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Post by Philomena D'Harcourt on Dec 23, 2022 7:18:38 GMT
Eloise Bridgerton was a breath of fresh air, and Philomena sank easily into comfort in the young lady’s presence. Hardly every woman in Mayfair was as insipid as they seemed, but as a woman who had never been able — or, indeed, willing — to stifle her true self to satisfy the men around her, she could greatly appreciate Eloise’s spirit in the face of the ton’s pressures. In any case, Philomena was happy to help Eloise avoid the attentions of men wishing to secure her hand in a dance. Dancing far too easily led to marriage in Philomena's opinion, and lifelong commitment was not meant for eighteen-year-old women with desires of their own. “University?” Philomena’s eyes lit up at the very idea. “No, he did not say as much, but I am enraptured by the notion.” Her mind went to the trunk of journals and books at the foot of her bed, compendiums of botany taking up so much of her heart. "Did the accent give me away?" She joked. “Yes, my father’s duchy is situated near Normandy, by the coast. Not so very far away. I grew up in Rouen, and my elder brother used to tease me so for running about pretending as a young Jeanne d’Arc.” She smiled at the memory of Étienne’s frown at her macabre — if not sacrilegious — performance of the young saint’s end. “Mais c’était il y a longtemps. With the war and my father’s loyalty to the French crown, I have been all over the continent, never in one place very long. Until now.”@eloisebridgerton ★ faiWHAT IS THE POINT OF LUKEWARM LOVE?
IF I AM NOT DROWNING IN IT, I HAVE NO DESIRE FOR IT.
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Post by Philomena D'Harcourt on Nov 23, 2022 22:37:34 GMT
This was not how Philomena had expected their reunion to unfold. For so many years, she had dreamed of this day, every iteration filled with nothing but the warmth of adoration and devotion, the culmination of years of desire flowing between them. She certainly had not imagined this: Her back turned to him, attempted to hold herself together now that she was away from other eyes, wanting more than anything else that William would damn decorum and hold her. Philomena knew the man, his letters conjuring for her a clear image of the one she loved. This meant that she also knew that he wished nothing more than to keep her from the ton's idle and malicious whispering. Still, how could she ever consider herself ruined — either in society's eyes or her own — if it were Will doing the ruining? As she turned to face him, her eyes were glossed with unshed tears. She nodded softly, if distractedly. "It was a duel, of all things. He was a second, hit by a stray bullet. War — violence — everywhere, and Étienne- he... Merde." Philomena took a shuddered breath before crossing the room once more, locking the door they'd just entered. She leaned her back against the solid wood, feeling suddenly quite vulnerable in his presence. "I want to marry you, Will, more than anything, but I am here, right now, because I need you. Not your name, not your title, not whatever perception society may form of us. I came here because my heart is broken, and I need you to hold me so that I do not fall apart."★ faiWHAT IS THE POINT OF LUKEWARM LOVE?
IF I AM NOT DROWNING IN IT, I HAVE NO DESIRE FOR IT.
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Post by Philomena D'Harcourt on Nov 10, 2022 17:20:38 GMT
As he had promised, William had spoken with her father with no delay, and shortly thereafter, their engagement had been announced to the public. Of course, Lady Whistledown — whose hold on society Philomena was just beginning to understand — had beat them to it with her own suspicions based on their behavior at Apsley House, but with their own confirmation, it seemed Philomena’s life had turned into a non-stop frenzy. Social calls, invitations to promenade, dinners, balls, even a horse race. In truth, it was exhausting. Philomena could hardly turn down an invitation without causing offense, and as tired as it left her, she could not help but be a bit grateful. Sitting alone with her thoughts gave way to crushing grief, and her elder brother — fool as he was — would not have wanted her to succumb to the darkness. So, invitations. This particular event was a crush, people hardly able to move with how tightly they were packed in. Philomena, regrettably, could not recall the names of her hosts nor could she recall the names of the couple currently describing in great detail the dimensions of their countryside property. It was all she could do to nod politely and add in some breaths of awe. When Eloise Bridgerton touched her arm, Philomena was all too eager to give her apologies and turn her attention. “Miss Bridgerton!” She smiled. “Yes, Lord Bridgerton is a dear friend, and he speaks so fondly of you. I understand you are in possession of quite the intellect, non?”@eloisebridgerton ★ faiWHAT IS THE POINT OF LUKEWARM LOVE?
IF I AM NOT DROWNING IN IT, I HAVE NO DESIRE FOR IT.
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Post by Philomena D'Harcourt on Nov 8, 2022 16:08:56 GMT
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Post by Philomena D'Harcourt on Nov 6, 2022 17:57:13 GMT
[ LETTER ] : your muse writes a letter with intimate content to my muse.
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Post by Philomena D'Harcourt on Nov 3, 2022 23:57:32 GMT
Philomena had sat with the steady fire of her love for William so long that it was easy to forget that so much of their relationship was formed in ink, the ordinary steps of a courtship set aside as the stacks of letters grew over the years. It was easy to forget, that was, until they were suddenly together again, the space between them now mere breaths instead of countries. It was no longer just the two of them, confined to four corners of a page.
Now, there were others to consider, happinesses that would be affected and could not in good conscience be ignored. To say that Philomena was giddy at the receipt of Reuben Slade’s invitation would have been a falsehood. This was not a ballroom in which she could operate with deft charm and a pretty flutter of a fan. No, this was so much more. It was real, and the prospect of eyes so important to William sizing her up stirred her nerves quite effectively.
Still, Mena was not one to shy from difficult situations, and she would not do so here. For all her future husband’s sometimes cantankerous appearances, William was a man capable of deep affection, and nobody held his heart in a tighter grip than his family. This visit meant something, though she was left in the dark to the true purpose. To her, to Reuben, to the future of their families’ union.
Philomena was led to where he was waiting for her. She gave her quiet thanks to the butler, and nodded respectfully to Reuben. “Lord Slade,” she smiled softly, accent heavy in her words. A trait passed down the Slade line, she mused, to get right to the business of the matter. “Of course. I would be rather surprised if you did not have many questions for me. Please, speak freely.” She moved further into the room, taking a seat on a plush divan.
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Post by Philomena D'Harcourt on Oct 29, 2022 5:40:17 GMT
TW - discussion of sibling death
It was then that the nerves reappeared, her hands beginning to tremble as soon as his touch receded and left her skin cold in its absence. There was no reason to fear the discussion before them, not with Will's intentions declared to her only moments before. Still, worry polluted her body as she slipped through the crowd and across the room behind him. Perhaps it was merely the reality of her brother's death settling on her, the adrenaline of making the journey to the United Kingdom no longer as abundant now that she was here.
Even more so, the reality of the scandal that would fall upon her if other's discovered she was at a ball, smiling and dancing, instead of shut indoors clothed only in black. She thought of her father, so insistent on seeing his only remaining child happy and settled that he accompanied her here instead of sinking into his own mourning period.
When Will opened the door, she slipped surreptitiously inside, letting out a heavy breath as he secured the door behind them. Without turning, Philomena spoke, wanting to let the dreadful news free so that she might seek the comfort she so desperately craved. "My brother is dead."
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Post by Philomena D'Harcourt on Oct 29, 2022 5:07:52 GMT
Philomena was keenly aware that their smiles and laughter were drawing eyes. The lady had always found it strange that gaiety and lightheartedness often found themselves out of place at fêtes such as this one, but she had never been one to let attention sway her from her own path, whatever the gossips may say. "The only thing I could treasure more than being your duchess..." She paused, separating from him at the end of the waltz as the other couples did, dipping into a curtsy before rising and stepping close once more. "Is being your wife. Mrs. Slade sounds rather fine, does it not?"
She looked around, seeing pairs forming for the next dance in the set. "First, I must speak to you. Is there somewhere we can go without being noticed?"
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Post by Philomena D'Harcourt on Oct 29, 2022 4:52:25 GMT
She could hardly believe the words passing his lips, every syllable a fragment taken straight from years' worth of dreams. His surety made her head swim, and whatever doubt she might have possessed of his intentions for them evaporated in that instant. People had called her crazy — all but declared her in need of institutionalization — when she had declined the the Prince of Denmark's hand, but all along, she had known.
There was nowhere she belonged more than in William's arms. How could she deny herself that happiness? How could she deny the prince the same?
"Vraiment?" She laughed as they stepped in time to the music. "I will court you? I suppose if those are the ways of London, it must be done." Her eyes caught his lips, and in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to taste the remnants of her name off them.
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Post by Philomena D'Harcourt on Oct 27, 2022 2:16:25 GMT
I only have eyes for you.
It was one thing to see the words in his script, a promise carried to her over land and sea to keep her comfort even as they slept countries and kingdoms apart. It was another to hear it while face to face, in his arms the way she’d dreamed about countless nights. Philomena was far from unconfident, but even so, she was aware of the pressures a duke faced, not only from the ton but from his family. How could she fault him if he took another lover and wedded her to fulfill his duty? To know that he still wanted her — in ways both proper to society and in ways they only dared to speak in ink by candlelight — swept all doubt from her mind.
“You could not chase me from London if you tried, Your Grace.” The lady twirled under his arm in time with the other ladies around them before returning to his hold. As her hand found his shoulder again, she could not resist the impulse to stroke her thumb against his collarbone. Anything she could get without risk, she would take.
There were other things she needed to tell him, though, and these could not be voiced on the dance floor. “There are things we must discuss.”
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Post by Philomena D'Harcourt on Oct 27, 2022 1:44:01 GMT
How did he do it? How could he so easily capture her affection with the softest utterance of her name? Had she no stacks of letters tied with silk bows chronicling the years between them, she would think it a practiced art, the culmination of three decades’ practice compelling the whole of society with this gift of his. But no. This was only for her, and it filled her body with warmth, the pale expanse of her chest flushing a fetching pink with every heartbeat.
For a moment, they merely watched each other, and though Philomena was unsure what it must have looked like to other eyes — eyes that were unabashedly staring at their host — she knew what it felt like. It felt like a return home after floating untethered in the sea. It felt like love, and god, how she ached to touch him.
Philomena took his offered hand, following his lead to the center of the floor. As the music struck up, she was vaguely aware of the other couples stirred to motion around them, but they existed only in her periphery. “I was sure you would already be spoken for, with so many ladies around.” She placed a gloved hand on his shoulder, the other reaching for his own. “Selfishly, I am glad you are with me. I would steal all your dances if I could.”
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Post by Philomena D'Harcourt on Oct 15, 2022 3:38:28 GMT
As she looked out over the crowd, taking in the familiar and unfamiliar faces alike looking back at her, her stomach began to knot. Fate was a cruel mistress, and it seemed just the thing for Philomena to finally return to English soil and William have already departed from his own soiree. But then, as if her whole world was righted, their eyes locked, and if she could see herself, she imagined the light brown of her irises might have gained a gleam that they'd been lacking for far too long.
After a moment of taking each other in, Mena simply could not help herself for the joy welling up inside of her. A delicate, gloved hand lifted from her side in a little wave. It was then that her father took her arm to lead her down the stairs. Before she knew it, Will was before her, even more handsome up close than he had been at a distance.
Philomena dipped into a curtsy as her father greeted the duke before murmuring under his breath in gruff French about finding some fresh air and refreshments. Left alone with him, Philomena stepped closer. "Your Grace, I am sure I speak for my father and myself both when I say we are delighted for you to still think of us. After so many years." Her eyes searched his face, committing every new detail to memory. "Will..."
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Post by Philomena D'Harcourt on Oct 13, 2022 20:30:26 GMT
Philomena had left William in the dark regarding her attendance to his ball. Many a party he had thrown over the past years, and without fail, an invite was delivered to her, no matter where she was located on the continent at the time. Equally, without fail, she would have to refuse. This certainly was not for lack of wanting, for where Will was concerned she wanted any piece of him she could grasp with desperation. Still, wanting could not overcome the vast distance between them, nor could it fight time or duty. Apologies were written underscored with love and devotion, and the parchment was often marred by a fallen tear as she wrote.
She missed him, terribly, and every letter she received from the duke left her worried that she'd run out of time and the note she held was an invitation of another sort. To his wedding, to his union with someone who was not her.
When she received this invitation to his London property, she could not sit by, no matter what duty she held. The pain of her brother's loss was so strong, and she felt adrift in the world. Her need for Will outweighed any other thing at that moment. With no time to reply, she set out on her journey from Germany to his door. Clothed in a deep blue silk, she gave her name to the footman absentmindedly, her eyes already searching the crowd for that familiar tousle of tawny hair, waiting for his gaze to strike her and bring her back to life.
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Post by Philomena D'Harcourt on Oct 13, 2022 19:47:59 GMT
| ~ • ~ | Character Basics | ~ • ~ |
.:Name:. Lady Philomena Aliénor Cyréne d'Harcourt
.:Nick Name:. Mena
.:Rank:. Nobility
.:Age:. Twenty-Six Years Old in 1813
| ~ • ~ | Appearance | ~ • ~ |
.:Physical Appearance:. Philomena is neither extraordinarily tall nor short. Subject to much gossip, she is wrapped in sensuous curves and makes no attempts to hide the softness (and ampleness) of her figure. Her hair is dark brown, and copper strands hidden throughout appear in the sunlight. She typically wears her hair pinned up in loose curls, and while her maids are certainly skilled, those curls always seem to come loose. It is scandalous, really, how close Lady Mena is to wearing her hair down in public, but if one were to ask her if it is done on purpose, she would play coy. Her cheeks and lips always bear a slight amount of rouge, and her fashions are always well-tailored and of the latest French style. All in all, her physical appearance toes the line of propriety, but her charm and status keep her from falling into the worst opinions of society.
.:Height:. 5'4"
.:Portrayed by:. Charli Howard
| ~ • ~ | Personality | ~ • ~ |
.:Personality:. In public, Philomena is light-hearted and fun-loving. Having been all over Europe, she is quite worldly and uses that experience to capture attention and interest to ensure she continues to have a space in society. In private, she still maintains that good humor, but she is much quieter and more reserved. People would be surprised to find she is much more introverted than she lets on. At home, she is content to focus on literature and cataloging the local flora in each place she visits. Raised with love, Philomena has no issue sharing her affection with others. On the same token, she has no issue sharing that which she takes issue with others.
.:Skills:. Having grown up across Europe, Philomena is proficient in many languages. The most skill is shown in the Romantic, but she also can hold her own in German and Russian.
As a girl, Philomena was a voracious reader and devoured any text she could get her hands on. Because she was traveling with her diplomat father, those texts were often political in nature. Ask her about the Corn Laws or her opinion on military strategy, and she might have something intelligent to say in return. Furthermore, she gained an admiration for science as a girl, particularly in flowers and other vegetation. In every place that she’s been, she’s kept a detailed notebook of the plant life she’s found, and she included dried specimens when she was able.
Is riding backward-facing in a carriage a skill?
.:Weaknesses:. Philomena’s life has revolved around being the charming daughter visiting various courts. She has done well with this, but it is utterly exhausting to her. Still, being on the go all her life, she worries she won’t know what to do with herself if she is confined to one place, even if it is what she wishes for most.
Additionally, toeing the line in society when it pertains to propriety has its consequences. There are times when that toe can slip to the wrong side, and in those times, Philomena can be quite hard on herself. There is a strange duality where her life revolves around being unique and interesting and, at the same, time needing to be perfect, a concept that defies her goal.
Philomena may be nearing spinster status, but that doesn’t mean she has never been offered marriage. Indeed, many gentlemen have courted her, and Philomena has denied them all, making her in danger of garnering a bad reputation for spurning men.
On a lighter note, Philomena has no talent for the creative pursuits ladies are meant to be proficient in. Her stitches are always crooked, and her paintings might be mistaken for those done by a child. While she adores art and the history behind pieces, she holds little talent herself.
| ~ • ~ | History | ~ • ~ |
.:Birthplace:. Lillebonne, Normandy, France
.:Family:. Thierry Lucien François d’Harcourt, the Duc d’Harcourt — alive at 60 years old in 1813
Anastasie Cécile d’Harcourt, the Duchesse d’Harcourt — deceased at 25 years old in 1789
Étienne Arnaud Christophe d’Harcourt, heir to the Harcourt Duchy — deceased at 24 years old in 1813
Male Cousin, heir apparent to the Harcourt Duchy — alive at ## in 1813
.:Occupation:. Daughter of the French Duc d'Harcourt
.:History:. Philomena’s father was a French duke, and he long held a career in politics as a diplomat, not content to linger in Normandy. From an early age, as the Duc d’Harcourt’s first child and only daughter, Philomena was her father’s precious jewel, and she was brought along on his travels to royal courts across Europe. Hers was a happy childhood, filled with her father’s devotion even in the face of the loss of her mother soon after her brother’s birth. The Duke’s affection was not the only reason for her accompaniment, however.
The late 1700s and early 1800s saw the French Revolution and Napoleon’s reign. Philomena and her younger brother, the future Duc d’Harcourt, were brought to British society and elsewhere on the continent to ensure their safety away from the chaos in their homeland as the family awaited restoration of the French peerage.
Philomena has been in British society in and out over the years, but she’s traveled all over. She laughs and charms and jokes about how grand it all was, but really, it was very lonely and scary to not have a home. When she met William, Duke of Wellington, she was certain she felt at home with him, felt that indescribable spark between them. Before they could seek something official between them, Philomena was whisked off again by her father, and over the course of a few years, she and Will have written each other hundreds of letters. While other men showed interest in her both before they met and after, she has been able to stave off marriage in hopes that she and Will can be reunited.
By any other standard, she should have spinster status or at least be nearing it, but she’s novel and exotic and exists as more of an object of fascination in society. No doubt her curves, the fashions that hug them, and her rouged lips are cause for gossip among the ladies of the ton Even so, her charm keeps her in good standing.
Recently, her brother was killed as a result of a duel where he served as a second and was hit by a bullet gone astray. Her father is getting older, and his lifestyle is hardly one without stress. With the duchy seemingly moments away from being handed to a male cousin, Philomena feels the instability acutely and is more determined than ever to find her way to Will, especially as she’s heard he’s looking for a wife.
| ~ • ~ | Member Info | ~ • ~ |
.:Name or Online Alias:. Ash
.:Your Pronouns:. She/Her
.:Are you 18+:. Yes
.:How Did You Find Us:. Sweet Tina
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