives. She would ultimately be sacked after Beatrice caught young Lucille snuggling with her for warmth on a winter's night (on the grounds that a noble child should not be close with servants- a "crime" for which Lucille was beaten severely).
1876. 11-year-old Lucille murders her father with poison distilled from mine tailings, after he took Thomas on a hunting trip and left him in the woods to die of exposure.
Late 1876? A mining vein near Allerdale Hall collapses, killing several child mine-workers. I could have sworn I read somewhere that James foolishly dug a mining tunnel under the house shortly before his death, and that's what destabilized it, but I can't find it now.
October 9, 1877. Edith M. Cushing born, after Eleanor had suffered several miscarriages.
1878. Thomas and Lucille begin a secret sexual relationship.
Early August, 1879. Beatrice catches Lucille and Thomas together; Lucille murders her to keep their secret. The siblings try to run away together but are caught and brought back. Thomas is sent to live with an aunt and uncle in Whitehaven (who in turn send him to boarding school), while Lucille is forced into a mental institution.
Probably summer, 1885. Thomas finishes his schooling and rescues Lucille; they return to Allerdale.
1887. The Sharpe siblings travel to London seeking investors for Thomas' venture to reopen the mines. A wealthy, terminally ill gentleman, Major Richard Upton, takes a liking to Thomas and begs Thomas to marry his disabled daughter, Pamela. At Lucille's urging- since they're running out of both options and money -Thomas agrees. The two attempt to poison Pamela to death, but Lucille ends up strangling her instead.
Sometime between October 1887 and October 1888. Eleanor Cushing dies of cholera and appears to Edith as a ghost.
Early-mid 1890s. Carter and the recently widowed Mrs. McMichael have a brief flirtation that both Edith and Eunice oppose. Though it goes nowhere, the rift between the two girls is never healed.
Late October or November 1892. Edith (age 15) becomes infatuated with a 25-year-old poet who is having marital difficulties. After convincing Carter to hire him as a tutor, all unknowing, she confesses her feelings to him. He not only takes his leave of the Cushing family, but of Buffalo itself, quickly moving away with his wife and children.
1893. The Sharpes travel to Edinbrugh, where Thomas again finds no investors but does attract the attention of a 36-year-old widow of means, Margaret McDermott. Once again, he marries her and helps Lucille poison her, though she is ultimately killed via blunt force trauma.
Summer 1893. Edith asks her best friend, Alan McMichael, to kiss her so she can write about kisses more accurately. It means nothing to her, but sparks an unrequited passion in Alan
1896. Lucille falls pregnant by Thomas. He travels with her to Italy, which he loves and she despises. There he meets a wealthy woman named Enola Sciotti, widowed and bereaved of her only child, and decides of his own accord to marry and murder her in their usual fashion. The Sharpes and Enola return to Allerdale.
1897. Lucille is delivered of a son, who may or may not be sickly. Enola tries to care for her and the child, promising she can save him. The baby either dies of natural causes or Lucille smothers him under the conviction that his cries mean something is terribly wrong with him and he can't live- this is one contradiction in the bios vs. the movie that I prefer to leave vague, since it's possible not even Lucille remembers what happened. Either way, she blames Enola and dispatches her by unknown means. Thomas patents his excavating machine.
Late summer(?) 1901. Alan returns from studying medicine in London and sets up an ophthalmology practice in Buffalo. Edith's debut novel, Figures In The Mist, is rejected for publication by Oglivie and Sons. Thomas seeks investment in the mines from Cushing and Co., unsuccessfully. Edith and the Sharpes begin a friendship. Edith sees her mother's ghost for the second time.
September 14, 1901. President William McKinley dies after being shot at the Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo. I include this because the fact that the movie doesn't is hilarious to me.
October 21, 1901. At the Cushings' dinner party, Carter bribes the Sharpes to leave, instructing Thomas to break Edith's heart or he'll tell her about the marriage to Pamela. A deleted scene reveals that he was on the verge of relenting and investing in the mines when he read the private investigator's report.
October 22, 1901. Lucille murders Carter at his club, then departs to return to England. Thomas and Edith become engaged.
Late October-early November 1901. Thomas and Edith are married and travel to Allerdale.
November-December 1901 (possibly into early 1902?). The rest of the movie's plot.
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9, 11, and 24 👀
9: tell a story about your childhood
When I was a little kid - circa age 7, I had to read a nonfiction book and write a book report on it for class. My mom picked one out for me because I didn't know what I was looking for, and it was Octopus: The Ocean's Intelligent Invertebrate. I read it and was hooked on the idea of octopuses. Gone. Read it obsessively, kept reading about octopuses, and held onto trivia. 'Twas baby's (third) hyperfixation.
And then a year later or so, we went to an aquarium that had an octopus, and some poor volunteer doing a talk to a room full of children my age and their parents. With some audience participation, as you do. And she asks the room, mostly as a rhetorical question, "how do you know if you have a boy octopus or a girl octopus?"
To which, I, 8 years old and not yet in command of an idea of shame, audience appropriateness, or social cues, raise my hand. Curious, she calls on me.
I tell her "well, boy octopuses have a special arm third from the left without any suckers on the tip that they use to give sperm to the girl octopus". Which is Correct. She blinks at me, is like "... yes.", and my parents had a new favorite "our kid is weird" story until the end of time.
11: what do you consider to be romance?
I mean fuck if I know, right? I think, now that this question is making me sit down and really think about it, that it's like... a different thing from love. That all good relationships, platonic, familial, romantic, have love In Them, and what separates a romantic relationship from something else is the addition of romance to love. And my strain of aromanticism is such as that I love so many people so easily but I don't know how romance fits into a picture and I don't really want it to.
24: what’s one thing you’re proud of yourself for?
My speaking ability. It's not something I was naturally good at, it's something I practiced for a long damn time and am now really really good at. I love being in front of people and I love all the ways I can use it for good.
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WIBTA for leaving my kids behind while I try to secure their future?
u/ClaytoBeauty
I am a young widow (F27) with two young children (M4, F2). My late husband wasn't very wealthy so I've been forced to move back in with my father. Fortunately, my father is the agent of a wealthy baronet (M54). He's in a little debt right now, but who isn't? The baronet's daughter, Ella (F29), has taken an interest in me and asked me to accompany the family to Bath. I think this is my golden opportunity to improve my life! The baronet doesn't have a male heir and what could be better than marrying a woman with proven fertility?
If I go, I have a chance to catch the father and secure my children's future, but I will have to leave my kids behind and people can be pretty judgmental about things like that... so WIBTA if I spent six months in Bath and left my kids with my father?
Top Comment:
u/PlymouthGirl69
YWNBTA at all! Ignore these other comments about your duty as a mother, as a woman you need to try for the best you can get your hands on! This opportunity is far too good to pass up!
Go secure yourself a baronet!
u/ClaytoBeauty (OP)
Thank you for saying this, I have told Ella that I'm going to accompany her!
Comment near the bottom:
u/RosingsRector
A quick consultation of The Baronetage reveals that this baronet is in fact Sir Walter Elliot of Kellynch Hall, born March 1, 1760. Ella must be his daughter Miss Elizabeth Elliot, born June 1, 1785. There are two more daughters in the family but as stated, no male heir. The property is entailed, something that I am very familiar with, so the requirement for a male heir is valid.
I will consult with my honoured patroness, Lady C, to see if anything should be done to warn Sir Walter about this scheme. It would be a shame to see such a man marry a woman of low rank and Lady C is very concerned about the preservation of distinctions of rank.
(WIBTA is for future situations, "Would I Be TA?" and YWNBTA "You Would Not Be TA")
AITA Masterpost
#PlymouthGirl69 is Lucy Steele#RosingsRector is Mr. Collins#I'm sure you caught that one#AITA Jane Austen#jane austen#persuasion#Mrs. Clay#Sir Walter Elliot#Elizabeth Elliot
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Rating Austen’s first lines (this is a rating of the lines, not the books) (rated based on my thoughts of when I read them for the first time, unaware of what happens later)
1. Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her. — Emma
Iconic. Makes you wanna be her in just one paragraph.
2. No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy, would have supposed her born to be an heroine. — Northanger Abbey
I love this one, I don’t know why
3. A gentleman and a lady travelling from Tunbridge towards that part of the Sussex coast which lies between Hastings and Eastbourne, being induced by business to quit the high road and attempt a very rough lane, were overturned in toiling up its long ascent, half rock, half sand. — Sanditon
Pulls you right in.
4. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. — Pride & Prejudice
It’s a classic.
5. The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex. — Sense & Sensibility
Straight to the point.
6. The first winter assembly in the town of D. in Surrey was to be held on Tuesday, October 13th and it was generally expected to be a very good one. — The Watsons
I hope it was.
7. About thirty years ago Miss Maria Ward, of Huntingdon, with only seven thousand pounds, had the good luck to captivate Sir Thomas Bertram, of Mansfield Park, in the county of Northampton, and to be thereby raised to the rank of a baronet's lady, with all the comforts and consequences of an handsome house and large income. — Mansfield Park
Good for her.
8. My dear brother,—I can no longer refuse myself the pleasure of profiting by your kind invitation when we last parted of spending some weeks with you at Churchhill, and, therefore, if quite convenient to you and Mrs. Vernon to receive me at present, I shall hope within a few days to be introduced to a sister whom I have so long desired to be acquainted with. — Lady Susan
Not the worst.
9. Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somerset, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; there he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; there his faculties were roused into admiration and respect, by contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; there any unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs, changed naturally into pity and contempt as he turned over the almost endless creations of the last century; and there, if every other leaf were powerless, he could read his own history with an interest which never failed. — Persuasion
Didn’t ask about Sir Walter Elliot’s passion for monarchy.
#jane austen#emma woodhouse#emma jane austen#northanger abbey#sanditon#pride and prejudice#pride & prejudice#sense & sensibility#sense and sensibility#the watsons#mansfield park#lady susan#persuasion
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i really like b&b and how lighthearted the story feels while simultaneously being complex! it’s like the best jane austen meets ursula le guin meets regency romance crossover 🎊 and congrats on publishing your nettles fic!
Thank you! I wanted to keep it fairly light in terms of not having graphic violence or sexual assault or anything like that, but I still wanted the characters to be complex and not just bland white bread.
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May, could you translate those headlines? Google translate is not helping much
Of course! Although you're probably getting a lesson in linguistics that you didn't ask for 😂 (post for reference)
La Gazzetta Dello Sport "Colpo rosso" = "Red hit / Hit in red" pretty self explanatory
Il Corriere Dello Sport "Lewis in rosso" = "Lewis in red" also pretty self explanatory
Tuttosport "Il Baronetto Rosso" = "the red baronet" absolute genius headline from them. It's a word play on Lewis being knighted and being addressed as Sir (in Italy knighthood is associated with the Republic "Cavaliere della Repubblica", whereas a baronet is also a peerage assigned by the Crown - I believe the Savoy royal family would assign that title instead of a knighthood when Italy was a monarchy, but I could be wrong! My Italian history needs some... Brushing up lmao), the infamous Red Baron, the German Ace of WW1 (a reference on Lewis also being a legendary "ace" who drives German machinery), and "red" being the color associated with Ferrari.
My favorite is the headline from La Stampa "Il Baronetto Rampante" = "The prancing baronet" (For the Lewis/Baronet association see above ⬆️). There is a pretty famous novel from Italian author Italo Calvino "Il Barone Rampante" (literal translation "The Rampant Baron") - in English the novel was published under the title "The Baron in the Trees" 💀 The newspaper headline is a play on Calvino's novel title, especially the prancing part. Everyone knows about "il Cavallino Rampante" ➡️ "the Prancing Horse" being Ferrari's symbol, so now we have our little prancing horse with the prancing baronet to go with it 🥺
Hope that makes sense!
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Do you have any queer historical romance recs? Are there any upcoming 2024 queer historical romances that you’re excited for?
Absolutely, I have recs! As for 2024 books, I'm currently most looking forward to You Should Be So Lucky by Cat Sebastian, which is an m/m romance set, I believe in the 50s, set around the world of baseball.
I also just read A Sweet Sting of Salt by Rose Sutherland (out 4/9) which I SUPER recommend if you want a f/f romance set in the 1800s, with a touch of fantasy. It's about a prickly midwife who finds this mysterious woman in the middle of the night, literally about to give birth. She helps her, and her husband turns out to be a local fisherman. But... something isn't right... both with the husband, and with his wife's origins. And when the husband realizes the women are falling in love, he only becomes more possessive. I promise it's romantic and has an HEA and doesn't feature overwhelming sadness (there is domestic and sexual violence alluded to, but it's brief and off the page).
As for historicals otherwise...
M/M
We Could be So Good by Cat Sebastian--set in the same general era and space as the 2024 release, I think, about a pair of reporters slowly and sweetly falling in love, especially after they become roommates (and they were ROOMMATES).
The Secret Lives of Country Gentlemen by KJ Charles--about a guy who moves to the marshland after he becomes a baronet, and has to take care of his estranged father's family left behind. He finds out there is a crime family of smugglers controlling the area, and he rats on them after seeing something sus... But when he goes to testify, who's there to stop him but the guy who he used to anonymously hook up with! JOSS DOOMSDAY. Joss Doomsday is amazing I love him. Super sexy, funny, and definitely focused on a side of England you like, never see in historicals.
The Nobleman's Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel by KJ--the standalone followup to the last book. In this case, another title is inherited, and this time the lord's this gruff former soldier. His cousins or something contest his inheritance, and he hires this young, charismatic secretary (especially important because our lord has a hard time reading, which I felt was done in a really touching way). Anyway, the sexual tension boils over and they start hooking up on the low, but there's a SECRET. (Also, the lord is very like "I'M ABUSING MY BOSSLY POWER" while the secretary is like "I mean... abuse it some more.....")
Band Sinister by KJ Charles--kind of a queer sendup of gothics, this is about a young guy whose sister is like, always spying on their scandalous neighbors who hold orgies and shit for the sake of writing her novels. Then she breaks her leg and ends up laid up in the orgy house, and he rushes over like NO ORGIES FOR HER, but he realizes the group of friends is actually super cool, especially the verrrry siiiiiilky smoooooth one who's just soooooo suave. So good, and especially interesting in that, while I would definitely not call this a poly romance, it does explore the complexities of open relationships and polyamory.
The Queer Principles of Kit Webb by Cat Sebastian--Kit is a retired highwayman running a cafe, and suddenly this vERRRY pretty nobleman comes in flashing his very nice ankles and asking Kit to steal this mysterious book from his dad. Kit refuses, but agrees to teach Percy how to steal. Both are great, but omg PERCY is AMAZING. He's kind introduced as somewhat like... conventionally more on the femme side, but he's like a secret swordmaster, and also takes the lead with Kit sexually a lot. One of my favorite moments in this book is when he's blowing Kit and Kit thinks he's gone too deep and is like "SORRY" and Percy rolls his eyes and makes Kit grab his hair and start facefucking him lmao. Also has nice demi rep in Kit.
Something Fabulous by Alexis Hall--A frosty duke proposes to a woman he was always supposed to marry, and she subsequently goes on the run. He then has to pair up with her dramatic, fanciful twin brother. It's a really funny romcom, with a ridiculous duel that had me wheezing. Plus a semi-cultlike group of lesbians? Also, enthusiastic ass eating.
F/F
An Island Princess Starts a Scandal by Adriana Herrera--A cold vamp widow wants this business deal with a fun and flirty heiress, and the heiress agrees to make the deal... If the vamp agrees to show her LESBIAN PARIS. Hot, and both of the leads are Latina.
Mortal Follies by Alexis Hall--Adding this even though it definitely has a good dose of fantasy, because it's like... Jane Austen meets a Midsummer Night's Dream, with an emphasis on the fairies. This young deb ends up hexed so her dress is unraveling at a ball, and as she hurries into the pushes, she meets the mysterious Lady Duke, who's rumored to have murdered her brother and father. They begin this push and pull of seduction. It's both funny and kind of dramatic.
Trans/Nonbinary
Something Spectacular by Alexis Hall--the standalone followup to Something Fabulous. The runaway fiancee's ex, the genderfluid Peggy, is roped by said ex into attending an opera. The ex wants to seduce Orfeo, this gorgeous castrato soprano, and when they open their mouth to sing Peggy, who's very gruff and in control typically, faints. Orfeo is naturally like "WHO'S THAT" and begins pursuing Peggy rather than the ex. One of my favorite books, so funny (at one point they accidentally incite a gay orgy) with a hint of melancholy and great sex. Also, it has one of the most unique sex scenes I've ever read.
Unmasked by the Marquess by Cat Sebastian--a bisexual marquess makes a new friend in this young dandy in town. They kiss, and he thinks his friend is going to blackmail him... But the friend, Robin, turns out to be chamber maid in disguise! Except they're actually not a man or a woman, and don't want to live as a woman. It becomes as an FWB thing, but naturally our romantic hero falls in love and things become Fraught. Has one of my favorite "resentfully horny" moments, when Alistair is watching Robin from across the ballroom, and they pull a glove off with their teeth, and he's like "THAT IS IMPROPER" and wants to fuck them so bad.
A Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall--Viola faked her death at Waterloo in order to live as her true self. Years later, she's pulled into helping her old best friend, the Duke of Gracewood, who's suffering from a chronic injury and severe depression following the battle. At first he doesn't recognize her... at first. Has an absolutely INCREDIBLE moment of recognition, and I really like that it's this romping old school type romance with a trans heroine.
Most Ardently by Gabe Cole Novoa--this one is actually a YA Pride and Prejudice retelling, highly recommend if you're open to it. In this case, the Lizzie character is actually Oliver, a trans boy, and he and Darcy fall in love--molly houses are included in this, which I really like. It's not super about historical accuracy, which I personally dgaf about, and it's very sweet and funny and warm. Also, the author is a trans man.
Queer Polyamory
Scandalous Passions by Nicola Davidson--FFM. A king's former mistress is sent away because the queen hates her, and is also asked to care for the king's ward. She and the ward begin to give in to their attraction, and at the same time their escort is this much-feared knight (who's really quite subby) who's been in love with the older heroine for years. And then he begins falling for the ward as well.... Super sexy medieval, with Dom/sub overtones.
Their Marchioness by Jess Michaels--A playwright is asked to a marquess and marchioness's home... Turns out he and the marchioness were in love before she was forced to marry the marquess. Fortunately, she and her husband are now very much in love, and he's basically gifting her a tryst with her old love for her birthday. Then he joins in... and it begins being more than sex. Has some bi awakening stuff.
M/F with Bi leads
The Perfect Crimes of Marian Hayes by Cat Sebastian--a standalone followup to Kit Webb. Percy's stepmother Marian is having a correspondence with a blackmailer, who unbeknownst to her is her odious husband's secret son. He ends up falling in love with her as they go back and forth with letters, so when she ends up in trouble and on the run, he comes to "save" her, only to find that Marian ain't that girl. Both leads are bi, and the sex is really cool and interesting because Marian doesn't like penetration due to trauma surrounding her pregnancy and labor. So she penetrates him (among other things) instead.
Hugo and The Maiden by S.M. LaViolette--a successful sex worker ends up being transported and washing ashore after a shipwreck. He's very snarky, but finds himself up against the vicar's uptight and uncompromising daughter--but he still has enemies lurking. Hugo is openly (for the day) bi and services both men and women. I really liked that even as he fell in love, his bisexuality wasn't like this background thing--he sees a guy he likes at one point and is basically like "if I wasn't taken......."
Any Duke in a Storm by Amalie Howard--a spy (who's also kind of a lady pirate) ends up being attracted to her super rakish and slutty first mate. She's bisexual, and one of the women on her ship is her former hookup (still her friend), which I like.
Melissa and The Vicar by S.M. LaViolette--a madame goes to a small village to recuperate and de-stress, and ends up falling in love with a virginal vicar she's so sure she can't have. Melissa is bisexual, and I thiiink a woman she used to be involved with is on the page? Her hero, Magnus, kind of has a "oh shit am I bi?" moment when Melissa tries to fake him out by pretending she's hooking up with Hugo. To be fair, everyone wants to fuck Hugo.
In Which Margo Halifax Earns Her Shocking Reputation--a scandalous woman begins chasing her sister (who ran off with a Bad Man) along with her brother's best friend, who's secretly in love with her. Margo is bi, and her relationships with women are one reason why she's considered scandalous~.
#romance novel blogging#romance novels#book recs#i wish there were more f/f recs :/#that's not by design but f/f romance is verrrrry much underrepresented and a lot of the f/f historicals i've read are just...#light on plot#and i'm someone who needs conflict
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