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bohemian-nights · 1 year

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Lady Danbury: Chapter 1

Word count: ~2,871

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Lord Ledger x Lady Danbury

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

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

Chapter 2, Chapter 3,

Children are a gift from the heavens. For they are but clay come to life. Their minds, their hearts, their souls, their very being, unknown to what shape it might take. So very ripe. Pure. Untainted. A clean slate to keep from harm that seeks to corrupt them. The duty of protection falls upon their earthly shepherds. A duty to shape and mold the malleable minds of their flock.

To make little boys into strong, chivalrous, honorable men, ready to make proud the family name. To mold little girls into gentle, graceful, obedient daughters and wives who will birth more sweet gifts. Or at least that is the blessing, duty, and burden bestowed upon good Christian children and their shepherds. Good Christian people of polite English society. A society that eluded them.

Agatha Robinson had not been an exception to this duty. A gentle, graceful, and obedient girl. That was what it took to become Mrs. Danbury. That was what she had been molded into. A wife. The wife of one Mr. Hermain Danbury.

Agatha had never known a time in her life without Mr. Hermain Danbury. She was little more than three years old on the cusp of her fourth birthday when she had been promised to him. A man thrice her age upon their vows. A man older than her own father.

“She is a pretty little thing.” He had leered as she was placed in front of him. Sizing her up and down as if she were an ornament rather than a young girl who had yet to lose her first tooth. Who stared rather than speak even when spoken to. A fact which annoyed him, but he reasoned that under the proper tutelage and guidance surely it could be remedied. He hadn’t been wrong. “She’ll no doubt grow into a great beauty.”

Perhaps she should not have remembered. Perhaps she would not have remembered, but the bargain was struck a week after Mama’s funeral. Amelia Robison had not been the most affectionate of women, but she was always there when Agatha needed her and she provided her husband with much-needed guidance. “She’ll do nicely.”

Agatha had cried herself to sleep the night before and was trouted out by her nanny like a prized pony for his inspection. Made to put on her best dress. Her dark coils curled. She was even allowed to put on some of her mother's makeup.

Allowed to pick out her favorite pair of earrings and a bracelet from her jewelry box. It soothed her distressed state. The smallest heels were placed upon her little feet. She could barely walk in them. Nanny had to hold her hand so that she would not trip over her dress and go tumbling down the stairs.

She remembered gazing at herself in the mirror as nanny fixed her skirts. She was utterly transfixed. Agatha thought herself so very grown up. Like the glimpses, she caught of Mama on her departure to one of the balls that her friends hosted. The balls she always begged to be brought along with. “When you are older Agatha.” She beckoned her over to place a kiss into her coils.

Never long for sentimentality, she would dismiss her with a sigh as she pushed her toward one of the maids. Calling for nanny to come collect and deposit her into bed. The miniature form of Amelia Robinson gazed back at her from where Agatha Robinson stood. Her very image.

Her father must have thought so as well. Looking back on that day, with childish naivety long since past, his face had drawn in when he went for his once over of her. He could not look at Agatha for more than a few moments before he had to avert his eyes. It was as if he had seen a ghost, but she had been so very young. Too young to notice. “Have her down in an hour.” He left without so much as a word spoken to her. Never looking back.

As strange as he behaved, Agatha had thought she was going to one of those grown-up parties. She had thought that father would be dressed to take her with him as he had Mama, but she had only come down to her parent's drawing room, a room until then she had been forbidden from entering, to find a strange man sitting opposite of her father.

He was the son of a king back home. Away from polite English society, but even in polite English society that meant something. It had gained him the friendship of another king. The most powerful king in the world. That meant something to the Robinson’s who were descended from the Kpa-Mendi Bo of Sierra Leone in their new home. Who would turn down the son of a king no matter what form that son came in?

Thus Agatha’s education had begun. The molding of Miss Agatha Robinson. The making of a good Christian wife. In truth, it was the death of Miss Agatha Robinson and the birth of Mrs. Agatha Danbury.

Miss Ingram had overseen that education. Other girls, even on their side of the ton, had French governesses with their easy smiles and good humor, but Miss Ingram was decidedly English. They were not very fond of educating her kind, but for the right price, English governesses would tolerate schooling the brown children of society.

Her father was willing to pay that price for an English governess. Too English in her opinion, for Agatha found her to be positively odious. Her skin was as white as linen. She wore her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. She did not even dare to adorn it with curls.

Her eyes were the color of a cat, all-seeing. She could not have been more than one thirty though she seemed as if she were one and sixty. Her expression held a thinly veiled air of disapproval. She only beamed when Mr. Danbury came around to check on her progress.

Whatever her first name had been Agatha had never known. She had asked the woman once, but she had nothing to show from her inquisition apart from a cramped hand. “I am Miss Ingram to you child.” She was made to list the names, ranks, and titles of every lord in the country. Viscount Bridgerton, Lord Anthony Ledger, the Earl of Kilmartin, it mattered not. Her side had no such titled gentleman to speak of. She told Miss Ingram that.

The punishment was utterly pointless as Agatha would never meet or be allowed in the company of those lords. Even if she had not been made, molded rather, to marry Mr. Danbury, not one of those respectable noblemen, would see her as a worthy bride for themselves or their heirs. Miss Ingram met her cheek with a tight smile. Commanding her to write her lines twice over. She had never dared to ask or question her, again. To her face at least.

Agatha was not the only one who found her governess to be an overbearing shrew. Miss Ingram and nanny often quarreled. Usually on their charges lack of propriety, manners, and appropriate behavior.

She does not listen. She’s too wild. You restrict her too much. She’s just a girl. In the end, the nanny's defense amounted to nothing. Father always took Miss Ingrahm’s side of things and nanny was sent away soon after she turned two and ten. A mere month after her first bleeding. You are too old for a nanny Agatha. Playtime was decidedly over. She was a woman grown. Or firmly on her way to becoming one.

Her days became an endless monotony of lessons. A tedious affair. A typical well-born English girl ought to be accomplished. She should be able to converse in French, Italian, or Latin if her governess was so bold.

Embroider a handkerchief with roses. Draw the scenes around her. Sing a jaunty tune or two. Play the pianoforte with some measure of proficiency. She must be well-read or rather give the appearance of it. How to run and keep a household. All undertakings which Agatha excelled at, but ordinary was not what he wanted. That was not good enough.

“You are to be Mr. Danbury’s wife.” Above all, duty was stressed in each of her lessons. “He comes from a great line. A long line. We all must play our part in life Agatha. God has put us on this earth with a purpose.” It was her purpose to give life to that great line. To ensure its continuation. To birth the next generation of Danbury’s.

The education of a wife is an endeavor every gentile lady must study, but Agatha would not just be any man’s wife. She was to be Mrs. Hermain Danbury and all that entailed. She was made to fit him. Tailored like a fitted glove.

The songs she played on the pianoforte, compositions by Arne, were his favorite, so they became hers. The food she ate, liver, mutton, plum cake, and vegetables drowned in butter were his favorites. All of which she detested, but Agatha endured it.

Agatha embroidered handkerchiefs for him which were sent out every week to his estate. The books she read, she liked them little better than the songs, were his favorites. Her Italian lessons were stopped in favor of Latin for he found the former to be too common. When she became of age she was made to drink port wine instead of the sweet champagne she favored. Most of her gowns were made in his favorite color, the gaudiest shade of gold that she grew to loathe.

The worst offense had been at her birthday party when she had turned one and four. She had requested to be made up in the fashion of her mother's portrait that hung on the mantle in her father's study. Sneaking into it from time to gaze up at her.

A simple white cream gown complimented by a slate sash. A string of pearls adorned her neck. A beaded bracelet that Agatha’s grandmother had gifted her before her only daughter made her journey to England. Her hair was wrapped and decorated with a plum feather, a taste of her home. Her brown face wore the hint of a smile. Not even Miss Ingram could find fault in her choice, but Mr. Danbury had. He never came to her parties, but this time he did and he found her choice to be lacking.

Father and Miss Ingram, much to Agatha’s shock, had protested his criticisms. It becomes her Mr. Danbury. She makes a vision Hermain. Mr. Danbury, however, would not hear of it. He remained firm in his opinion. It is too Exotic. A frown had formed upon his brow. His dark eyes flitted from her head to her bracelet.

She was made to change before the guests arrived. Back into his boisterous gowns. The maids worked overtime to unwrap and curl her hair. It was never to be wrapped again. “Dry your eyes, child. We are English.” It was what he had told her after he saw her that they were becoming red as she was spun stiffly around her father's drawing room. Overflown with unshed tears.

Chapped lips placed a dry kiss upon her cheek. Leaving the stench of his port and something foul behind. The smell of death. She feigned a headache by the second dance. A maid brought up a slice of her cake and she was left undisturbed for the rest of the night. Left in silence to eat in front of her vanity. Her reflection was her only company that night. The face of a stranger

She was made into his perfect bride. A sweet bride that talked, walked, and breathed, as he did. She sang, smiled, and chirped out whatever niceties as he wished. There was room for Miss Agatha Robinson. She had ceased to exist. Mrs. Agatha Danbury stood in her place.

Agatha had been one and five when she had officially become Mrs. Danbury. Mr. Danbury had been four and fifty. Six months to the day after her birthday. He had wanted a spring wedding. There was some hesitation on the date. Mainly on account of her health. More specifically on the risks that the consummation of her marriage would pose to her health.

As with all breed ladies, the intimate details of the marital bed chamber had been kept from her, but Agatha had seen her father's beloved hounds and the horses around his estate going at each other in the strangest of ways. Mating one of the maids told her when she had asked what they were doing while the others tittered on before Miss Ingram scolded them for their impropriety. True to their words, a litter or a foal would be amongst their mists in a matter of months.

The birthing bed always followed. Her own mother had died in her birthing bed. Trying to produce a son, an heir for her father. Six pregnancies and only Agatha to show for them. Amelia Robinson had been three and ten when she was married off to Mr. Joseph Robinson and died before she was three and twenty.

A doctor had come in to examine her. It felt like hours as he poked at her. His assessment had been one that pleased both Mr. Danbury and her father. Agatha was a healthy, vibrant young woman. She had never been a sickly child. Had always been active and robust.

There was no reason to suggest that if she were to find herself with child soon into her marriage it would pose any risk to her health. She had two years on her own mother. She had the right frame to bear children. That made a difference. There was no reason to delay the wedding or the consummation of it.

The ceremony went by in a blur. She had blocked most of it out of her memory. Though Agatha could recall the moment when the Vicar called forth for objections to be heard. A sliver of hope raced through her for a phantom rescuer, before that too was dashed when the call was left unanswered.

The vicar pronounced them man and wife without any uproar. Sealing his proclamation with a wet kiss that tasted of sour wine and something foul which Agatha could not place. The same foul smell as the night of her party, only more putrid in taste upon the tongue. It would have made her gag had Mr. Danbury continued on a moment longer.

The reception held afterward went by in an equal haze. One well-wisher after another congratulating them. As if she had any say in this union. Several rounds of dancing commenced. Her father was given the honor of twirling her around in his stead when Mr. Danbury made a show of complaining about his gout.

The cake was cut, several glasses of champagne downed, and then Mrs. Agatha Danbury found herself being ushered away. “Make him happy Agatha.” Her father had whispered into her ear before helping her into Mr. Danbury’s carriage. Waving them off with a plastered grin.

For Hermain Danbury their wedding night was a success. Agatha had more than made her new husband happy. He had gone to bed with a smile upon his cracked onyx face and slept well into the next morning. Snoring like a babe. All too pleased with himself. His choice.

Agatha’s own happiness eluded her. His elation came at the expense of hers. Mr. Danbury had not been a gentle lover if one could even call him that. He had broken her in rough. She had been raised to be his wife, a well-bred lady and he took her in the way her father's stallions took his mares.

She had been warned discreetly by some of the married maids that it would not be pleasant, but the pain would be brief and she would learn to bear her duty. It was not brief. She was stretched apart between her thighs as her husband took his rights and made a woman out of her. Left swore for most of the week that followed. For he would not stop taking his rights at every turn he got.

Her duty was a hard one to bear. Leaving her raw. Like a used-up rag. Used to clean off the grime. Covered in a layer of something that just wouldn’t wash out. Normally it would be discarded, but its owner was not done with it yet. He was not done with her yet.

Agatha felt as if she would never be unsoiled again. Her maid, a kind girl named Coral scarcely older than herself, had to bring her a salve during her bath time, the only time she was allowed to herself, but that night there had been no relief. Mr. Danbury had kept himself on top of her after he had finished. She could barely breathe. She was trapped under his weight with no means of escape, not even to relieve herself. Agatha was left to lie there staring up at the ceiling.

Ao3 Link:

Taglist: @dd122004dd @nametoshort @gracienna

#lord ledger x lady danbury #lord ledger #lady danbury #lady danbury x lord ledger #agatha danbury #lady agatha danbury #bridgerton fic #my bridgerton fic #bnbridgertonfics

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newyorkrican922 · 1 year

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So who’s going to write an AU fic where Lord Ledger leaves his loveless marriage and lives happily ever after with Lady Danbury?!?

#because i suck at writing #queen charlotte: a bridgerton story #lady danbury x lord ledger #lady danbury #lord ledger #i need it #agatha danbury

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aprill-99 · 11 months

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Okay but can you imagine an AU of Bridgerton where Lord Ledger ends up a hot and somewhat-young widower and he and Lady Danbury are married for the events of the rest of the novels to just cackle over their entire freaking horde of grandchildren together?

THE SCENE:

Agatha: *storms in* “I want grandchildren!”

Ledger: *puts down his book* “Don’t we have about 30 of them?”

Agatha: *fans out several miniatures* “I want these specific additional ones.”

Ledger: *examines the pictures* “Gareth St. Clare is already our grandson.”

Agatha: “I can double up if I want to!”

Ledger: “Of course dear.”

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thesevenwondersofawitch · 1 year

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Queen Charlotte, a Bridgerton story Playlists

Queen Charlotte x King George:

Queen Charlotte:

King George:

Lady Agatha Danbury:

Lady Danbury x Lord Ledger:

Violet Bridgerton(née Ledger):

Princess Augusta (George's mother):

Brimsley x Reynolds:

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incorrect-bridgerton-family · 5 months

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Queen Charlotte: How did you get Lady Danbury to cooperate with you?

Violet: I threatened to reveal her dark secret.

Queen Charlotte: Which is what?

Violet: I have no idea, I was bluffing. But it must be something horrible.

#incorrect bridgerton quotes #bridgerton incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes bridgerton #queen charlotte a bridgerton story #bridgerton #incorrect quotes #bridgerton queen charlotte #violet bridgerton #lady danbury #agatha danbury #lord ledger #danbury x ledger #source: the mentalist

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sea-owl · 3 months

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Who remembers my Bridgerton dragons? I kinda want to take that but add in dragon riders.

Orginal post found here

So in this world, there are several different ways one can learn magic so long as they have the talent for it. One of those ways is bonding with a dragon and becoming a dragon rider. The dragons get little diplomats out of their humans since while dragons are are capable of human level thoughts and emotions, some could even take a human form if they wish, they are also often too prideful to do so and too prideful to communicate with others they do not have a bond with. Instead, they let their riders be their translators, an easy thing since part of the bond allows dragon and rider into eqch othe's minds. This has led to more peaceful times between dragons as treaties and trade agreements were made up between humans and dragons.

Dragons choose who they wish to bond with, and due to how dangerous and fickle they can be, potential riders have to wait until their of age to even attempt it. The dragons don't care about human legacies, humans are all the same to them until they find one they like enough to bond.

Lady Agatha Danbury knew this well enough, she remembers how the dragons rejected her foolish husband and scorched him from this earth. Yet she became one of the few female riders when she unintentionally bonded with a dragon that lived near the border of her lands, the alpha of the Ledger Nest.

Agatha

Lady Danbury paused. Her dear dragon sounded very amused and very close. Which was odd since he was supposed to be at the Bridgerton nest visiting his grandchildren and daughter.

Keir? What has you so amused, and why am I missing it?

Lady Danbury could hear her dragon laugh.

Come to the roof, my dear. It appears one of my grandchildren has decided to bond.

No other words were needed as Lady Danbury picked up her skirts and made her way to the roof. The Bridgerton Nest has yet to bond any rider since it formed. While the alpha was not against it in general, riders just weren't something the family oriented nest was interested in. After the death of the previous alpha, they became even more closed off. In fact the only two humans they were ever really around was Lady Danbury herself who has known the nest's queen since she was still under her father's protection and Lady Danbury's godson Simon who struck a friendship with the oldest hatchling.

Lady Danbury made it to the roof, where Keir waited for her on the thick perch. The golden brown dragon moved his front leg to allow Lady Danbury to walk up it like a ramp and seat herself on his back. Adjusting her skits and securing her cane across her lap.

Are you secured, my dear?

"Yes," Lady Danbury nodded.

With Lady Danbury's answer, the dragon took flight.

So which of Violet's brood decided to bond? And who is the unlucky soul to be bonded to them?

Colin bonded one of Baron Featherington's daughters. Kier answered.

Lady Danbury's mind raced through Violet's eight different hatchlings. All of them were of some shade of blue. If she's remembering correctly, Colin was the ocean blue one, making him the third oldest. Her mind also sorted through the Featherington girls. Only two were currently out in society, the others too young. She wonders how one of those two managed it neither were the brightest. Though the second born girl was more agreeable if you got her around the right people.

According to Violet, Baron Featherington's lands bordered on the lands of the Bridgerton Nest, and the girl had become some sort of a family friend.

Lady Danbury hummed. A familiar tale

Keir chuckled. Indeed

So, how does that end with her bonded to one of them?

Colin has not given out his reasons, but the girl is witty, and not afraid to sass a dragon even if she doesn't understand them.

Lady Danbury raised an eyebrow. Witty is not something she would describe either of the older two Featherington girls. From the little she's seen of them, she would save that description for the younger two.

Keir paused. There is a slight problem. The girl has not yet reached her 18th year.

KEIR! Lady Danbury grabbed her cane and smacked the side of her dragon with it. SHE'S NOT OLD ENOUGH TO BOND! DID YOU NOT WARN YOUR GRANDCHILDREN?!

Keir flew downwards, jostling Lady Danbury slightly. She could see the nest closing in.

That's why I came to get you Agatha. You know the human laws. Perhaps you can come up with a solution.

Lady Danbury could see the other dragons now. They were all smaller than their grandfather, and all of them took on a different shade of blue. Two of them were staring each other down. One was a dark royal blue, he was Violet's oldest hatchling, and the current alpha of the nest, Anthony. The other was an ocean blue, Colin, and in between his legs was a sixteen year old girl with red curls. She has to be the Featherington girl, all of them inherited their mother's hair.

Keir let out a roar, signaling their arrival. The rest of them bowed their heads towards the older alpha and opened up a space that led to the new bonded pair.

Lady Danbury climbed off. "Well, let's get a look at you, girl. What's your name?"

The girl squeaked, hurrying herself into a curtsy. "Penelope Featherington."

Lady Danbury walked around the girl. She was rather short and had more curves than the average debutant. Not that the dragons really care. They can carry any human they deem worthy. The girl squeaked again when Lady Danbury pulled at her neckline. Ah, there it is. Over the girls heart is a mark made out of the same blue scales as her dragon. It will take time for it to take its shape, but as the bond develops, so will the mark. Though it is strange that the colors are so vibrant already. Perhaps this bond isn't as new as the others thought.

#bridgerton #dragon rider au #slight mention of the couples #polin #lord ledger x lady danbury #i used lord ledger's actor's name as his #lady danbury #lord ledger #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton

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motionoftheocean · 1 year

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I low-key need some lady Danbury x Lord Ledger fics please and thank you

#I’m sorry but he was better than the queens brother #adolphus saw her as an accessory low-key and I don’t think they would’ve been happy #it would’ve been a better marriage than the one she was in previously but happy?#lady danbury #agatha danbury #lord ledger #queen Charlotte #queen charlotte a bridgerton story #lady Danbury x lord ledger

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nametoshort · 1 year

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The lady danbury/lord ledger brain rot is real, and it has imbedded itself into my very being. I need a whole season dedicated just to them and what new positions they are going to try.

#bridgerton #queen charlotte #lady danbury #lord ledger #lady danbury x lord ledger

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thereadersmuse · 11 months

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Lord Ledger literally charmed Landy Danbury by treating her like a human being, listening to her, talking to her - not at her. Spending quality time rambling and literally saving her ball ages before her husband even croaked. We are simply forced to stan.

You are watching two people fall in love naturally. And by watching it, can understand how detrimental the lack of choice had on both their lives.

#lord ledger #lady danbury #queen charlotte: a bridgerton story #lord ledger x lady danbury

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lillywhitefield · 1 year

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Queen Charlotte (TV 2023), Bridgerton (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Agatha Danbury/Lord Ledger Characters: Agatha Danbury, Lord Ledger (Bridgerton) Additional Tags: Smut, Masturbation, Oral Sex, because Agatha deserves some fun and good sex, and Lord Ledger deserves a wife who isn't a racist Summary:

Agatha and Lord Ledger are at a ball.

They can't bring themselves to stay away, and he walks her home.

#bridgerton fanficiton #queen charlotte fanfiction #agatha danbury x lord ledger #how do i tag this lmao #lord ledger #lady danbury

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bohemian-nights · 11 months

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Lady Danbury: Chapter 2

Word count: ~3,539

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Lord Ledger x Lady Danbury

Warnings⚠️: This chapter contains sexual assault and mentions of a miscarriage.

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

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

Chapter 1, Chapter 3,

Agatha had never liked doctors. Death, sickness, misery. A bad omen they were. Riding up the drive in their black carriages, she had never seen them ride in anything else. Carrying with them a bag of pain and false hope. A sign of foul times ahead whenever one came around for no one ever called upon them when they were hail and hearty.

Nothing good came from them and their visits. With their poking and prodding. Many instruments in that bag of pain of torture at their disposal to aid in their torment. Much to Agatha’s dismay, the physician and his bag of horrors became an all too regular sight at the Danbury residence.

It was six months into her marriage when the doctor was first called for. A few days before her sixth and ten birthday. Her courses had been late. She had been feeling nauseous, and as if she could sleep the whole day away. Agatha could barely keep down her food yet she felt as if she could eat a horse, and then promptly expel said horse into her chamber pot if she had.

On her fourth day of expelling whatever she tried yet failed to keep down, her husband had sent for a physician. Dr. Simmons. He went to Eton with her husband, but the two were so dissimilar in nature. He was for all intents and purposes a cheerful older man with a jolly face.

One could liken him to a father really. He had a way of easing her nerves as he went about his inspection. He was direct and never ignored her or her questioning. “My youngest is your age, Agatha.” He never called her Mrs. Danbury. A slight to some perhaps, but she did not mind the informality.

He had a smile on his face when he pronounced his assessment. Giving her hand a fatherly pat in reassurance. She was with child. He had assured Mr. Danbury and herself that he’d be back in a fortnight to check on the babe's progress.

Agatha had never seen Mr. Danbury so happy. He could not stop grinning ear to ear. He did not stop to correct her. He had gone so far as to offer her anything she had wanted from her birthday. An offer which she gladly took. She requested a Ratafia cake instead of the Dundee cake that he had insisted upon.

She wanted apricots soaked in champagne, but given her condition, Ratafia cake would have to do. She looked forward to that sponge cake, but that happiness was short-lived. Dr. Simmons had been back before the week's end.

Agatha had woken up before the sun to cramps piercing through her abdomen on the eve of her birthday. A searing pain that nearly blinded her. It was not an unusual occurrence. Her courses brought about a similar pain every month. Spending the first few days of it lying in bed.

Ridden with nausea, a throbbing headache, and cramps that only relented for a moment or two before coming back with a vengeance, but this had not been that. This was a sharper ache than that. This should not be that. She was with child. She carried a child within her. This could not be that.

She had managed to crawl out from under her covers. Hobbling her way to her chamber pot behind her screen. She would not look back. She could not look back. Agatha recalled that she had closed her eyes to calm her breathing. Fearing that she would pass out from her nerves rather than whatever it was that ailed her.

It could have been hours or a few minutes, but she finally managed to calm her nerves to pull away from the pot. Bracing herself to face whatever awaited her at the bottom of that porcelain base.

A mass of deep crimson is what her eyes landed upon. A trail of crimson marked her descent. Blood. As far as she could see. Disappearing beyond the screen. If she were to peer out from where she stood she would see the end of that trail. Leading to her bed. To her linens and feather mattress. Soaked through with her babe's blood.

That was what remained of it. What remained of the thing growing inside her. Her child. It would have been her child, but now it was a thing. A clump of blood the color of jam. Blackberry jam. It looked like blackberry jam. Mr. Danbury’s favorite and it had come out of her. She screamed for Coral.

Agatha bleed for two weeks straight. Her cramps caused her to be bedridden for half the day, she absolutely refused to eat jam with her toast, but shame as she was to admit it, she did not feel sadness at its loss. That was what she had taken to calling her would be babe. It was a thing. Not a person. It certainly had not looked like a person and it would never grow into one.

Perhaps she should have felt shame, felt sadness, felt something, but the only thing that she felt, the only thing that she mourned, was the fact that their marital relations, which had been halted on account of her being with child, would resume in due course.

Mr. Danbury had been warned by Dr. Simmon that she had needed time to heal after the stress of their loss. Six weeks. True enough he had followed the doctor's orders. Kept to himself. He stayed in his own rooms. He did not disturb her. Let her recover. For a time at least, but all too soon that little window of respite had shut. He had not waited a moment more to resume his husbandly rights.

Wife. He would call out for her with a whine and she’d make her way to his bedroom, like a child being called for its supper. She never got used to the stretch. He always rammed his appendage, a short little stubby thing, with no preamble into her. Over and over.

He found her whimpers, which only came about because his thrusts would often cause her skull to crack against the headboard, to be an irritation. So he took to pushing her down onto the mattress when taking her from behind and pushing her head into her pillow when he was on top of her. She had learned to brace her head with her hands thrown before her. Agatha bit her lip to stop her whimpers and Mr. Danbury no longer pushed her head into her pillow.

Thankfully he never took to kissing her during the act. He rarely touched her. A withered hand on her hips or her breasts, but that was the extent of it. It was always silent, save for the bed creaking and his low grunts. An emotionless affair. Ended by “I believe that should be sufficient enough to put my son in you wife.” His son. His heir. The baby race Coral had taken to calling it. It had become his obsession. A race she was losing.

The doctors became a steady occurrence. An endless rotation for one was not good enough. Parading up and down the halls of her residence with their heavy boots, spectacles, and dark bags. They were usually called a week after her courses had ended.

Once they were called twice in a month. Her courses had come twice that month. She had screamed for Coral when she had seen the blood at the bottom of the pot once more. She had to be given a tonic for her nerves. She would not stop crying even after Dr. Simmons had promised her that it was indeed her moon tide that had made another appearance and not a babe lost. More doctors were sent for.

Hysteria one of them claimed. Everything was attributed to her hysteria or her melancholy. All according to Dr. Henrich Otto. A vile little German man. Agatha grew to loathe the sight of him the most out of the lot of them.

Besides the occasional odd comment, Henry has five sons and I have not one. His wife is ten years your senior wife, Mr. Danbury did not chastise her too much for inability, her one duty, to bear him a son and heir. Instead, he let Dr. Otto do that with his talk of hysterics.

He took great joy in her torment. In making her go mad. She was convinced he wanted to drive her mad. Never running out of ways in which to do so. Taking away what little pleasures she did have in this life as Mrs. Danbury.

She needed rest, the doctor said. Proper rest. She was far too active and those activities were putting a strain on her. They were leading her mind to wander without respite. That was the cause of her hysteria. Her empty womb.

Agatha needed someone so that she may focus her energies on conception. Coral, who should have been considered for the job, was deemed to be far too vapid to take up her duties. She would run their house into the ground.

That honor went to Rupert, their butler, a servile old man whom Agatha was half convinced that he had been around since the days of Moses. He was not truly a bad man, but whenever he was in the presence of one who he considered his superior, he bent to their Will so easily that one had to question if he had a spine, to begin with.

When he called upon their residence it was a day-long affair. He always began by making a show out of his inspection of her intimate place. He had said that she was too small to use his tools upon so he used his hands. His fingers were cold, unnaturally so. Far colder than her husbands, and yet those thin fingers that impaled her with great discomfort knew her more intimately in that place than he. Mr. Danbury never touched her there save for his member.

She snapped a month into her treatment when he had begun thrusting his fingers in and out of her in the same manner as her husband did with his appendage. “Why don’t you just impregnate me yourself, Doctor?”

It was inappropriate. If her former governess were to burst through her bedroom door, she would have taken her by the ears and made her wash her mouth with soap, but what he did was improper and Agatha could no longer bear it. He had enough shame to pull away. Her husband could not even look her in the eye. Merely clearing his throat as he fixed his dark gaze upon her mantlepiece.

After he was finished with his poking, the leeches came. To purify her of the toxins that festered. Preventing her husband's seed from taking root. He placed those creatures upon her inner thighs. Sucking the lifeblood out of her. Some days he’d take his knife and cut her himself. It was preferable to his other ministrations. The army of his foul tonics that burned her throat came last.

They tasted like rotten eggs and earth. Dr. Simmons' elixirs did not taste much better, but he always made her laugh at her. It was month after month of his treatments, but her womb never quickened. A most curious thing to Dr. Otto. For his methods were proven with great success.

Lemon tops. Dr. Otto accused her of inserting lemon tops into herself to prevent her husband's seed from taking. He accused Coral of helping her procure said lemon tops. Bringing them with her morning tea. She had implored Mr. Danbury to see reason. Forgoing the citrus fruit in her tea to convince him of her innocence.

Dr. Otto was a man who did not like to be bested. So he turned his ire onto Dr. Simmons. He knew how much ease she felt. How she trusted him. Her husband had wanted him to dismiss Dr. Simmons when he had found the German, but she had managed to keep the man in their employ.

Despite Mr. Danbury’s rough ways with her; he was not a cruel man at heart. He was not a sadist. He was just a man desperate for an heir. For recognition. For a legacy and oftentimes it led to her discomfort, but he did what most husbands would do in his position. She was sure of that.

A compromise was struck. She would see his doctor without complaint and subject herself to his treatments and her doctor would be kept. A compromise that Dr. Otto wanted rid of. For he found him to be a disturbance to his work of curing her.

Dr. Simmons had asked once to examine one of Dr. Otto’s tonics. A week after both doctors had gotten into a little tiff over her progress. Each accusing the other for the lack of it. One sniff of the vile concoction and the good doctor had promptly emptied the rest of the bottle into her wash basin. He wore a frown upon his gray brow as he advised her never to take it again for it would leave her worse than they had found.

He had given his own poultice and ordered the cook to prepare her a diet of beef broth and yams in substitute for the potatoes she ate with her roast. An African remedy for infertility. His mother swore by it. That had been the final straw for her husband's doctor.

Voodoo he called it. The great Dr. Simmons, so beloved by Agatha, undermined his methods, his treatments because he favored his African witchcraft. He put on a rather It had no place in society. He was no man of science. He was a charlatan.

For that too she had to beg Mr. Danbury not to send her doctor away. “Dr. Simmons was educated here. You went to school with her husband. He is English. He is only trying to help us. Dr. Otto is a foreigner from a German backwater. His methods are barbaric.”

It was this reminder of his Englishness and their own that stopped him from listening completely to his German doctor, but time and again the doctor tested the limits of Hermains tolerance. Succeeded at pushing the boundary to the very edge. However, even those with the most patience or those willing to overlook much impertinence have their limits. Dr. Otto had exceeded them.

He had cut her too deep during his bloodletting. She had unnerved that great man of science. His proud mask of self-assurance, his arrogance, had cracked with a few musings she hadn’t meant to leave from her lips but left nonetheless.

“You look down upon Dr. Simmons’ voodoo yet your remedies fail to heal my hysterics just the same as his doctor.” She had barely uttered the last word when the knife in his hand pierced past tissue. A gash marring her umber skin instead of a light graze. Finding an artery rather than a vein.

The blood flowed out from her while he watched on in a half daze. His face the color of her blood. Agatha would have slipped into an eternal sleep had it not been for Dr. Simmon's quick work as Dr. Otto repeated his only defense. She had distracted him with her chittering.

Her husband's patience had finally worn out. A wife who had difficulty conceiving was inconvenient, but a dead wife was more so. A woman cold in her grave could most certainly not produce heirs. Dr. Henrich Otto was at long last sent away and even Dr. Simmons' amusing visits were halted.

Mr. Danbury had resigned himself to the bitter truth that his young wife, the wife he had found a seed on the garden floor, that he had molded to be his Eve upon this earth may never quicken with his child again.

With this reluctant acceptance that she might be barren, her husband had sent for his brother's son and his mother to stay with them. He needed an heir and if he could not get one from Agatha his nephew would do.

Agatha had never particularly liked her sister-in-law. The woman was cool. Unaware or rather uncaring of others' feelings. They could be attacked by a gang of bandits and she would inquire about when the tea would be served when they arrived home.

She supposed her disposition was born out of necessity for she had become a widow at quite a young age. Still, she was not pleasant to be around. In her company, one felt like they were walking on eggshells. The ladies at tea dreaded seeing her emerge from the Danburys carriage with her black veil she insisted upon wearing long past her mourning period.

She made cook or one of the maids cry with her criticisms, and Agatha took to voluntarily locking herself in her room during her brief stay. Her husband easily grew tired of his late brother’s wife’s presence. Sending her back to her home in Bath with some expediency. A decision which relieved both parties for the widow found London to be “a circus” and Mr. Danbury found her to be the most opinionated woman he had the misfortune to be acquainted with.

Thankfully, Dominic Danbury had not inherited his mother’s frosty disposition. The boy was a sweet though shy child. He was away at school for most of the year. Or sequestered off to his own wing of the house with his nanny when at home. Mr. Danbury detested the noises of small children. Especially when they were at play. For all his talk of wanting an heir Agatha doubted that he spent more than a few minutes every few months in his chosen heirs company.

There was of course another matter which preoccupied her husband’s mind. The fact that Mr. Danbury was and remained Mr. Danbury rather than Lord Danbury.

It was little wonder why Miss Ingram had drilled in her head the names and titles of every landed gentleman in the country when Agatha had been but a little girl. She did not know which her husband obsessed over more. Her barren womb or his lack of a title. These wants plaguing him night and day. Kept him awake bemoaning to her on the nights when he visited her bed, clinging onto the hope that she may become with their child, or when she joined him for supper.

“My father was king.” Back home she’d add to herself. “Good friends with our king.” Business partners. Precious metals, gold, spices all in exchange for weapons. The one thing the English had plenty of. “I am the son of a king. What are these gentleman's blood to mine?” African blood. Not English. Not even European.

Mr. Hermain Danbury was the son of a great king. Of a rich kingdom. Riches beyond what this tiny dank island held. What they could dream of, yet Sierra Leone was still an African nation. Not English.

It was not just her husband who was fixated on his lack of recognition. They all were. The Kent’s, the Hastings’, the Smythe-Smiths. All the families on their side of the Ton. They felt and expressed their slight with great displeasure. The men and their wives alike. One way or another the conversation whenever they gathered would always turn back to their lack of a proper social standing within England society.

They were royalty back home or as good as it and here they were not given so much as the courtesy of a title. The men were denied membership at Whites, hunts with the king, land, and income from said land. The wives were kept from the best modistes, teas at the palace, and society balls. They had no place at court, but for all his moaning she supposed her husband had more access than most of the gentlemen on their side.

She herself had been to the palace twice. Her husband a dozen times that she could recollect. The old king was rather fond of Mr. Danbury, but the old king was dead and this one and his court were more elusive than his grandfather’s.

Their kind would never mix. It was their side and Agatha’s. Even the most rarefied among them, those who they had known since childhood, went to school with, and were their equals in every way were othered. They would never see them as English. That is why she had not believed Coral when she said that they had received an invitation from the palace. Not until she held the letter in her hand and read the contents thrice.

A wedding. They had been invited to the king's wedding. She could not, did not even fully believe it then. Not when they had arrived at Saint James. Not when Princess Augustus had declared them Lord and Lady Danbury. She had thought it was all some trick. A jape. A show even.

It was not until Agatha had seen a tawny face in a cream gown peering out with a look of determination and desperation from the archway overhead that she realized this was no mistake. Agatha held back a laugh at the sight of the missing piece. The picture becoming clear as crystal.

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