sutherlcnds

[sutherlcnds]

𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑 & 𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐙𝐎𝐆.

-

Sebastian took a roundabout way through the house to get back to the dance floor, which had been abandoned for more preferred ventures with a certain wife of his, and it seemed prudent not to arrive at the same time from having left together. Not to mention he’d discarded his mask somewhere in the ballroom and hadn’t bothered to bring it with him when he roamed away.

He did not expect to get lost. His judgment was not quite up to speed, and having found an untouched glass of punch hiding behind a plant, the prince did nothing to improve his sensibilities. Pausing, he decided to sip the punch as he admired a large landscape painting on the wall. But something was… off about it.

Sebastian squinted, brow furrowed, until he heard the approach of another person from down the hall. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him? “I say,” he said to the gentleman, pointing at the painting, and not noticing the other man’s state right away. “Isn’t that cow rather large?”

That was it, a cow in the middle part of the painting seemed to be the same size as a cottage! “How absurd,” Sebastian murmured.

@sutherlcnds​​

He was drunk. Somewhere along the way, he decided the heat of ballroom was the problem, not the drink itself. So he’d taken another drink and made his way outside, looking for a place to hide. He’d found the room full of paintings by complete accident, and he wished he hadn’t when he began to study the Hallivand’s rather... eccentric collection.

Animals, mostly. Which he should’ve expected, as Lady Hallivand was singing the praises of the country grouse the morning before. But many of the paintings were... less than satisfactory, to Ben. He would not have shown a soul, had he painted any of these. 

The other man wanders towards one of the biggest offenders, at the mouth of the hallway, and he wanders up, looking at the painting again, “I fear they may have exaggerated their prized cow’s size to the artist.” 

He turns, pointing at the tiny farm hand standing next to the cow, “of course, there’s also a chance that perhaps they people were just... very small. And their homes were just build tot size. This could be a completely normal cow, the people may be the problem.”

#with: sebastian herzog. #sebastianthread001 #𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊: thread. #epiphany;masquerade #sorry this took so long <3

[sutherlcnds]

𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐇 𝐒𝐓. 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍.

-

“Oh! Do not concern yourself about that; how can anyone blame anyone for not knowing things they have no way of knowing?” The gentleman’s face was mostly hidden, but something about his answer made her wish to reassure him. 

Sarah had been about to issue more encouragement when, why, his question took her very much by surprise. 

“A husband?” Then, blushing, “Oh! Oh, sir, you mistake me; I am not looking for a husband, at least, not, not directly. If one were to, to happen upon me, I would not be so proud as to refuse him, of course, but I do not…” 

But surely this gentleman, no matter how kind and gracious, did not want to hear of her own dire predictions of her own prospects.  The dance went on; she had caught onto the rhythm passably well now that she could execute the steps while mulling over the conversation.

When he brought up the issue of her having been in London before, however:

“Is it that obvious? Oh! You are not the first to have so asked me, and here I thought, I truly thought I had been improving. It is ever so difficult, you see, to know what is expected; there are rules, but they all appear to be unseen and unspoken, and no matter what I do, all I do is stick out somehow, oh!”

The dance brought them side-by-side now; she could speak in lower tones.

“But perhaps that is one way of learning? For every unspoken rule I break, I am told it; perhaps at the end of this Season I shall have collected them all, and then I shall write them down so that no one else need suffer unknowingly ever again!”

Ben frowned, just a little bit, it felt strange to have a conversation like this. The young lady seemed to do everything to spur any chance of finding a husband, although she seemed perfectly kind and legible. It did not make any sense to Ben, no matter how many reassurances there were. From the stories he was told, (he did not truly court anyone, and his dance card always consisted of Jane, Jane, Jane...) he thought that women who were ineligible were most likely to pretend they were the absolute catch of the season, a diamond of the first water.  

That was why this conversation felt so foreign. “I feel as if I should concern myself with the dealings of everyone, if I’m meant to find a wife,” Ben states. How was he meant to find a wife, if he didn’t know anything about women? 

“Ah, no, it wasn’t - I did not think you were obvious, that’s why I asked,” Ben states, trying to cheer her up just a bit. He’d managed to step on toes without physically committing  the action, it seemed. He felt a bit dumb, but he always felt a bit dumb in the midst of a ballroom. 

No matter how many masks he wore, he couldn’t escape himself. He was still Benjamin Granville, far too stiff and awkward to carry himself with any semblance of grace in society. 

“When you write it, please pass it along to me. I fear I am constantly trying to find the right thins to say and failing, completely,” he turns, following the steps for a moment, “I hope I have been a passable dance partner, miss. Certainly, I will get back into the swing of things when I arrive in London, perhaps you will find your way onto my dance card again - when I’m no longer unpracticed.” 

#with: sarah st. john. #sarahthread001 #𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊: thread. #epiphany;masquerade #we can end it on your next reply?

[sutherlcnds]

OUSIDE THE BALLROOM, EASTWELL HALL. 6th January, 1800. feat. @gcavendish​​​

It was very difficult to locate his ribbon-matches, after the first one. At least they’d seated him next to the young woman who shared the yellow ribbon, but after that he was on his own. The hosts had left him - poor, antisocial Benjamin Granville - to flit around the ballroom, trying to locate the person who must have the same shade of purple ribbon as him. So far - he’d had no luck, only finding lighter purple ribbons belonging to other gentlemen. 

He thinks he may have spotted it, finally, and he sidesteps Lady Hallivand, trying to avoid a direct run-in again. She was far too interested in his mask, and Ben had half a mind to hand over the damned thing. Certainly his hosts would appreciate it more than him, the edges were beginning to get uncomfortable and Ben was very easily annoyed by uncomfortable clothing. 

“Hello, Miss?” Ben starts, clearing his throat just before speaking, standing awkwardly to the left of the young woman who’s bright white dress was hard to miss in the crowd, “But I believe we are matched? This is the same purple, right?” He holds up his own ribbon hoping she will compare it to hers, “If you’d like to - I believe I owe you a dance.” 

#𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊: thread. #epiphany;masquerade #with: gabrielle cavendish. #gabriellethread001

[sutherlcnds]

𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐇 𝐒𝐓. 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍.

-

If it was one thing Sarah knew for certain, it was that the Season was frightfully expensive, and that was only from the receipts she saw for the dress trimmings and pomades and the like; she could only imagine the full accounting when the upkeep for an entire townhouse and carriage and horses were added in, oh! The thought of spending all that, the equivalent to all of the Close’s yearly earnings and many times over, just to come back empty-handed…why, it made her head spin and her heart ache. 

“Oh,” she heard herself say faintly, “Oh, how lovely, to look for, for connection.”

Another separation, another passing of couples, before she could recover and resume. 

“And I own I do not know much, and certainly close to nothing of a gentleman’s considerations on, on marriage and the like, but surely one can be a romantic without being a fool?” 

She glanced back up at her partner, noting how deceptively simple the mask was, yet detailed enough to clearly be not just an owl, but a particular type of owl. How dear it must have been to make! For certainly it had been commissioned and tailored, specifically for this event. 

Unable to help herself, she added, “Only, it is a luxury that I don’t think we ladies have, to prize connection above all else. Gentlemen are allowed to do all sorts of useful things to help their families; you can hunt, you can join the army or the clergy, you can… in-vest?” 

(The latter was still somewhat of a mystery to her, but she had heard gentlemen speak of it in solemn tones.)

“Whereas someone like me, why, the most I can do for my family is to marry, and marry well.” Then, stoutly, “Oh! But it is no hardship; this party and dance so far have been ever so pleasant and beautiful.”

It’s easier during the bits where they’re separate - Ben doesn’t feel the same amount of pressure to hit every little step with perfect timing. As long as he doesn’t trip and fall, all can be excused. He won’t be disappointing the young woman he’s dancing with if they’re apart, so his steps become sloppy and his timing not quite concrete. When they come back together, the conversation continues as if they were never interrupted. 

“You’ve never seen me do romance, then,” Ben states, his voice a little stiff, “I’m a fool, through and through. I’ve made myself look very unintelligent in public plenty of times in the name of romance.” That was more than true, he’d gone overboard plenty of times during his courtship with Jane. He was sure half of the Ton thought he was an idiot from those incidents alone, their memories can’t be that short. 

“I had never considered that,” Ben states, the usual frown settling across his features. He hadn’t spared a thought for the plight of eligible young ladies born without a title. It wasn’t something that he had to think about - especially not when he was up in Dunrobin. Truth be told, he hadn’t thought too much about the people he left behind when he stopped traveling to England for the springtime. It wasn’t something he needed to concern himself with, really. He was married, and he kept up with the other Scots, what else could keeping up with the London season have to offer him? 

“Have you been looking for a husband for very long?” Ben asks, before thinking better of it. “I mean no disrespect, I just wonder if you’ve - if it’s -” he makes a noise of awkward frustration, before he comes up with a better combination of words, “Have you been to a Season in London before, is what I meant to say. I must apologize for misspeaking.” 

#𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊: thread. #epiphany;masquerade #with: sarah st. john. #sarahthread001 #these two: i think we will both assume we've offended the other and apologize

[sutherlcnds]

𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐡 𝐬𝐭. 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧.

-

It was as if she had forgotten everything she had ever learned, or watched her newest acquaintances do; oh! What a country bumpkin this gentleman must think her! And yet he was the one who apologized first, oh! What fine manners these people had, and small wonder they were a set apart.

“Oh! Oh please, do not apologize; why, I am ever so glad this first dance is not something new, and all the traditional and country dances all have similar steps enough that you begin to be able to guess what is coming next.” She glanced down then, before looking back up. “But oh, I suppose it is more difficult for the gentlemen; it is more evident when the gentleman missteps, whereas these long skirts hide any mistakes I might make.”

Then, colouring, “Not that I am looking at your legs, sir! Or anyone’s! For missteps or otherwise. Oh, I should stop talking. I cannot seem to get it right.”

The signal in the music for the pairs to separate and turn was a welcome reprieve; she had her blush under better control upon the return, but her resolve to not talk was sadly shaken. She had yet to explain her earlier, bungled comment after all, and so:

“Oh, but I have not answered your question, which I shall endeavour to do, before stopping. It is not that I am already attached, or, or that I would think so highly of myself to turn down anyone, oh! It is only that, well.”

She looked up and across to that inscrutable owl mask, and dared a shy smile. The gentleman’s voice sounded kind; he had been a quiet, unfussy sort through the interminable dinner and her fidgeting; and his offer to dance nothing but gallant. 

“Masks, you see, may make someone out to be a, a far better prospect than she truly is; I wish only not to disappoint anyone, sir.”

Ben had missed about five steps since they’d started the dance, but he hadn’t considered the disparity. He’d never noticed a lady miss a step - perhaps it was the addition of the skirts. Or perhaps she was just leading him on. Knowing every step seemed like what ladies were best at, especially when it came to big events like this. He wasn’t very perceptive, he knew that, but he couldn’t remember the last time he witnessed a misstep.  

“I think you’re an excellent dancer, even if any mistakes are hidden,” he can’t stop the smile on his face. The woman continues to fret, as if he’s anything to be worried about. Maybe half a decade ago, this kind of flustered speak would have made sense, “It’s alright, don’t worry. It is very hard to offend me.”

He pauses, stopping the dance for just a moment before he picks it back up. He felt uncomfortable with this line of thinking, as if he had requirements when it came to marrying, anymore. Titles and riches weren’t what Ben was after, instead someone he could get along with - who’ll care for Alastair as if he’s their own. He isn’t quite sure he can find that with ladies who hold their social status above all else. 

To be fair, he hasn’t spent any lengthy amounts of time with women of status in a long time. 

“I must assure you,” he starts, recovering from the momentary lapse, “I will not be disappointed with something like status.” He thinks that it sounds a bit too stern once it leaves his lips. He’s used to having to work through the perceptions people have - his face too serious for his actual personality, “It is just not something I am concerned with. I am looking for... for connection, I believe. As much as that makes me sound like a romantic fool.” 

#sarah really speedran getting ben to smile huh #with: sarah st. john. #sarahthread001 #𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊: thread. #epiphany;masquerade

[sutherlcnds]

𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐡 𝐬𝐭. 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧.

{6 January 1800 · masquerade · first dance}

Sarah was not nervous exactly, because nervous implied she was not looking forward to this in some way, and she was, she was! Cousin the Countess had given her a new (new!) dress specifically for this masquerade, and there had even been material left over for her to fashion a rough mask with: a band of white batiste so delicate and fine, it was practically see-through, with hastily embroidered holes for her eyes such that it would not look like a blindfold. 

It had not occurred to her until she was lined up across from a gentleman with a curious sort of mask, that, why, masquerade meant… there were no introductions. She could be dancing with anyone! 

Or, more concerning: her partner, who was likely seeking a match, might assume he was dancing with someone far, far higher ranked, or wealthy, or anything really, than she was, oh!

But the musicians had struck up; she curtsied along with the other ladies when they did, and the moment she and her partner were close enough to speak without unseemly shouting, she said:

“I am not a lady, so you know, sir,” then, frowning, “Oh! I mean to say, if you are seeking a match sir, I am perhaps not someone you should consider.”

Botheration, that was not what she had meant to say at all!

@sutherlcnds​​

For once, he felt a little bit more confident. The anonymity of the masquerade afforded him an excuse. Things like remembering proper titles and the general need to function as a polite member of society weren’t as pressing - not in the face of no one knowing who he was. Ben didn’t realize that he’d end up here, with a very pretty (he assumed, by her statue and the pretty dress she was wearing) young woman who’s ribbon matched his. He’d offered her the dance, even! It was as if the world had been turned upside down. 

Or maybe it was just the three fingers of whiskey he’d downed before he arrived at the feast. 

He gave her a curious look for a moment, the first words spoken between them not what he’d expected at all, “Oh, that is - I’m not quite sure what you mean? Are you spoken for, already? Or do you not wish to look for a match at all?” He’d overheard the men in the drawing room a few nights before, discussing a woman who was vehemently against the very institution of marriage. Perhaps he had met her! He thought that conversation may be fascinating. 

He follows the steps the best he can, but inevitably trips over his own feet a few times. The steps are more complicated than he’d expected, but with each repetition, he is getting better, “Apologies, I am not that well practiced anymore. I haven’t danced in quite some time.” 

#if it were anyone with more perception they may have assumed sarah was a hooker #she's lucky she got stuck with ben FJLKSDJFKLJSDKLFJ #with: sarah st. john. #sarahthread001 #epiphany;masquerade

[sutherlcnds]

𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐳𝐨𝐠.

Ben recognized the little journey Lucy’s face went on. It was the same one that he’d seen hundreds of times, when people remembered that he’d lost his wife. He thinks it might be a good reminder, that Jane was so perfectly suited for him and so well liked that she could inspire something of that nature to cross someone’s face. It settled him, just a little bit. There wasn’t a lot that reminded him of Jane that could do that. 

“Can you believe that I would agree to it? Chaperoning really isn’t something I’m known for being good at,” he pauses, considering if it would be worth it, “I’ll be accompanying Theodosia to London this Season, too, but I -” he stops again, trying to figure out how to phrase it, “I do think I’ll be on the marriage market, too. Alastair is a bit of a handful these days, I can’t be both Marquess of Sutherland and his only parent.” 

He gives her another of the rare smiles, this one far more fond, as he remembers the curtness of some of their communication, back when he was tutoring her, “Of course. Old habits, they never really go away, do they?” 

“I just finished a landscape of Dunrobin. To be honest, quite too big to be hung anywhere but the dining room,” it was a summer project, something he had amused himself with while he let Alastair nap. It had taken months, but he had been proud of it - hanging it up just before he left, “What about you? Have you painted any portraits of that husband of yours? Or of Prussia itself. I’ve never visited, and with how surprised everyone was that I left Scotland, I fear I never will.” His voice is light at the end, the comment is obviously a bit of a joke at Ben’s own expense. 

I’ll be on the marriage market, too. Lucy did not bother to conceal her surprise, the lifting of her brow, the slight tug at her lower lip as her mouth opened but no sound came out. It felt like losing a friend all over again.

And then the subject changed, like the turning of a page, and Lucy’s expression reformed. Painting. Dunrobin. His voice changed as he spoke, rounded at the edges, added depth and timbre. Lucy smiled. At the mention of Sebastian, it only grew.

“I have.” Speaking with a fellow Scot brought out her accent, the curve and trill of her consonants. “He is quite handsome. I am transfixed. It is difficult to not paint only him.”

She brushed away the rest with a wave of her hand. Voices clustered in the hallway – a woman, laughing, and then several more, laughing too. Lucy tensed. It would not do to be caught alone in here.

“It is not so far,” Lucy reassured him, though her body was partially twisted toward the exit. “And I will be in London this season, so you–”

Footsteps trailed along the wall, the door to the terrace swung open. Lucy swallowed, and turned, went to him quickly. Her feet were feather light against the floor, her lips barely touched his skin as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. She pulled back with a fond smile, and was several paces away and to the door before she turned and spoke. “We shall have all of the fun in London, again.”

[end here or on yours?]

//   𝐅𝐈𝐍.

#not to be dramatic but #lucy: kisses his cheek #me: 👀👀👀👀👀👀 #with: lucy herzog. #lucythread001 #𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊: thread. #epiphany;arrival

[sutherlcnds]

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐳𝐫𝐨𝐲.

.

It was Frances’s turn to commit a faux pas. Lord Granville bore the mention of his late wife well, breezing past it without so much as a hitch in his breath. It hadn’t occurred to Frances that perhaps that was why the gentleman stayed so firmly planted in Dunrobin, but it was obvious in retrospect. He had always been a bit absent from society events, and hitherto Frances had assumed it was just an odd quirk of his. 

“We were so–” sorry to hear, she almost said, the same words she had grown so sick of hearing herself. It was a trite apology that rendered little comfort when she was inevitably forced to coddle the feelings of whoever had offered it. The problem was she had yet to work out what she would prefer to hear in lieu of ingratiating sympathies. She recovered as best as she could. “We are so glad to see you, Lord Granville, even if it reluctantly on your part. I will be sure to tell my parents you are here, they will be eager to say hello.” 

“Do try and enjoy yourself. For all that Scotland has to offer, England has its own merits,” she tilted her head toward the door with a sly smile, “incompetencies aside. If the journey did not put you off and your luggage is sorted, you may find you enjoy yourself more than you had anticipated. I am sure your son will be pleased to hear all about your adventures.” 

The servants in the had all but abandoned whispering, Frances took it as her queue to politely depart. “That being said, I will not keep you. Your hands seem quite full and I would hate to distract from a successful resolution. I am eager to see this humorous costume of yours.” 

He appreciated it when she stopped. He was exhausted of condolences, and would be tired of them for the rest of his days, he thought. They were too raw, a reminder that he wouldn’t stand for. Jane would have wanted people to be glad they had the chance know her, not sad that she was gone. He sighed, nodding along in agreement to Frances’ greeting. 

“Ah, tell them I am anxious to see them again. I’m sure your mother’s as charming as she ever was,” which was... god, Ben couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen any of the Fitzroy’s. Jane’s funeral, perhaps? He wasn’t particularly in the mood to make small talk, then, either, “They’ll have to excuse me for missing their last few dining invitations, traveling with a toddler can be treacherous, when done alone.” It was why he’d left Alastair under the watchful eye of his nanny for this event. 

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” England? Having any sort of merit? He’d eat his hat before he admitted that out loud. He nods, indicating that the conversation is coming to a close. The appearance of the ladies’ maid in the doorway with a familiar box was a relief, too. The box is handed to him carefully, and the woman is gone with a small curtsey. 

“I would hate to reveal my costume too early, so I’ll have to find you at the masquerade,” He pauses, for just a moment, realizing, “If it’s possible. I fear we may both be at a loss with the addition of the masks,” he gestures at the box. He bids her farewell with a small quirk of his lips - not quite a smile, but something akin to it, “Have a good afternoon.” 

//   𝐅𝐈𝐍.

#with: frances fitzroy #francesthread001 #𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊: thread. #epiphany;arrival

[sutherlcnds]

👍 Does my muse prefer to be asked on a date, or would they rather do the asking?

He's kind of awkward in social situations, and although he would suck it up and end up being the one doing the asking, he would prefer that he doesn't have to wonder if he'll be rejected. He likes straightforwardness in people, and if they're willing be upfront with what they want, he'll appreciate it a lot more than if he has to go out on a limb.

#𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊: ask meme. #theseason;meme

[sutherlcnds]

𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐳𝐨𝐠.

It had taken ages to get that first smile. Lucy was gifted at charm, skilled at provocation. She usually did not wait more than a minute without a smile from a new acquaintances, whether it was congenial, restrained in politeness, or freely given. With Ben, it had taken longer. Days, at least. Likely weeks. He was quieter than the rest, the sort that could have been there always, just on the periphery, elusive enough to escape notice. She couldn’t remember when he arrived. She knew exactly when he left.

And now he was back. Emotions swelled within her, one chasing the next into a maelstrom. He was back! Delighted joy. He was back? Confusion, searching for a halting preamble, a slip of a letter she’d only half-read, the whispers of a practiced gossip at tea. Nothing had been said of the Lord Granville, except – oh. He was back.

Questions suffused next. Ben had never been the sort to brighten at society. A tease threatened to trip off her tongue, something about him and smiles and ballrooms, which never seemed to go together. There were few reasons to descend from Scotland and into the fray again, and his presence could only mean–

Oh. Again. Moonlight caught the blue of her eyes and turned it gray, the room in monotone. Lucy’s own smile transformed, the fullness of her lip diminishing, the curl of the corners raised in an understanding peak. “You’re chaperoning.” She repeated, quite dumbly. It took a moment to collect her thoughts, and she gave him a nod while she did it. “All of the tedium, then,” Lucy surmised. Her head tilted. “And none of the fun. You will have to speak with so many mamas, you know.”

Her smile returned easily. Lucy liked to smile and she liked Ben just as much. “I am well. Prussia is not as far as you might think; it is that I despise writing letters.” Unsaid: you know that. Lucy’s inability to write her thoughts with any concision, or even the correct set of letters, led to more frustration than needlepoint and etiquette combined. “I have always found myself better with a brush than a pen.”

She stepped backward, into the wide ballroom. It felt too-large with only them and the moonlight. Shadows filled the corners where gossips ought. But she did not do it to create distance, her hand extending to him to draw him into the space. “Tell me, what have you painted last?”

Ben recognized the little journey Lucy’s face went on. It was the same one that he’d seen hundreds of times, when people remembered that he’d lost his wife. He thinks it might be a good reminder, that Jane was so perfectly suited for him and so well liked that she could inspire something of that nature to cross someone’s face. It settled him, just a little bit. There wasn’t a lot that reminded him of Jane that could do that. 

“Can you believe that I would agree to it? Chaperoning really isn’t something I’m known for being good at,” he pauses, considering if it would be worth it, “I’ll be accompanying Theodosia to London this Season, too, but I -” he stops again, trying to figure out how to phrase it, “I do think I’ll be on the marriage market, too. Alastair is a bit of a handful these days, I can’t be both Marquess of Sutherland and his only parent.” 

He gives her another of the rare smiles, this one far more fond, as he remembers the curtness of some of their communication, back when he was tutoring her, “Of course. Old habits, they never really go away, do they?” 

“I just finished a landscape of Dunrobin. To be honest, quite too big to be hung anywhere but the dining room,” it was a summer project, something he had amused himself with while he let Alastair nap. It had taken months, but he had been proud of it - hanging it up just before he left, “What about you? Have you painted any portraits of that husband of yours? Or of Prussia itself. I’ve never visited, and with how surprised everyone was that I left Scotland, I fear I never will.” His voice is light at the end, the comment is obviously a bit of a joke at Ben’s own expense. 

#𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊: thread. #with: lucy herzog. #lucythread001 #epiphany;arrival

[sutherlcnds]

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐭.

…

Mama had suggested, though it had been more of an order, for Theo to look about for a new wife for Ben. Alistair needed a stepmama, and Jane would have expected it. Theo thought it strange that her mother was more focused on Ben’s season than her own, but had promised to do so. And now he was hiding away like the villain in a novel from the lending library. It was really too bad. 

Ignoring his protests, because men really couldn’t be left to their own devices, and if her brother-in-law intended to brood, he might as well be useful to her while brooding. “Nonsense, I’m sure you’re perfectly acceptable as a partner. You couldn’t have managed to win Jane without some skill, for she dearly loved dancing.” That brought a pang to her chest, but she resolutely ignored it. “I shall not be thrown at the Earl of Pembroke by my own brother-in-law! No better way to earn a name as a girl on the hunt! No, you shall dance with me, and then you may introduce me, and if he wishes to ask, he may. If you do not dance with me, everyone will assume there’s a reason for it.” 

Gesturing towards where couples were waiting for the next song to begin, she played her trump card. “I have only this one season, Granville. I must make a match. If you cannot dance for your own pleasure, please at least do so for me.” She had very expressive eyes, and she wielded them with a viciousness that would shock those who’d taught her to be ladylike and demure. “If you cannot dance now, how will I ever be launched into society?” She let a bit of her real worry seep into her voice.

He sighs, the argument seems to not work with those who actually knew his late wife. Those people, outside of Dunrobin and her childhood home, were few and far between. He’d gotten far too used to the easy excuse to fall back on. Which had landed him here, unable to think of anything else or find an injury to fake to duck out of the room and away from the crowd of people. This was starting to feel a bit like a mistake. 

“She did. I fear I haven’t kept up since -” he pauses, unable to say it out loud without his voice catching in his throat. He thought he’d recovered a bit from this, had expressed so in many of his letters. Apparently, that was a bit of a lie. He would hate to disappoint a few people, one of them a bit more than the others, “You’ll be better off with him! I have seen him dance with plenty of people!” Ben exclaims, trying to defend his stance. 

He pauses at the next words, and he can almost hear his former mother-in-law’s chiding voice in his head, “Fine. I will dance, but just this once. You cannot ask me to dance at the ball tomorrow, alright? I will be hiding away and fulfilling the bare minimum required of me. No complaining either?” He offers her his hand, begrudgingly. 

#𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊: thread. #theodosiathread001 #with: theodosia stewart #epiphany;country dance

[sutherlcnds]

Welcome to Meme Friday at The Season!🧣 Each Friday, we’ll post one or two memes for characters to reblog on their accounts. Reblogging the meme indicates that you are accepting asks from it, and that you’re also sending asks out to others. Feel free to reblog and answer memes until end of day Sunday. After that, save what’s left over in your inbox for the next Meme Friday. Enjoy!

FORCE MY MUSE TO SPILL THEIR SECRETS

🌧- For a heavy, emotional secret

🙃- For a lighter, slightly embarrassing secret

🌟- For a secret wish or desire of theirs

🍏- For something they secretly wish didn’t exist

🍎- For something they secretly wish did exist

❤️- For a secret crush

📲- Talk about someone/something you dislike, but only pretend to like

👁‍🗨- Talk about someone/something you like, but pretend to dislike

🍻- For something bad/mischievous you did as a child or teen that your parents don’t know about

🌜- For a ‘weird’ habit or tic that no one knows about

💃- For a talent that they like to keep hidden from others

🏹- For a talent they wish they had

👻- For something that scares or disturbs them, but they refuse to tell anyone

☢️- For a controversy or scandal they have been able to keep mostly under wraps

🐇- For a secret item they keep (stuffed animal, comfort object, etc)

📒- For a secret journal/diary they keep (Bonus: Share an entry from it!)

📔- For a secret sketchbook they keep (Bonus: Share a sketch or doodle within it!)

🖤- For something they secretly wish they could do with your muse

❓- Free Space! Ask them about a specific secret!

#𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊: ask meme.

[sutherlcnds]

Welcome to Meme Friday at The Season! 🧣  Each Friday, we’ll post one or two memes for characters to reblog on their accounts. Reblogging the meme indicates that you are accepting asks from it, and that you’re also sending asks out to others. Feel free to reblog and answer memes until end of day Sunday. After that, save what’s left over in your inbox for the next Meme Friday. Enjoy!

—

Send “✎” and I will write a headcanon about our muses interacting.

#𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊: ask meme.

[sutherlcnds]

𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐳𝐨𝐠.

05 06 Janurary 1800 Late at night Early in the morning The Ballroom @sutherlcnds​

Her room was cold without Sebastian in it, the warmth from the fireplace unable to take the chill out of the bed. Lucy returned to find it empty, and finding herself alone, she made a quick pivot and retreated the way that she’d come, the deep blue velvet of her gown washing out in front of her.

Eastwell Hall felt different as they verged into the late hours, the candles cast long shadows on the floor, and all the voices – cloistered – echoed. Lucy descended to the reception hall alone, noting the closed doors to the dining room, the raucous laughter in the drawing room. Half-tired, half-anxious left her out of sorts, and when she did not feel in her usual form, she searched for ways to ground herself. Her hand smoothed along the railing as she reached the first floor.

The ballroom stood directly ahead, and before she knew what she had done, she defied manners and opened the door. The contrast was plain. Where the rest of the house was bathed in mulled spices and amber light, the ballroom was unlit, save for the moonlight that poured through the tall windows. Unheated.

It took her more than a moment to recognize that she was not alone, Lucy’s head whipping around with a start. Halt, she almost said. I am–

Emotions crossed her expression like paint splatter: recognition first, softening her brow. Then surprise, widening her eyes. And lastly, a sort of amusement, a tilt of her head as though to say of course this would be you.

“Benjamin.” Lucy broke the silence, unaware if he had taken notice at all. For a moment, she questioned if she had even spoken. Cold air crackled with emptiness. Taking a step forward, she let her heel click on the hardwood. “I did not know you left Scotland.”

He wandered down the hallways, exhausted of staring at the face of the wooden ducks that filled his rooms for the event. To put it lightly, they were... creepy, even without the room being engulfed in shadow, Ben thinks he would’ve ended up wandering the hallways, made far too uncomfortable out by their beady little painted on eyes to continue being near them. Yet, he knew he’d have to return to them soon, in order to survive the next day’s activities. 

There was a small noise near the entrance of the ballroom, and Ben turned to stare at the doors, trying to determine if he’d imagined that. Perhaps the ducks were getting to his head a bit more than he’d originally thought. 

He creeps around the corner, looking both ways before he steps forward, and finally lays his eyes on a figure in the middle of the hallway, engulfed in shadow. He nearly jumps out of his skin, not expecting anyone to be... lurking, in the hallways in the middle of the night. It fails to register that he is doing exactly the same thing. 

Her voice rings out and Benjamin realizes exactly how it is. He’d recognize her anywhere, after how many days they’d spent in lessons together. He waits just a moment to confirm, when the light catches on her red hair, he breaks into a bright smile. 

“Lucy,” he greets warmly, “I do not, under normal circumstances. But I heard of a masquerade, and you know how enthused I am with parties.” His words drip with sarcasm, they both know the exact opposite is true, “If it were up to me, I would still be at Dunrobin. Jane’s youngest sister needed a chaperone, and I foolishly agreed to accompany her.” He pauses, getting a good look at her, “Are you well? I haven’t heard from you in so long. Not that I expect swift replies all the way from Prussia.” 

#with: lucy herzog. #lucythread001 #𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊: thread. #epiphany;arrival

[sutherlcnds]

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐭.

@sutherlcnds​

Location: The Drawing Room

Time: 9 pm, 5 January

Theo was no stranger to country dances, and thus was comfortable and at her most charming, meeting other young ladies, a few of whom she knew from school, and leaving any introductions of eligible gentlemen up to the mamas, whom she oh-so-casually found herself standing next to when they dragged some poor man over to introduce to their own daughters. It was the easiest thing, and instead of appearing as if she was on the hunt, she managed to instead create an air of polite interest. It would not do to develop a reputation as having designs (as if they all didn’t have designs, it was the stupidest thing) before the season had even started. 

Her brother-in-law, by contrast, seemed to be attempting to disappear into the curtains. It was a bit odious of him, really, as he had brought her here and was now failing in his role as gentlemanly attendant. Really, what would his mama say? Thankfully, Theo had few if any missish qualities, and no compunction about hunting him down and making him take part in the festivities. 

“I see why you enjoy this corner of the room, it’s most excellent for observation. I would love to hear your thoughts! Come, you can tell me while we dance!” Benjamin might be a little bit frightening, but Theo only had one season to find a match, and she was prepared to face more than his social coldness to achieve her goals.

Ben had always hated things like this. They were too loud, too lively, too much for his head to take... Plus, they reminded him to Jane a bit too much. They’d attended plenty of dances in the village, in their years together, and he still felt wrong attending anything without her at his side. No matter how much he tried to shake it off, everywhere he looked he remembered another night, another time spent laughing together, and his frown deepened, the crease in his brow tightened, and he thought about leaving. 

His rooms would be quiet, even though they were oddly full of duck-themed paraphernalia. He could sleep, prepare himself for the masquerade he’d have to attend... But, he caught sight of Theo spinning around the dance floor, and thought better of himself. He was meant to keep an eye on her, wasn’t he? That was the entire point of returning to polite society, other than searching for someone to replace the hole left in his heart. He wasn’t going to be successful in the latter, but he could try to keep up with the former. 

It was what Jane would have wanted, he reminds himself, one more time. 

Suddenly, Theodosia is right next to him, “Oh, no. No. No, I don’t - I don’t dance.” A blatant lie, he had danced quite a bit in the past. But he wouldn’t, not here and not right now, he couldn’t, too far in his own head to be any kind of polite company. So, he scrapes the bottom of the barrel searching for an excuse, “It’s alright, I’m sure we can find you someone else to dance with? Like -” He points across the room, “the Earl of Pembroke is right over there. He’s attractive, titled and of similar age to you.” He pauses, “I’m sorry, it’s just... I’m no goodat dancing, I’d only embarrass you.”

#theodosiathread001 #with: theodosia stewart #𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊: thread. #epiphany;country dance

[sutherlcnds]

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐳𝐫𝐨𝐲.

This. 

This was what Frances had missed. The clatter of luggage pulled from the horse shoe of coaches lined up before Eastwell, the hurried rustle of skirts as maids flitted from room to room, the rise and fall of voices greeting one another. The commotion of arrival was the sound of excitement to come.

It was enough to tug a smile onto her lips even as she tried to arrange her features into composed indifference. Her eyes danced along the hall as a maid led Frances and her parents toward their apartment for their stay, catching snatches of information. Lady Redford still had a ridiculous taste in hairstyles, Lord Tilford’s appearance had improved, and a garish orange dress had been trampled in snow (all the better for it in Frances’s opinion.)  

Someone called out, catching the attention of Duke and Duchess of Buccleuch, followed by that most loathsome phrase: “We were so sorry to hear…”

Frances couldn’t excuse herself quickly enough. 

The maid continued on, Frances in her wake, until the pair was accosted by a frantic footman. Careless that an entire case had been lost, more aggravating still that she was inconvenienced by it. She sighed pointedly and gazed off just beyond the open door to her right. It was always good to see what accommodations other guests had been afforded to figure out where you fell in the grand scheme of things.

There was a man there, who looked at her with recognition as he waved her in. Frances hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. Her parents were still at the end of the hall. With an open door, her parents a stone’s throw away and a maid and footman fretting just outside, surely no one could think anything untoward. 

Her mother’s voice rang in her ears as she stepped in to the room. Comport yourself. 

It was advice she needed as the gentleman greeted her. Miss, really. Frances’s lips flattened, irked. She was weighing the merits of expressing her displeasure when she paused. There was something familiar about the arch of the man’s eyebrow and the set of his mouth. 

“Lord Granville,” her confidence grew as she said the name. It was the recluse himself, she was certain now. “We can only call this a pleasant surprise. Here I thought you never traveled farther south than Inverness.”  

A small curtsy was owed, which she gave. As she rose her head tilted in the direction of the servants, still squabbling. “It is rather curious that they should be the ones causing a scene and not you, the gentleman with missing luggage.”

Underneath the polite smile that slid into place at Lord Granville’s question, Frances tensed. Dunrobin was apparently even more remote than she had thought. “How kind of you to ask. The past several months have been nothing short of restorative. But then, I know you can appreciate that there is nothing quite like Scottish air. We have had milder weather than one could dare ask for. I hope you can say the same? Your journey wasn’t too taxing?” 

He realized his error the second that the words left his mouth. Of course, titles. He’d forgotten, in his haste to get her name out. He rarely spoke to anyone higher ranked than he was, especially not when he spent all of his days in the village outside Dunrobin. He wanted to apologize almost immediately, but decided to hold his tongue. He’d rather let the awkward mishap go than dwell on it, anyways. 

“I don’t,” he starts. It’s the truth, as of a few weeks ago - he didn’t go South of Inverness if he could possibly avoid it. But things had changed since then. He was begged to accompany his sister-in-law, and he couldn’t possibly say no. Jane would’ve helped her during her first season, is the part that he couldn’t get past, “I am actually accompanying my late wife’s sister. She needed a chaperone. I wouldn’t be this far south if I could possibly avoid it.” 

He nods towards the chaos, that has taken up half the hallway now. It’s really not that serious, he wants to insist, again. But he doesn’t speak up to grab their attention. He’s sure that they’ll ignore his request again, anyways. 

“Ah, well, I suppose it is their job to keep track of my luggage. They’re far more concerned with keeping that job than I am with being on theme for a masquerade,” he shrugs, “Although, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t just a bit excited about the costume. My son thought it very humorous, when I was trying on the mask last week.” 

He pauses, throwing her a smile, “There really is no substitute. I missed it the second we crossed the border.” Ben takes a few moments to take stock of how he feels from the journey. Good? It’s nice to be around people yet again, honestly. It was certainly going to be easier to reach his goal of finding a new wife before the year was out. 

“It was agreeable, actually. Peaceful, sometimes, even,” Alastair had remained at home, under the watchful eye of his mother and plenty of staff. He missed him like a lost limb... but, didn’t parents need a little bit of time away from their children, sometimes?

#with: frances fitzroy #francesthread001 #𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊: thread. #epiphany;arrival

[sutherlcnds]

A Sitting Room, Eastwell Hall. 6th January, 1800. feat. @francesfitzroy​

There was far too much going on for Benjamin’s liking. He preferred the quiet, and this was the exact opposite of that. The staff milled about, some of them with awfully panicked looks on their faces, and whispered about losing the case with with his mask and costume for the masquerade. Ben couldn’t get a word in edgewise with the footman, who kept apologizing over and over and assuring him they would find his belongings. 

“Don’t - it’s alright,” He tries again, but finds that the footman doesn’t hear him or ignores the words completely. He sighs - it really isn’t that serious. He’d be grateful for the chance to not wear an uncomfortable costume and to have a free excuse for it. 

He catches Frances’ eye just outside the doors as the footman scurries outside to discuss with the maids where his luggage was placed after his arrival. He waves her in, offering half a smile and a shrug about the situation. He greets her the best he can, in the midst of the chaotic scene,  “Miss Fitzroy, it’s great to see you.” He clears his throat, trying to make the best of the scene, “I assure you, I don’t normally draw this much attention. You’ve fared well this winter, I presume?” 

#theseason;epiphany #epiphany;arrival #𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊: thread. #with: frances fitzroy #francesthread001