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#ernest sinclaire
oh-so-youre-a-nerd · 3 months
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I knew you’d like it
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dwiankus · 2 years
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The
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That i know, which are
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princess-geek · 2 months
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My heart in one picture
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Some of my favourite "Choices" love interests ever.
Made by the lovely @jennifer.plays.choices (Instagram).
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@jeanele ❣  @missameliep ​  ❣  @regencylady1810 ​ ❣ @i-put-the-sin-in-sinclaire @whenyourheartskipsabeat ❣ @xjustin-ethansgirliex  ❣  @noesapphic ❣  @gardeningourmet ❣ @paisleylovergirl  ❣ @dailydoseofchoices  ❣  @rhyssescups ❣  @storyofmychoices  ❣  @a-shining-lucky-star  ❣   @lorircreates  ❣  @lorirwritesfanfic ❣ @walkerduchess  ❣@indiacater ❣ @kinkypot ❣ @anotherbeingsworld ❣ @hellooliviaolivia ❣ @pixel-writer19  ❣ @sinclaire-ity  ❣ @darknessabovethelite ❣  @brightningstar ❣@ezekielbhandarivalleros ❣ @marlcasters ❣ @bhartigat81 ❣ @lyannacyrill706 ❣ @daddytyrilstarfury  ❣ @secretaryunpaid ❣ @allisonreilynn ❣ @fauxleaves ❣ @twinkleallnight ❣ @kingliamrys ❣ @iloveethanramsey ❣ @surewhyynot ❣ @yvettegolx  ❣ @itlivesinpixelberry ❣  @chutchoices ❣ @electroniccreatorwerewolf  ❣ @spookycolorpeanut  ❣ @peonierose ❣ @quixoticdreamer16   ❣ @lilyoffandoms   ❣ @tessa-liam
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noesapphic · 26 days
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Threads of Gold
Author's Notes
A few days ago, I commissioned Thia @oh-so-youre-a-nerd from their Your Characters comms this beautiful piece of Mr. Sinclaire and Marianna, and the moment I saw the sketch, I knew I had to bring it to life.
I am aware that I said I'd stop writing Marianna here, but she's too amazing to just quit writing her here and the brainrot's stronger, lol.
English isn't my first language, so please forgive any typos/grammar mistakes I may make.
To read more of Ernest and Marianna's journey, click here!
Check out my masterlist for more!
Summary: Ernest and Marianna share a cozy and intimate moment
Word Count: 644
Category: Fluff
Rating: G
Book: Desire and Decorum
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March, 1812
It was late night, and Ernest Sinclaire found himself in Marianna’s house once again. He had duties in London, and if he had endured them, it was to see her once the moon was out. After a passionate session, they got decent and Marianna prepared some tea before the man went back to his townhouse.
“What am I to you, sir?”
Ernest looked up, blinking, rather confused and drowsy. “Sorry?”
“I asked you what do I mean to you.”
“I… haven’t thought about it deeply. But… I know that I like being with you, and not just because of…” his ears flushed pink, but he carried on “but more than that. I like talking to you, listening to what you have to say…”
Marianna bit her lip “I feel the same. I can’t explain it, but… there’s something about you that keeps drawing me back to you.”
They both stood in silence, the theme on the conversation weighing heavily on them. It was clear that they were more than lovers, yet they weren’t in love with one another. Not at least on his part. It’d be more complicated for her than him. He wasn’t the first man of his station to marry someone like him. Indeed, the second wife of his ancestor, Walter Sinclaire, had married a woman of the night’s daughter who sold oranges for a living, and theirs had been a beautiful and tempestuous relationship that had led to the century-old tale of the duelling pistol hanging in Ledford Park.
He could see that she did not wish marriage. The way she shifted and acted when the word came out in her presence wasn’t difficult to miss for someone like him. He was used to lurk somewhere and observe and read the room, an underrated societal skill few used, desperate to shine in the scene. Many failed miserably, and it was quite pitiful to watch.
But somehow, Marianna always stole the spotlight. Despite being eleven years his elder, she looked like she was his age, maybe younger. Her fair skin shone brightly on the fireplace’s shadows, her golden locks now down and messy. The thin nightgown carved her perfectly plump figure, sign of years of work, children perhaps as well. He suddenly remembered his travels to Italy, and seeing the statues of Aphrodite and being mesmerised by the detail of the naked female body. It came to him that the same proportions had been given to Marianna: beautiful hip dips, her body being plump and soft like a pillow. Her face was earth-shatteringly striking: light blue like the Pacific Ocean, plump cheeks and mildly full lips with the perfect shape that drove him mad every time he kissed them. Her neck was elegant, and her collarbones had this effect on him that he couldn’t describe. She was too beautiful to work there, enduring blithering idiots and blind drunks who sought refuge from their wives. She was a work of art, and he wished he was blessed with the gift of art. He’d gladly paint her. The image sent heart flutters to his chest.
Getting close as she gathered her thoughts, he stroked her hair, smelling the jasmine and the hint of rosewater on it. Marianna softened at his touch, not daring to turn around and face the question in both their minds.
Playing with her hair, he created threads of golden hair, the colour of the sun, and set aside some stray hairs to kiss the nape of the neck “I may not have the word for it yet, but you mean more to me than the English language’s adjectives can provide. Know that. Always.”
Embracing, they observed how the sun slowly rose, and Ernest hoped that, whatever happened between one another, memories like these would prevail in both their memories.
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Sent by anonymous
‘Jax Matsuo, Lancelot, Mr Sinclaire and Tyril Starfury are the best love interests ever and you can’t change my mind’
POST/CONFESSIONS DO NOT REFLECT THE MOD’S PERSONAL OPINIONS!
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storyofmychoices · 1 month
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Whimsical Walks and Poetic Talks
Valentine's Gift #2 for the wonderful @oh-so-youre-a-nerd! @choicesfandomappreciation
Pairing: Ernest Sinclaire x Tulsi (F!MC) (@oh-so-youre-a-nerd)
Book: Desire & Decorum
Word Count: >550
Rating/Warning: General/None
Synopsis: Ernest and Tulsi take a late afternoon walk around Ledford Park.
This art of Ernest and Tulsi is by @liiyaan!
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The orange glow of the setting sun bathed Ledford Park in an amber glow, its warmth welcoming Ernest and Tulsi, who had embarked on a leisurely stroll through the newly renovated garden. The bushes, shrubs, and flowers had just begun to show the first signs of life as spring began ushering in a new season, one which would hopefully allow the couple to put the troubles of the past behind them. 
Ernest breathed in the brisk, cool air settling around them as dusk threatened its approach. He marveled at the colors painted across the sky and how the rays of sunlight danced along the tops of the trees, holding onto the world around them. It reminded him of a poem he had once read. His lips curled slightly, his mouth opening, but before he could share the words of beauty in question, Tulsi had other ideas.
A whimsical query sparkled in her eyes. "If you were a flower, which one would you be and why?"
Ernest paused in his step, not expecting the question. He shook his head; he should be used to her impulsive questions. His guarded demeanor softened as their pace resumed. 
"And keep in mind, there are right answers." She teased, her step light beside him as she eagerly awaited his thoughtful reply. 
His free hand pinched the bridge of his nose, his brow furrowing as he considered his response. "If I must participate—" 
"You must!"
"I thought as much," Ernest chuckled. "Then, in response to your query, a thistle."
"Go on," Tusli encouraged, waiting for his reasoning.
"A thistle is sharp with a protective exterior," he began, watching her reaction. "Some might even describe them as prickly, and yet, they are resilient and can thrive even when faced with challenges."
"I'll allow it." She pressed a kiss to his cheek, his blush warming her lips. "In some cultures, thistles symbolize devotion, bravery, and strength. You, Mr. Sinclaire, possess all of those."
"My beautiful Tulsi, may I regale you with a poem that I am reminded of this evening?" Ernest requested, his eyes brightening at the prospects. 
Tulsi smiled softly, she might not appreciate his poetry as he did, but the way he lit up when speaking those words he held close made every word beautiful. "You may."
His attempt to begin was once more quieted by her words.
"However, as you do, consider what kind of fruit you would be and why," Tulsi added. "Oh, and you cannot say a pineapple. You've already used the prickly on the outside reasoning with the thistle." 
Ernest attempted to stifle the chuckle rising in his throat. There was no use arguing logistics with Tulsi over the questions. It would get him nowhere, and he quite liked the enjoyment she found with these inquiries. He nodded his agreement and then began reciting the poem. 
The cadence of his voice wove a tapestry of emotions, painting the air with the beauty and complexity of the poem's meaning. Tulsi listened, enchanted by the rhythm of his words and the way Ernest's eyes sparkled with passion as he unraveled the layers of the written art. 
They might not find the appeal of the same things, but the love they found in each other, and the appreciation for each other's interests they had, kept their relationship growing with every word they shared.
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Thia, I hope you enjoy this little drabble of your Tulsi and Ernest. I hope I captured them in a way that fits your vision. Happy Valentine's Day!
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PS-I commissioned the art before I asked about their dynamic 🙈
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kinda-iconic · 3 months
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Our Last Hope
Author's Notes: And so it is here, the next instalment of Amelia and Ernest's story. I cannot begin to tell you how long I have been working on this - so much so that I have had to split it into two parts! I have loved writing this so much, even though I have broken my own heart once or twice. I hope that you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.
Pairing: Ernest Sinclaire x MC (Amelia)
Word Count: Over 3'500
Tagging: @princess-geek
Additional Tag list (due to past interest): @bloodboundismylife, @i-put-the-sin-in-sinclaire, @nala-raines
Song inspiration: Thank You (youtube.com) From the 'Queen Charlotte' Soundtrack
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TICK.
TICK.
TICK.
Luke makes his way along the darkened corridor, a beam of silvery moonlight illuminating his path. He walks in silence, the sudden chiming of the grandfather clock causing him to startle. He takes a moment to recover, rolling out his shoulders before continuing, only to stop in front of an all-too-familiar door. He softly raps on the wood, pressing his ear against the door as if listening for movement.
But he hears nothing.
He looks down, frowning as his gaze befalls a slither of light underneath the frame. He knocks once more, this time accompanying his efforts with the verbal announcement of his presence.
“I know that you are in there, Ernest,” he waits for a response, but he is met with crickets; after a moment, he speaks again, his hand gently grasping the doorknob, “I am coming in.”
He justles the handle, just for a familiar voice to call back to him from the other side.
“There is no need. I am fine.”
Luke shakes his head, a soft smile escaping him, “I am afraid that I cannot accept that until I see you with my own eyes.”
When he receives no answer, Luke enters the room, quickly spotting Ernest, who sits quietly in his armchair, a glass of scotch nestled between his fingertips. He appears dishevelled, his hair unkempt, dark circles making their home under his eyes. He lifts the glass to his lips, downing its contents.
“You have seen me now,” Ernest retorts, exhaling harshly; he reaches for the decanter, his eyes focusing on the auburn liquid as it swirls around its encasement, “are you satisfied?”
“Not in the slightest.”
Ernest scoffs, shaking his head in drunken amusement.
“We cannot help but be concerned, Er-“
“It’s Mr Sinclaire to you,” Ernest counters, “my given name is not one that I allow to be spoken that freely.”
“Other than by Amelia, you mean.”
“Amelia is my wife,” he refills his glass, taking a grateful sip; the liquor burns its way down his throat, causing him to grimace, “that certainly is stronger than I remember.”
“Is that not what you were drinking before?”
“I have finished that bottle already,’ he lifts his glass in the air, gesturing to the empty chair beside him with a tilt of his glass, “drink?”
“If it means that I can watch over you for a little while.”
Ernest doesn’t answer; instead, he rises from his perch, pondering over to his liquor cabinet. He retrieves a fresh glass from within, his fingers fumbling over the rim as he tries to better his grip. Luke frowns, walking over with an offer of assistance.
“Let me help you with that…”
He reaches forward, but is stopped by Ernest, who raises a hand in dismissal.
“I am capable of collecting a glass, Mr Harper.”
He places the vessel down, filling it near enough to the brim. Luke winces, the sound being swiftly rebuked by the quip of Ernest’s brow.
“Have I displeased you in some way?”
“N-no, I just…” Luke lifts the glass to his nose momentarily; he takes a swig, clearing his throat soon after, his eyes enlarging as he watches Ernest finish yet another glass, “maybe you should slow down a little bit.”
“I would say that I am going at a fairly reasonable pace.”
“I meant with the drinking, Sir.”
“I drink as I see fit.”
A comfortable silence passes between the pair for a moment, neither daring to so much as utter a single word. It is only after a couple of minutes that Luke speaks, his expression growing sombre as he studies the broken man before him.
“Normally, you would not hesitate to ask someone to join you in this endeavour.”
“Well, I…I guess I just wanted to be on my lonesome for a little while.”
Ernest walks back over to his chair, slumping back into the leather.
“Is there anything that you need?” Luke enquires, “I can get one of the maids to make you something to-“
“You could get me another scotch,” he looks down at his empty glass, his brows knitting together in a frown, “I…seem to be out.”
“Have mine. Or at least…half of it.”
He retrieves Ernest’s glass, dividing the untouched liquor equally. He places the glass on the end table before meandering over to the fireplace, holding his dainty glass in his outstretched palm. After a moment, Luke tilts his head towards the spirit, his expression unreadable.
“I know it is not much,” he admits, carefully pondering the appropriateness of his following admission, “but I thought that it would be best not to supply you with more should the Doctor need to discuss anything with you.”
Ernest collects his offering, bowing his head in quiet appreciation.
“Is that something that you have decided upon yourself, or did the others influence that decision?”
When he is met with no immediate reply, he shakes his head, a despondent sigh escaping his lips.
“The amount I drink is no concern of yours, nor should it have ever been a talking point for your gossip.”
“Forgive me, Sir,” Luke appears hesitant, aware as to the severity of Ernest’s emotional state, “but we had no choice but to discuss it.”
“My,” Ernest retorts, his response almost sarcastic, “has the rumour mill already run dry?”
He downs the contents of his glass without pause, heading back over to the decanter; his brows furrow in concentration as he fixes himself another drink. He takes a swig, only turning to face Luke once his second glass is almost fully depleted.
“I am sorry that you have drawn the short straw tonight, Mr Harper,” his tone is hollow, “I am not exactly what one would call ‘pleasant’ company right now.”
Luke frowns, “that is not true in the slightest.”
“You were previously close to referring to me as a drunkard.”
“We are worried about you,” Luke takes another step towards to his counterpart, yet choosing to remain at a respectable distance, “if ever you would like anyone to step in and look after the child or sit at Amelia’s bedside-“
“I have no desire for either,” he stops himself short, giving in to his frustration, “I will take care of my family. They are my responsibility.” Ernest takes one last sip of his drink, the glass shaking slightly in his grasp as he forcefully slams it onto the table, “I’ll be damned if anyone else shoulders that.”
“You need rest, Ernest,” Luke approaches cautiously, placing a comforting hand on Ernest’s arm, “you have not slept since Amelia delivered, neither have you been eating properly.” He replaces the lid on the decanter, holding it by its neck before moving it elsewhere, “I can go and ask Briar or one of the kitchen maids if they could prepare-“
“I will eat when my wife is well and not a moment before.”
“What if Amelia doesn’t get better?”
The two men regard one another before Ernest looks away, casting his gaze out the window and to the ground below.
“I do not wish to talk about that.”
“But that is exactly why it needs to be spoken about,” Luke counteracts, “we have all spoken to the Doctor. We know the prognosis-“
“He had no right to discuss Amelia’s condition with any of you,” his exclamation is one of anger, his words laced with emotion and unwarranted venom, “the only one that has any right to know what is going on is me; nobody else.”
“So her brother doesn’t have any right to know how critical her condition is? Her family deserve to-“
“They are not the ones that will feel the impact of her absence the most.”
“No,” Luke’s face falls, his voice taking a sombre tone, “they’re not.”
Ernest retires to his chair, his fingertips gently grasping onto the hem of its material.
“How are you doing? I-I know that is a daft question, but…”
“I honestly cannot recall the last time that someone asked how I was,” Ernest murmurs, “that is not to say that people have not bothered with me, but rather…at least not verbally.”
Luke smiles sadly; Ernest takes his silence as an opportunity to continue.
“Amelia has never been one for fuss,” he smiles sadly as his mind begins to reminisce, “all of this…” he gestures softly with his hand, “all the doting and constant upheaval…it is the last thing that she would have wanted.”
“We do this because we care about her,” Luke interjects, “Amelia is one of us; she is, for better words, the glue that holds us all together.”
“That would be a beautiful sentiment if my wife was not lying unconscious in her death bed.”
“Ernest…”
He stands once more, his unsteady feet subconsciously carrying him over to the window, paying the drop of his name no mind. He remains stood in silence for a moment, his eyes fixated on the curtains before he speaks softly, his voice quiet and sombre, as if his hopefulness has diminished entirely.
“My wife…she is going to die. I cannot and will not sugar-coat it.”
“There is still hope that-“
“Hope?!” Ernest scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief, “if that is what you truly believe, then maybe you really are just like the rest.”
There is a short hesitation before Luke stands, brushing away the creases in his jacket.
“I will let that comment pass given the circumstance.”
Ernest remains quiet, his gaze set on the horizon as the sun begins to set once more. Knowing that there is nothing else that he can say to lift Ernest’s spirits, Luke collects his satchel from the ground, eyeing the insignia that has been skilfully carved into the leather.
“You may have given up, My Lord…but I have not,” he pauses momentarily, shouldering the bag, “I promised her father that I would watch over her, and that is what I intend to do.”
He makes his way over to the door, but he is stopped in his path by the sudden intrusion of Miss Sutton, her mouth hanging agape in surprise.
“Forgive me for the interruption…”
“Not at all, M’Lady,” Luke bows his head in acknowledgment before looking over at Ernest, his face aglow with disappointment, “I have nothing more to say.”
He leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him. As if sensing that he is still not alone, Ernest turns to Teresa, taking yet another sip of the liquor, “to what do I owe the pleasure, Viscountess?”
“The Doctor would like a word. He believes that Amelia might wake soon.”
“Has anything changed since I saw her last?”
“She is less clammy…and a little bit of colour has returned to her cheeks,” Teresa smiles warmly, “Percival is at her bedside with Harry and Briar.”
“I told Nanny Weskit to take him upstairs to bed.”
“He wanted to see his Mama,” she frowns, her brows furrowing slightly, “is that not a good enough reason for him to stay up past his bedtime?”
“Amelia is not his mother.”
“And you are not his father,” Teresa retorts, “but he treats you as such.”
Ernest falls silent, contemplating her words. She folds her arms across her chest, waiting for a response, but receives none. After a few minutes, she sighs in defeat, looking to the floor as she collects her bearings.
“Look…I understand that you are hurting…” she takes a cautious step forward, “but punishing yourself and taking out your frustrations on others…it is not helping, Ernest.”
He turns at the sound of his name, having not expected its use.
“I cannot begin to fathom what you are going through…but pushing us all away when you need us the most? It is not going to help you. It is not what Amelia would want.”
“I…understand.”
“Then let us in,” she walks over to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm, “allow us to help you. We can watch over Amelia…take care of the children-“
“That is my responsibility.”
“This is not something that you should have to shoulder on your own. We are here to support you.”
He smiles sadly, “I highly doubt that our mother-in-law would agree with that.”
“Henrietta refuses to agree with anything unless it directly benefits her,” she returns his smile, “I know that as much as anyone.”
“I am sorry that you have to endure her temperament so frequently.”
She shakes her head dismissively, “both yourself and Amelia have been subjected to much more than I, believe me.” She beams with pride, interlacing her arm with his own, “and with regards to Henrietta, I must insist that you remember that we are both interlinked. Neither you nor I need to face the brunt of her crassness alone.”
“How is that?”
“We married into this family,” her smile brightens as she looks down at her wedding ring, seemingly becoming lost in a memory, “we may not agree with how our mother-in-law chooses to present herself, but we endure her and everything that she throws our way out of the love and respect we have for her children.”
She exhales softly, giving his arm a comforting squeeze.
“Now, how about you and I join Harry for dinner. I dare not leave him alone with his mother and her meddlesome nature too long.”
“Henrietta is here?”
“Mmmm,” she nods, her lips pressing together in a thin line, “she arrived shortly after the dinner bell was rung.”
“I did not expect her to visit, especially not when Amelia is gravely ill.”
“I am afraid that I do not believe her visit to be for Amelia’s sake but rather her own.”
“She probably wants to witness Amelia herself, seeing as she so desperately clings to the idea that Edgewater rightfully belongs to the Viscount.”
Teresa frowns, casting her gaze downward, “I do wish that you would refrain from discussing Amelia like that, but I…I will not question your grievance.”
“Where is she now?”
“In the dining room, I believe.”
“Then I shall need you to deliver my apologies to the Viscount, for I do not wish to see her face at this given time.” He pauses, “nor will I sit for a meal whilst my beloved is unwell.”
“At least escort me down there,” her words befall that of a plea, “that way you are not left to stew in your own thoughts any longer than you have to be.”
Ernest hesitates, the notion causing him to bristle…but eventually, he nods.
“I…alright.”
The pair begin to walk down the hall towards the dining room, Teresa trying to engage Ernest in gregarious conversation, but as they turn the corner, a frosty voice calls out to them from ahead. Teresa stops almost immediately, her eyes met by an icy blue glare.
“I see that you have taken it upon yourself to entertain your wiles, Miss Sutton.”
“I was simply checking on Mr Sinclaire, Mother,” her last word spoken hastily with a hint of frustration, “it is his family that we are here to see.”
“Keeping company with your sister’s husband alone?” She tuts slightly, “whatever will the servants think?”
“I should hope that they would appreciate my compassion for the Countess’ husband and her children whilst she is ill.”
Henrietta huffs in annoyance, having not expecting Teresa’s witty retort.
“Careful now, Miss Sutton,” she smiles smugly, her words harsh and condescending, “the last thing you want is to be labelled as his dalliance.”
“To even suggest the notion-“
Henrietta chuckles to herself, swiftly changing the target of her bemusement as Ernest stutters, his cheeks reddening with anger.    
“Why are you getting so defensive over a baseless accusation?” She feigns surprise, a gasp of shock escaping her lips, “unless…unless there is some truth to it…”
“I have not and will never entertain the company of another woman. I am faithful to my wife!”
“But is she faithful to you, my Lord?”
Ernest inhales sharply, his eyes widening as his anger begins to boil over. After a moment of silence, he calls out to a member of his household as the lady passes him by.
“Forgive me for troubling you, Cecelia, but I am afraid that I am in need of a favour most urgently.”
The young woman bows her head in acknowledgement, “of course, Sir. What is it that you require?”
“Have a note sent to the Marlcaster estate. Tell them that my darling Mother-in-Law requires a carriage to escort her home at the earliest convenience.”
“But that is not-“
He holds up his hand, the gesture seeming to silence her immediately.
“Tell him that his mother has grown tired and wishes to rest in the comfort of her guest bed.”
“That is a LIE!” Henrietta snipes, turning swiftly with a scowl to face the maid, “I am not some old crone that takes naps in the daylight or needs assistance to complete the smallest of tasks. I am the mother of a Viscount! I DEMAND to be treated as such, even by YOU, Mr Sinclaire.” She smirks coyly, “you are forgetting your station, Sir.”
“And you seem to have forgotten whose home you currently reside.”
He regards Cecelia once more, his expression shifting to one of warmth, “I have changed my mind. Please forget everything that I told you to write down.”
“Do you…not request a carriage, My Lord?”
“On the contrary,” he looks down at his wrists as he speaks, reaching to adjust the cuffs of his shirt, “I do still require a carriage, though I am afraid that the wait is too long for my taste.” He lifts his gaze once more, fixing it on Henrietta, “ask Mr Harris if he would be so kind as to escort her ladyship back to her residence instead. Tell him that I shall pay him triple for his service.”
“And the note?”
“Kindly inform Edmund that his mother is no longer welcome at the Edgewater estate, for neither myself nor my staff are able to entertain her inexcusable and downright insulting presence any longer.”
“H-how dare you-“
“I am not finished,” he interjects, retrieving a pouch of coins from his pocket; he passes it over to Cecelia, his eyes still fixed on Henrietta, “this is a gesture of goodwill, see to it that Mr Marlcaster receives it. Maybe he might be able to purchase himself some earplugs to drown out her irritating voice.”
“Would you please just stop with that incessant whining,” he replies coldly, “my wife is on her death bed, and rather than be by her side I am stood here with you. Do you still not see why I am insulted by your mere presence at this hour?”
To Teresa’s surprise, Henrietta quietens. A young stable-hand approaches, tipping his head in acknowledgement.
“My Lord.”
“See to it that the lady finds her way to a carriage and out of my sight.”
“Certainly, Sir.”
Ernest responds with a curt nod; he spares her no second glance, instead turning on his heel and making his way back along the corridor in the opposite direction, disappearing as Henrietta is removed from the house. Teresa follows along after him, her footsteps hurried.
“Sir, you are going the wrong way!”
“My apologies, Miss Sutton.” He continues on, quickening his pace as he heads towards the stairwell, “but I must bid you goodnight.”
“What about escorting me to dinner?”
“I have spent so long dwelling on what may come to pass that I have forgotten to focus on the present,” he regards Teresa over his shoulder, “I am sorry, Miss Sutton. I know that I agreed to accompany you, but my priority must be my wife and child.”
Before she can get a word out, Ernest disappears up the stairs, completely blanking those that he passes on his way. Dejected, Teresa turns back in the direction to which she came, only to bump into Mr Harper.
“Where has he gone now?”
“Upstairs,” she sighs softly, looking at the flowers that decorate the railings, “he has gone to be with her.”
“Without dinner?”
“He will not eat, Mr Harper. He will not eat or drink…I fear that he is unwell.”
“He is concerned for Amelia’s welfare. We all are.”
“And what if he decides to journey down the wrong path? I worry for him.”
“As do I,” Luke smiles sadly, “but he is tending to Amelia. He will not leave her side.”
“He should be resting."
“I agree,” he tips his head, “but it is also a good thing.”
“How? I am afraid that I do not follow."
 “If he is with Amelia, then we know where to find him.”
“And if he starts to spiral?”
“Then we will be there to catch him,” Luke’s gaze travels to the landing above, his smile softening as he notes the opening and closing of Amelia’s chamber door, “I made a promise…and I intend to keep it.”
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saskieenkeli · 1 year
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I am going for prince Hamid this time. I AM GOING FOR PRINCE HAMID!!
Desire and decorum, S1E8: Nope, you are not..
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Hi, I'm looking for an Ernest Sinclaire fanfic and was wondering if anyone could help? The main plot is that he and MC elope to Gretna Green to escape Duke Richards.
I know it's a long shot, but if anyone knows what this is, it would be much appreciated!
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alj4890 · 11 months
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Escaping for a Moment
(Ernest Sinclaire x MC*Catherine Mills) in a Choices Desire and Decorum drabble
Thirty Kisses in Thirty Days Challenge with the prompt: forbidden lovers sharing a kiss in the shadows
Not quite sure who to tag for this one since it has been so long since I last wrote a drabble for this pair. Plus in cleaning out my drafts folder I lost my permatag list 🤦🏻‍♀️Tagging some who won't be too angry at me for doing so, LOL! @hopelessromantic1352 @twinkleallnight @tessa-liam @choicesficwriterscreations @krsnlove
Masterlist
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"Enjoying yourself, my dear?"
Lady Catherine Mills stiffened at the sound of her fiancé's voice.
There was nothing that made her skin crawl quite like Tristan Richard's oily tone.
A scathing insult sat on the tip of her tongue to give the odious man the set down he so rightly deserved. One glance at her grandmother's stern demeanor instead had her forcing a smile.
"I am. Thank you, your grace."
The Duke of Karlington leered at her. He purposely moved closer and placed her hand within the bend of his arm. He enjoyed watching her suffer being trapped with him.
The Dowager Countess beamed at the pair. She was pleased beyond measure that her natural granddaughter had managed to capture such a prized suitor. There wasn't a young lady here who had done so well in such little time.
Nor with such a questionable background.
"You should dance and show her off, your grace." She prodded.
"What a marvelous notion." Tristan remarked.
He placed his hand over Catherine's, smiling all the more with her trying to avoid his touch.
"Shall we show them how it's done, my lady?"
Catherine knew she must say yes. It galled her to have to spend a single moment in this man's presence much less dance with him. The thought of his hands upon her body made her wish to find a chamber pot to wretch in.
If only she was allowed to marry the one man whom she so deeply loved. Mr. Ernest Sinclair was so many things to Catherine. He'd been her savior, her friend, and finally the one who stirred her soul like no other.
Why had they tarried so long that night before sharing the joyful news of their engagement? If they'd only found her grandmother sooner, Catherine would be eagerly taking a turn on the dance floor with her fiancé, Mr. Sinclair, instead of the fiend pretending to be a gentleman at her side.
Life seemed determined to be unfair for the young lady. Not only was she denied her true love, she also was denied even a glimpse of him. For reasons she assumed were because she was promised to another, Mr. Sinclair had yet to make an appearance this evening.
If it were not for Ms. Parsons and Prince Hamid being there to bolster her spirits, Catherine would most likely have dissolved into tears. Her heart ached for Ernest. She was near the point of throwing decorum out the window and running off to Gretna Green with him.
She no longer cared if her beloved father had intended to leave Edgewater to her instead of her stepbrother. Mr. Marlcaster wasn't a bad sort. Catherine could see that he truly had a kind heart when not under the thumb of his mother.
If her dear Briar believed he was all that was good in this world, then Catherine couldn't doubt it. Her friend had a way of seeing one's true nature. Mr. Marlcaster might fumble the finances and such, but he would be a good steward to the people of Edgewater.
She knew if she was to run away with Ernest, scandal would be forever associated with her name. Did it matter though? Her questionable birth already tainted her reputation, though she had no control over those circumstances. At least the new gossip would be something she could happily live with.
"Lady Catherine?" Tristan hissed. "Are you not paying attention?"
Catherine jerked her head away from the feeling of his breath on her ear.
The Dowager laughed at the notion.
"She is most likely lost in thought over the notion of marrying you, your grace."
Tristan's smile was one most ladies deemed charming.
Catherine found little to like in it.
"Is that true, my dear? Are you thinking about our wedding?" His voice lowered for her ears alone. "Or is your baseborn nature concentrating on our wedding night?"
Catherine jerked her hand from his. Trembling with suppressed rage, she pleaded for them to excuse her.
Blinded by angry tears, she wound her way through the crush of guests in search of an escape. Since the retiring room was filled with giggling ladies, she next hoped to find a quiet corner outside to try and calm down.
She shook her head when Prince Hamid asked if she needed him. After tripping her way to a side door, Catherine slipped outside and rushed deep into the shadows.
Her exit was halted by a pair of strong arms wrapping around her.
"Catherine?" Mr. Sinclair said softly to try and shush her cries.
"Ernest!" She twirled in his arms, her hands cupping his face as her lips immediately sought his.
Ernest deepened the kiss, holding her even closer within his embrace.
Catherine broke away to catch her breath. "I thought you were not coming."
"I could not stay away." He caressed her cheek. "I do not care what anyone thinks. I refuse to stand by and see you married to such a man as Duke Richards."
Though she couldn't see him well, his voice made her heart sing with his next words.
"You were created for me, Catherine. You are to be no one's wife but mine."
She sighed into the heat of his next kiss. Her hands moved along his broad shoulders, glorying in the fact that he was truly here and still wanted her for his own.
"My love," she breathed as his lips brushed kisses down her neck, "I want nothing more than to be Mrs. Sinclair."
"And so you shall." He fervently promised. "We will find a way out of your betrothal. The Duke of Karlington will not lay another finger on you."
The mention of her fiancé's name forced Catherine to reluctantly pull away.
"I should return before my grandmother sends the duke for me."
"I'll escort you back." Ernest pressed a kiss to the back of her hand before releasing her.
She took his arm, leaning closer than appropriate. She needed a few more moments near him if she was to endure the rest of the ball.
Once inside, notes were played to signal that the Allemande was about to begin.
"Would you do me the honor, my lady?" Mr. Sinclair asked in that proud proper tone of his.
Catherine looked up at him. Her eyes traced his handsome features in the nearby candlelight. Her first genuine smile of the night appeared upon her slightly kiss swollen lips. She could continue to play the part of a respectable noble as long as he was near.
"Thank you, Mr. Sinclair." She said with a polite tilt of her head. "I would love to."
As he took her in his arms to dance, Catherine felt both her hope and courage return.
She would find a way to freedom and celebrate it with the man at her side.
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roseythorne · 2 months
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THEM >>>>> 🥹🥹🥹🤍🤍
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oh-so-youre-a-nerd · 3 months
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Thanks for the tag @saibug1022 and @lilyoffandoms
Most of what I’m working on are gifts or commissions so I don’t want to show those til they’re done but I do have a couple pictures I set on the back burner for now
We got Aerin ripping’ that shit outta his chest , but idk I might completely restart and change the pose to a crouching position or something 🤔 at the time I wanted it to be grim subject in a delicate pose with pretty lighting as a contrast to the subject matter…. But now I kinda wanna make it more grimdark or whatever
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And then we got Ernest and Matias from @noesapphic ‘s bi Sinclaire fic
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Aaaand I’m gonna tag @baldwinboy5ive I know you said you’d be busy lately so idk if you’re working on anything rn 👀
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mvalentine · 1 year
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the loml btw <3 if anyone was wondering 💗
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princess-geek · 1 month
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Couple Cosplay
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My favorite couple dressed up as their favorite couple.
Ernest and Beatrice are huge fans of the epic fantasy novel "Blades of Light and Shadow".
[Made by the lovely @jennifer.plays.choices (Instagram)]
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@jeanele  ❣  @missameliep  ❣  @regencylady1810 ❣ @i-put-the-sin-in-sinclaire   ❣ @whenyourheartskipsabeat ❣ @xjustin-ethansgirliex   ❣@noesapphic  ❣  @gardeningourmet  ❣ @paisleylovergirl   ❣ @dailydoseofchoices  ❣  @rhyssescups ❣  @storyofmychoices  ❣  @a-shining-lucky-star  ❣   @lorircreates   ❣  @lorirwritesfanfic  ❣ @walkerduchess   ❣@indiacater  ❣ @kinkypot ❣ @anotherbeingsworld  ❣ @hellooliviaolivia  ❣ @pixel-writer19   ❣ @sinclaire-ity  ❣ @darknessabovethelite  ❣  @brightningstar  ❣@ezekielbhandarivalleros  ❣ @marlcasters  ❣ @bhartigat81  ❣ @lyannacyrill706  ❣ @daddytyrilstarfury   ❣ @secretaryunpaid  ❣ @allisonreilynn  ❣ @fauxleaves ❣ @twinkleallnight  ❣ @kingliamrys  ❣ @iloveethanramsey  ❣ @surewhyynot  ❣ @yvettegolx  ❣ @itlivesinpixelberry  ❣  @chutchoices ❣ @electroniccreatorwerewolf  ❣ @spookycolorpeanut  ❣ @peonierose  ❣ @quixoticdreamer16    ❣@lilyoffandoms   ❣ @tessa-liam
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noesapphic · 1 month
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TOP 10 FAVOURITE LIs OF ALL TIME
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POV: We're all basically women here! And uh... Sinclaire!
Honourable mentions: Annelyse Adair, Shreya Mistry, Kamilah Sayeed, Quinn Kelly, Dakota Winchester, Vera Reinmonenq, Stacy Green, Ava Cunningham, Gabriela Adalhard, Cassie Harlow, Princess Valax, Hana Lee, Sonia Alves, Danni Asturias
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Sent by @noahmarshallenthusiast
‘i think the idea of the dalton affair is really smart, i just wish it was used on a different book. like imagine desire and decorum where you can play as one of the LI’s???’
POST/CONFESSIONS DO NOT REFLECT THE MOD’S PERSONAL OPINIONS!
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