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Apr 21, 2023 16:04:32 GMT
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Post by L on Apr 4, 2021 0:45:01 GMT
"Suppose, dear brother, that a man walks to me and requests a dance." She would have to be quite circumspect about this in order to reach her goal. "That is to say, suppose a man should want to dance with me. For I would not ever put such an assumption upon myself, nor would I ever want to appear so high in the instep as to make the assumption." Easy, Daphne. Coyness was one thing, blathering like an idiot in front of her brother was entirely different. She was no fool, and she was loath to play one now.
"Were I to be standing next to you when he approaches, he would be honor bound to acknowledge you first. And you would feel... obliged to tell me what you knew of him, good or bad. Particularly knowledge of the bad sort." It was bold of her to say, but then again, she had been making bold statements to him throughout the conversation. She kept her tone even, trying only to voice the statements as fact rather than accusation. It would do no good to get Anthony any further riled than she might already have. "On the other hand, were I to be standing even a mere three feet away, you would easily be able to see me, with even the most conservative Mamas unable to voice concerns for the state of my chaperonage, whilst I formed my own opinion of the man."
The was one final sweetener she was willing to add, a peace offering to assuage whatever concerns he might have if he acquiesced to her request.
"Should you agree, and I were to find myself dancing with a man you deemed to be wholly unsuitable -- and I mean entirely and utterly, not simply slight disapproval -- you would have my permission to interrupt and take his place. Any dance at all." It was a fine plan, if she did say so herself. With any luck, he would as well. They were near enough to the ball that should he have any quals, she would be unable to mount another attack and would, instead, be subjected to yet another onslaught of snipes about her potential suitors.
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Apr 21, 2023 16:04:32 GMT
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Post by L on Apr 3, 2021 1:07:22 GMT
They were alone, she and the tailoress. Good.
She opened her mouth to speak and coughed, the words catching in her throat. This was difficult, oh so very, very difficult. Simon knew, obviously. And Rose. And Mrs. Coulson. But she was about to break their circle for the first time, and her mind was screaming at her told hold on to her privacy. Even for just a moment longer. Even as her actual body screamed to be let free.
“I am in need of a dress.”
She doffed her pelisse, revealing the full swell of her bosom, the taut fabric around her blossoming middle.
“In fact, I am in need of several dresses, as you might imagine.”
It was almost comical that she had been able to hide it thus far. To say that her gown was ill-fitting was understating the problem maximally. Fortunately — or unfortunately, she was still unable to decide — Simon had held his tongue rather than voice any remarks about her appearance. It had been Rose who had begun suggesting alterations in her costume, and that had been well before Daphne had reached her current problem. She held her tongue while she waited for the woman’s reply. It was a large task to ask of one person and entire reasonable that Madame Delacroix would be unable, or unwilling, to undertake it. Daphne would understand.
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Apr 21, 2023 16:04:32 GMT
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Post by L on Apr 2, 2021 23:22:12 GMT
Daphne blushed at her brother’s words, pointedly staring out of the window as she felt her cheeks grow hot. No, she did not know the minds of men. But she knew what he was insinuating. Far too often she had heard intimations of actions carried out in corners, or even the Dark Walk. Light skirts, it was said. She was certain that she never wanted to be counted among that group of infamous women.
“Thank you, brother.”
She forced the words past gritted teeth, more of a mumble than a true spoken sentence. Perhaps he would not hear her; that would be okay. She knew her duty, knew that she needed to marry well to afford herself opportunity and station. She would provide surety for the honor and status of her sisters, who would each wed in turn. But, more importantly, she would build herself a life. A family. So, yes, she had high standards. Anthony did not need to remind her of what was at stake.
A thought struck her suddenly, like a pin at a dress fitting.
"Anthony, might I make a proposition?" She held her breath, waiting for his reply. There might be a way to bridge their two sides, assuaging Anthony's decidedly overbearing instincts while ensuring that he could still protect her honor.
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Apr 21, 2023 16:04:32 GMT
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Post by L on Apr 2, 2021 1:39:49 GMT
I've also started a thread for El and Daff along the same lines. Tied Up in Knots |
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Apr 21, 2023 16:04:32 GMT
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Post by L on Apr 2, 2021 1:38:27 GMT
It had happened by accident. Mama had been the first to know, of course. Daphne had never been any good at keeping secrets from her mother, and when her body chose to rebel at odd moments, it had been even harder. So, Violet Bridgerton had known two weeks after Daphne herself. And then it had been Anthony. In some ways, it was his right: he was the technical head of the Bridgerton family. Moreover, he was Simon's oldest -- sometimes they even swore closest -- friend. Simon had argued that if Violet knew, then Anthony should know as well. And so Anthony Bridgerton knew.
Benedict, Colin, Francesca, and Hyacinth had all discovered her secret on the same day. Not, however, at the same time, thank God. She would have had a very hard time explaining why two of her brothers had seen her in a heavy state of undress, tugging at her corset to loosen it. She had forced Fran to fetch Rose for assistance, and then promptly sworn both sisters to secrecy on pain of some cruel and vile torture that she was sure to devise at a later date. Colin had pouted so mightily when she had finished all the biscuits at tea one day, that she had simply put on her most haughty expression and mentioned something about "eating for two." He had readily backed off, with his cheeks slightly pink, then dashed away to leave her alone in the library with almost an entire pot of tea and a tray full of crumbs. Later, Benedict appeared bearing crumpets and a paled expression, and she knew that Colin had told him.
For all that Gregory was a year older than Hyacinth, he was still too young to truly understand what was going on, or so Daphne thought. Which left Eloise. These days, Daphne saw little of her next eldest sister. She had welcomed married life with open arms and relished the time spent with her husband. But more and more she had come to realize the things she was sacrificing. And one of those was moments with her family. Which was why she had suggested a picnic in the gardens, just her and Eloise. It would be the perfect way to finally drop the last veil.
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Apr 21, 2023 16:04:32 GMT
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Post by L on Apr 2, 2021 0:45:06 GMT
"Ow!" The yelp in front of her startled Daphne out of her reverie. She had been sitting with one hand in Eloise's hair, the other clasped to her abdomen. The odd feeling has left almost as quickly as it had come, like a butterfly or a swallow flapping its wings inside of her, only to fly off when she attempted to catch it. With an effort, she loosened her grip before she tore strands of her sister's lovely dark locks from her head. Briefly she contemplated mentioning the feeling, then decided against it. Eloise would have no notion of what it meant and would fret, which would only make Daphne fret. Better to ask her mother. She would know. “Ssh. Stop fussing. I’m just braiding your hair.” More carefully this time, she resumed her work at forming the long fishtail. These days, Eloise rarely did anything to alter her hair, but it had been so long since the two of them had spent any appreciable measure of time together. They had both jumped at the chance. Now, Daphne was grateful to have something to do with her hands, for it would stop them from shaking. There it was again.
Every instinct in her body screamed that something was wrong, screamed for her to try and do something. After all that she and Simon had been through, fought through, she did not think that she could bear it if something were to go wrong. But instead, she swallowed everything, forcing herself to remain calm. Rattled nerves would only hurt her in her condition. She knew that the strands were popping free of her fingers, but she could not bring herself to make more than half-hearted attempts to shepherd them back. Finally, she reached the end and examined the finished product. It was a mess, to use a polite phrase. Even Eloise, with her rejection of vanity would refuse to wear it as such. Sighing, she released it, watching as it unwound into a loose framework of what she had done. "Something troubles you, dearest?" Though it was phrased as a question, the tone from Violet Bridgerton fooled no one. Every Bridgerton child (Simon included) had heard it, and every Bridgerton child had wisely chosen to speak, rather than face the interrogation that awaited otherwise. Daphne knew that Eloise was watching her through the mirror, though the latter was making an excellent pass at appearing disinterested. "Mama, have you ever...? Did you ever...?" She was doomed. There had never existed an area of comfort between her and her mother when it came to discussing bodily functions, much less when discussing those related to marital relations. She cleared her throat and tried again. "When you were with child, did you ever... did you ever feel wings?" She felt a blush rise to her cheeks and dropped her eyes slightly. Curses. To her surprise, she was quickly wrapped in a light hug, the rich, musical sound of her mother's laugh ringing in her ears. "Oh, darling! Worry not." She turned and saw a face nearly split in two by an enormous, bright smile. "It is only the baby moving." "Oh." Daphne released a breath she had not realized she still held. She felt like a fool. Surely she should have recognized some sign within her own body, rather than relying on her mother to tell her. "Dearest, do not worry. It is like this for every woman the first time she carries a babe. Oh, but this is wonderful!" Her mother's unbridled giddiness was catching, and she slowly felt it spreading across to her. A smile, more of grin at first, formed on the side of her mouth. Unbidden, it stretched until she could feel herself beaming. This was real. The trials and tribulations, the mornings of sickness, the sudden inability to fit into gowns that had once proved perfect. It was truly happening. She giggled. "I am with child!" "Well, but we knew that." Eloise's grounded voice punctured her bubble, bringing her back to the room. "Now, do you intend to finish my hair, sister, or shall I have to go to tea looking like Moll Flanders?" In a lesser woman, the face Daphne pulled at her sister might have been called hideous. She leaned over slightly, clasping her hands around herself. "Do not listen to your Aunt Eloise, little one. She loves you already, even if she does not show it." |
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Apr 21, 2023 16:04:32 GMT
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Post by L on Mar 31, 2021 16:58:48 GMT
"Madame Delacroix, good afternoon!"
It was a sentiment readily expressed. She had always enjoyed coming to this shop, whether in the company of her mother or simply just herself and Rose. Madame Delacroix had a way of making her feel entirely at ease in her own body, even when others compared her to ungainly storks and the like. She eyed the direction from which the woman had entered, mulling her words for a moment. It would not do to have others overhear their conversation.
"Might we speak privately? I have a matter of some... delicacy that needs fixing."
With any luck, she had spoken softly enough that whatever other customers were in the shop would not have overheard. And she knew there were other customers; she could hear voices from the back, talking over some nonsense or other. She was well out of it, she thought, for she had little patience for the gossip of the ton or many of its insipid participants. Cressida Cowper and her mother sprang to mind. Mayhap she was being overcautious, but better to be slightly coy than to have the wrong ears catch wind of her meaning.
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Apr 21, 2023 16:04:32 GMT
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Post by L on Mar 30, 2021 18:57:54 GMT
Daphne breathed a sigh of relief as she spied the familiar black band proclaiming MODISTE. Though it was the month of December, and a chilly one at that, she could feel sweat beading at her temples from the short walk. Her dress really was that tight. She had not intended to let the situation go this far, but she and Simon had agreed to keep their secret quiet from all, until it could be kept a secret no longer. Now, Lady Whistledown be damned, she was going to get herself a dress that fit. And if that meant that she would have to tell her family precipitously to outfox the gossip hound, then so be it.
She stepped confidently onto the stair and pushed open the door, the tinkle of the bell adding a light-hearted note to the otherwise dreary day. Oh how her sides and back ached. She resisted the urge to place her hands anywhere, lest some prying eye or another spot her. She would not be able to hide her happy news much longer, but neither did she intended to cheat herself or her family out of a single moment of privacy. At least she was almost over her sickness. In all the times that she had been to the shop, never once had there been a vase of heavily scented flowers, yet even the smallest of odors had been enough to send her over the edge in her early days. Jokingly, she had told Simon that it must mean a boy, for everyone knew that boys were trouble right from the start.
Smiling at the memory, she stood in the parlor waiting for Madame Delacroix, that wonderful artiste of scissor, cloth, and stitch, to appear.
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Apr 21, 2023 16:04:32 GMT
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Post by L on Mar 30, 2021 8:32:48 GMT
"Are you well? I know the journey was long."
Blast Benedict and his ability to notice that something was off. No, that was not fair. She knew that he was only asking out of concern. Indeed, if he had only waited another moment or two, she would have appeared greatly improved, the air providing her with much needed fortitude. She took a breath to still her thoughts and verify that the rest of her was back to rights, then shot him a quick smile.
"Absolutely, brother. I am perfectly well." She looked up at the Museum in front of her, its great windows stretching floor to ceiling and shining in the light as though recently cleaned. "This is well too. I thank you for suggesting such a lovely outing." Truly, this would be a highlight for her, having the chance to experience a day of beauty in the company of one of her beloved brothers. Perhaps Benedict would elucidate some of the more obscure aspects of whatever pieces they looked at today. After all, it had been he who suggested the trip.
"Shall we go inside? I am rather earnest to explore, having not visited the Museum for quite some time." She looked at him expectantly. He was the author of today's journey, and he would lead. She was only too glad to follow.
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Apr 21, 2023 16:04:32 GMT
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Post by L on Mar 29, 2021 16:47:30 GMT
Sometimes, Daphne was grateful to have such a large and boisterous family. Surely if Benedict had been her only companion in the library, the day would have devolved into a stunted silence. If only she could have kept her cheeks from flaming, this would all have been lovely. She had not intended to make such a suggestive comment, particularly not in front of her family. Hyacinth had no notion, as was only proper. But Benedict had caught it, unfortunately. Now she would never be able to look at him again. And then Hyacinth -- wonderful, marvelous, vivacious Hyacinth -- had provided such a distraction that it took the attention away from any words Daphne had said. Oh, what a distraction.
Every Bridgerton sibling had some aspect of their mother memorialized in imitation, from her meddling conversation, to the look she gave each of them when they were in the wrong, to the "I do not like your tone" she said when one of them had managed to get the better of her. But Hyacinth... Hyacinth had everything. In an instant, Daphne could see the woman her sister would be in twenty or thirty years time, mothering a barrel-full of children and leading whatever husband she had chosen by the cravat. It made for a splendid imagining, and she found herself giggling at the thought. Poor Mother, she must be at wits end with Hyacinth if this was what she had to deal with day in and day out. At least someone had wrung for tea. Daphne had intended to do it, needing to turn away and perhaps put her hands to use until she could silence her mind and calm her cheeks. She was certain that Benedict had noticed the change in her tone; for certain, he had sat up in a rapid manner. She had no intention, however, of confirming whatever he suspected. And as for Hyacinth, she truly did not wish to explain to her sister why she could not keep her face from turning scarlet.
But Hyacinth had rung, and that was that. All she had left to do was once again bury her face in her book until the trays arrived and hope that by then her features more closely resembled their normal coloring.
"How else am I to find anything out?"
Hyacinth's question hung in the air. If Daphne was lucky, the answer would not be her.
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Apr 21, 2023 16:04:32 GMT
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Post by L on Mar 29, 2021 13:04:27 GMT
It had been too long since she had seen Benedict. She had discovered this the other day whilst looking at her calendar. She could see where she had met with her mother for tea, with a variety of her siblings poking their noses in to pine on some subject or another. But not Benedict. Which was how she found herself making her way to Montagu House, in Bloomsbury if you please, to see her beloved brother. Not that she had any objection to the area itself; as Benedict himself had pointed out not so long ago, there was nothing wrong with people who worked for a living. Bloomsbury was perfectly respectable, it was just a little far to travel by foot from Hastings House. Especially given her condition. At least Simon had not objected to the excursion altogether. Not that he could have truly stopped her, but it was so much the better for all involved when husband and wife were in agreement. And so, she had hopped into a carriage, bundled tight against the blossoming autumnal chill, and ridden off for the Museum.
She closed her eyes against the rocking of the carriage. She had already lost her scant breakfast to the chamber pot, it would not do for her stomach to rebel against her with only tea and a few bits of toast to bring up. No one knew, of course. She and Simon -- and Rose, she supposed -- had sat in their happy, blissful bubble, content to share only with themselves. Eventually, eventually they would tell everyone. For now, though, she would have to press on and pretend that nothing was different. She supposed that looking at beautiful things might help to improve her countenance.
The carriage stopped and she sat up, throwing off the warm blanket she promised to keep with her as she traveled. There were worse things one could have to promise to ensure a bit of freedom, she supposed. Without waiting for the footman to announce that they had arrived, she scrambled through the open door and alighted to the street. The crisp air against her face steadied her, and she drew a deep breath in, smiling. Before her lay the Museum, its wings outstretched in greeting. It was, she thought, a place most welcoming of diversion. This would be a lovely afternoon. She turned to the driver.
"It shall be several hours, I should think."
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Apr 21, 2023 16:04:32 GMT
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Post by L on Mar 29, 2021 11:38:28 GMT
She moaned softly, the sound low and guttural, as Simon's warm fingers played across her skin. It was a most unladylike thing to do, but in their time together Simon had taught her so very many things. Such as letting go of her ladylike sensibilities. He could ask her for anything and she would willingly give it. Anything for this man, for the everything he gave to her. Her back arched slightly of its own accord, her body responding to the love given by her husband. She felt him on her ribcage, dancing along it slowly, gracefully. Teasingly. The flames were beginning to lick at her, growing, inching. And then Simon moved. She mourned the loss of connection, if only for a moment, for the next, he was along her arm, as though they were gracefully moving across a ballroom. It was not enough. Nothing would ever be enough.
She felt, rather than saw, him on her shoulder, the fine black hairs of his face tickling her skin. The pressure of his forehead was light on her cheek, and the vibrations rolled through him into her as he spoke. She shivered, stifling a giggle at the irony. He had caused such a reaction by speaking of her being chilled. And then she stilled. For his lips were on hers, soft at first, then deepening into a most passionate kiss. She reached up to touch his face, her fingers gently running into his hair. He was hot against her exposed skin, presenting a delicious contrast to the room's air that only served to heighten everything she felt.
"Simon." She pulled from him for a second, only to turn and face him fully. "I am quite warm..." It was a teasing statement, she knew. But she was still unfamiliar with how one went presenting opportunities to one's husband. She hoped that he would understand the euphemism, and, if not, that he would understand the hands which were now seeking to unbutton his shirt.
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Apr 21, 2023 16:04:32 GMT
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Post by L on Mar 25, 2021 11:55:10 GMT
This again.
"You say, brother, that the focus is on me. And yet, I cannot imagine for a moment that the focus will not be on you. For I can prance and dance," she winced at the rhyme, but pressed on with her point, "but it is you to whom the men feel they must behave in a most obsequious fashion. You mistake brotherly love for wrapping me in a shroud."
There, she had said it. It was enough that he had pointed out flaws in the male guests at the Danbury Ball, and worse that he had obstinately refused to leave her side even for a moment's breath when callers had arrived that first glorious morning of the season. But now, with the rattle of the wheels and the chafing of her corset whittling away at her nerves, his reiteration of his intentions to stick to her like a burr were enough to put her over the edge. She would not spend more than one season unmarried, and she would not, could not become a spinsters, forever flitting on the edges of a ballroom like a sad sap. She refused.
"Do not take this out of disrespect, Anthony. I do know that you care. But it is one thing to shepherd, and another to hinder. I am not a sheep, but you are a rock, and if you do not stop, I fear that I will be the only woman left standing on the dance floor by her lonesome. Or, Heaven forbid, standing alone with her chaperone, clearly unwanted by any man."
With that, she intended to let the issue rest, unwilling to dig the knife any further. He would see what was needed, or she would make him see. How had this conversation gone so far from the gentle path? She had only desired a small distraction so that she did not scream with impatience. Or rip herself out of her dress.
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Apr 21, 2023 16:04:32 GMT
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Post by L on Mar 25, 2021 11:37:15 GMT
The nerve of this man, talking to her as though she were no more than a petulant schoolboy. She needed no instruction from him. She was a woman grown, long since removed from the embarrassment of leading strings, thank you very much. Briefly, she contemplated sticking her tongue out at him, then shoved the urge away. It would only serve to make his point further. What a patronizing, pompous rake! It was good that they had forged an agreement, for she would have walked away right then and there. Trust Simon to make her feel this way.
“I do believe, Your Grace, that you would know my brother’s boxing skills far better than I.” She raised her chin, putting on what she hoped was a slightly haughty air. “I did not need him to teach me. Indeed, I did not need anyone. I simply learned from experience. And I would rather not repeat it.” Really, if they were to keep the events of that night hidden from the ears of Lady Whistledown — and, therefore, the hungry eyes of the ton — he would need to stop mentioning them.
A grin worked its way onto her face, and she felt her fist curl slightly in its lacy glove.
“Though I must say, it did feel rather good.” She tossed a teasing glance his way. She would never think of hitting him, but he wasn’t to know that.
“And where did you learn to box, Your Grace? Some faraway location no doubt, full of rogues and pirates and the like."
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Apr 21, 2023 16:04:32 GMT
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Post by L on Mar 25, 2021 10:48:12 GMT
It would be so lovely to have her family liven the halls of Clyvedon. Daphne hadn't realized how much she longed for someone to break the silence that would await her when she returned, and her heart lurched slightly as she remembered that the house (if one could call a building the size of a small town a house) might forever remain quiet. She and Simon were on better terms, it was true, but she was still unsure if all had been resolved. And then there was Benedict, being lovingly self-effacing. Of course she wanted her brother to visit. She wanted all of them to visit. Despite all of their scrapes and travails, she loved her family madly. Even Eloise, no matter how much her sister made her want to tear her hair out. Even Gregory, over Hyacinth's protest.
Perhaps they would make use of the dreary winter days to come. She was sure that come the heavy rains, or, Heavens above, snows that might cover her grounds, she would be grateful for the distraction they would bring. Benedict surely would love one of the rooms with huge windows overlooking seemingly everything. She would speak to her husband about such plans when next she saw him. She shifted slightly, stretching her small form into a new position to better catch the light. Her dress caught slightly, tucked into some crevice or other after so long in one place, and she opened her eyes to fix it. She nearly missed Hyacinth's bound to their brother, and did miss whatever she had addressed to him. Clearly it had been something meant for his ears alone, and she suddenly felt as though she were an outsider looking in. It was strange to think that this place which she had called home for her entire life had now become a foreign territory, and she a visitor.
She did not enjoy such melancholy thoughts, particularly not on such a beautiful day.
"Just know, you are welcome at any time, dear brother." She paused, then amended herself, "Well, almost any time." She felt the blush creep into her cheeks as she thought of the reasons for her changed statement. Simon would most definitely require some notice before any member of her family arrived. It would not do for them to witness certain... activities.
"Shall we ring for tea?" Though she asked it as a question, Daphne had already forced herself up, and was moving slowly to the door. Anything to hide the pink in her face.
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