#baronetcies

[ivgxewaqxu]

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#evanesces #retards #Milldale #taper-bored #unexpurgatedly #imaginant #profitters #Gaviae #technostructure #self-seeker #baronetcies #baryons #kamao #narrow-minded #retabulated #soaking #jagirdar #expellers #presolved #Zapata

[johntorrington]

kraken loves to post screencaps i sent to the group chat like they’re his but just know that this is stolen valor

#im in the wikipedia mines looking up the des voeux baronetcy and he’s a fucking grifter #(circus music starts)

[genderdotcom]

i think iris would change her surname to sholmes at some pt after the 2nd game and she would keep it after finding out the truth abt her parentage bc sholmes really is her dad in every way that matters- but i do also think they would figure out some way for her to be legitimately recognised as the daughter of klint van zieks but the problem here is that we just don't have enough information about the van zieks OR baskerville families to be able to guess at what titles or styles, if any, iris would be entitled to and that is really frustrating to me

#hello world #ace attorney #tgaa #if we go by the original story the baskervilles are a baronetcy but tgaa seems to imply theyre higher ranking than that #(and possibly higher than van zieks) #my guess is its all barons but the baskerville barony is older than the van zieks #hence their higher status

[tks0pnf2em]

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#fungating #toad-eat #shlumped #beballed #unorthodoxness #land-metster #baronetcy #declaiming #metalloidal #pseudoskeleton #prismatically #marsupialization #Auca #nonderogatory #gein #man-size #suspensor #trappabilities #infusories #quintetto

[katakaluptastrophy]

Oh no now I'm thinking about the Fourth and the Fifth again and how Jod's awful colonial space feudalism poisons everything.

You are four or five years old. Maybe you're Isaac and you never knew your dad, only that he died at enemy hands in some far flung campaign and six years later you were made to ensure an heir for the baronetcy. Or you're Jeannemary and your mother defied orders, went beyond the rim, and jumped on a grenade. If either of you have surviving parents, they're not considered sufficiently important in this great process of ensuring a suitable heir with a suitable cavalier to keep you. There is no Baron until Isaac comes of age, and the leader of a House needs to be properly trained. You are four or five years old, and you are sent away.

You're five year old Jeannemary. You're not yet sworn to your necromancer, but you've been promised to him since birth and you've been sent away from your planet and your siblings to serve him. You are your generation's Chatur and this is your purpose. And when the cavalier primary of the House you have been sent to sees a little child struggling to see over the table at a reception and props you up with a cushion, you challenge him to a duel. You don't understand why all the adults are laughing. Your honour and your necromancer are all you have left of home. Far away, at the edge of the system, Harrowhark Nonagesimus decides that puppeting her parents' corpses as her House collapses around her is a better fate than yours. At night you are tucked into bed in a room that you don't have to share with any siblings and the man who is looking after you now reads to you from a book of adventure stories and strokes your hair until you fall asleep.

You're nine year old Isaac, swearing to be one flesh, one end with your cavalier in a foreign chapel on a foreign planet. You go to school. The woman who is not quite but almost your mother is helping you to discover spirit magic far beyond the thanergy fission you would have learned at home. She is teaching you to cook and to dance. She tells you that the parts of you which back home would have been considered flaws are your greatest strengths. You have friends and playmates who will never be on the front lines, whose parents write books or engrave stele or organise the bounty of empire from ledgers and transmitter boxes. You are loved and you love, but you are beginning to understand that love comes with a cost.

You are 13 year old Jeannemary. You are back on the Fourth and after last year's bombing you are now cavalier primary. As far as you are concerned, you are grown and ready to serve god and his empire. And you have been denied twice. You don't understand why the people who love you are going to such lengths to stop you from doing what you were born to do or why they have always looked so upset when glorious news comes from home about how someone you would have grown up with, had you not been sent away, has given the ultimate service to the empire. You are cavalier primary of the Fourth House and you fear you are still being propped up on cushions.

You are Isaac Tettares and you are Baron of a planet you spent most of your childhood away from. Everyone else your age long ago shipped out with the Junior Territorials. You are the Baron of a planet but you are not in charge and you have come to understand that your father wasn't in charge either. You love the closest thing you have to parents and they love you. You miss them terribly. You resent the fact that thanks to them you will never truly lead the Fourth. There is talk of a marriage alliance when you are older. You want to be family with them. You don't entirely believe you'll live long enough to marry him when you come of age. And if you do, your half Fifth children will be another crack in what's left of the Fourth House. You miss you dad's stupid jokes and your mum's earnest discussions. You're free of their meddling. You will never be free of their meddling.

You are Jeannemary and Isaac, properly off planet and on display as scion and cavalier for the first time, offered an unimaginable chance to serve god and his empire. You crave the security of your parents. You chafe at the idea that you might be perceived as children. But for a little while you are all together again. You are planning a party. You are making friends. You will all serve the empire together. Perhaps, when you are the fingers and gestures of god, none of these differences will matter any more.

They die horribly. And later so do you. God doesn't care.

#the locked tomb #tlt #isaac tettares #jeannemary chatur #abigail pent #magnus quinn #tlt meta

[dreamcubed]

lover | mattheo riddle x reader

song; lover [taylor swift] pairing; duke!mattheo riddle x fem!baronet's daughter!reader genre; marriage of convenience, s2l, fluff, angst, hurt comfort word count; 9,1k timeline; bridgerton au (again lol) warnings; abusive parents (verbal, neglect, psychological), implied anxiety, panic attacks, near death experience (illness) summary; born into a loveless family, you had been denied the opportunity to marry for many years. that was, until, a duke noticed your situation and gave your parents an offer that they simply couldn't refuse - but would it be a love match?

suggested by @fictionisjustbetter ! (sorry this took so long)

icl mattheo is just so perfect for period aus

masterlist

"all's well that ends well to end up with you."

———————————————

Sir Vincent Malton was a baronet and nothing more. Of course, while being a low title, it was still a part of the aristocracy, which was much better than the alternative. He took his role very seriously, as his father before him had, and his father before him.

So, when the first Lady Malton of his passed during childbirth having sired not an heir, but a daughter, he had arranged for a new wife to marry ready for his first day of it being considered acceptable to be out of mourning. The second Lady Malton of his was more successful in the heir department: during her first pregnancy, she sired twins, both a boy and a girl. And then after two more girls (of separate pregnancies), she had another boy. Sir Vincent Malton then finally felt safe in the security of his baronetcy lineage.

But he never spoke to any of his six children. He left them up to the second Lady Malton, including his firstborn, who was not her blood. Where other ladies would have accepted their stepchildren as their own, Lady Daria Malton did not. As far she was concerned, Y/N was not her child and thus not her problem. But Sir Vincent was a traditional man who saw the children as the mother's business, so she kept up appearances to continue her life of comfort.

Sir Vincent didn't even bother with the marriage mart, instructing his wife to simply inform him when a suitor (with a title) proposed to any one of his daughters. And Lady Malton had - with her own eldest daughter, Samantha, when a baron asked for her hand. He was twice her age, but Lady Malton (like her husband) cared about title more than anything. Samantha was quickly married off to her new life as a baroness.

One thing Sir Vincent didn't know was that Lady Malton had never officially debuted Y/N. She brought her along to more casual soirées that other non-debutantes attended to keep up appearances, but as far as the one-and-twenty-year-old's actual debut - well, it was significantly overdue. The thing was, Y/N had received callers after such events before, but callers were received by the baronetess and not the baronet, and she quickly sent them away. Thus, the actual stage of proposal was never reached, so Lady Malton was by all technicalities following her husband's instruction.

Y/N knew that it was unfair, that her stepmother's abuse was unjust. She didn't see why she couldn't just allow someone to propose and get her out of the home: Lady Malton clearly didn't like her, so why not be rid of her?

But, she supposed, someone like Lady Malton must quite enjoy having a scapegoat around to target their frustrations at.

***

"Last year was a tremendous success by all means," Lady Malton spoke as her lady's maid attended to her corset, "To have Samantha married off in her first year as a debutante was a splendid result."

Y/N subtly rolled her eyes: Samantha was eighteen and her husband almost forty, it really shouldn't have been a permitted pairing. But, her husband was a baron, and title was all Lord & Lady Malton cared for. They couldn't choose to be fussy as the lowest titleholders of the aristocracy.

"Thus, Y/N, I do not wish you to cause any interference," she explained further, glaring at you through her reflection in the mirror, "I am bringing you along to Lady Bridgerton's birthday soirée out of necessity, as she always includes young ladies of whom have not made their debut."

You knew that: you had attended Lady Bridgerton's birthday event the year prior for the same reason.

"Rumour has it the Duke of Covenshire has returned from his travels to the Americas and will be attending tonight," she proceeded, "And it would simply be marvellous if Grace could secure him as a match in her first year as a debutante."

You glanced over at Grace, sat at the dresser as her lady's maid applied her makeup. She was putting on a remarkably brave face, but you could tell that she was nervous: she was too young to debut. After Samantha's success, Lady Malton had felt confident enough to debut Grace at only seven-and-ten. It wasn't entirely uncommon, but typically Mamas waited until their daughters were at least one year older.

Meanwhile you were one-and-twenty and still yet to have your debut. At this rate you would be a spinster before you had even entered the marriage mart.

You looked to your other side at Tia, your youngest sister at fourteen, who was more than thrilled to be allowed to attend that night. You never saw your brothers, really: Vincent (creatively named after your father) was away at Cambridge, and Henry, the youngest of the lot, was away at Eton.

"Right, is the carriage ready?" Lady Malton snapped at one of the servants, who quickly nodded.

And then with a curt bob of her head, the baronetess proceeded over to the door - a silent instruction for her daughters to follow - and they all headed to the front of Malton House, the London lodgings of the family.

***

"Lady Bridgerton! How good to see you," Lady Malton beamed at the dowager viscountess, "Such a lovely soirée."

"Why thank you, Lady Malton," the kind woman replied, "Pleased to see all your daughters could make it."

"Oh, is Samantha here already?"

"I believe Lady Halterton is over there," Lady Bridgerton vaguely pointed in a direction, "But how are all the Miss Maltons?"

"Grace is excited to make a match this year," the poor girl was pushed forward, "With any luck, she shall follow in her sister's footsteps."

"And what of the oldest Miss Malton?"

You looked up and gave Lady Bridgerton a hesitant smile.

"You know how Y/N is - still doesn't want to debut," Lady Malton sighed, "At this rate she shall be a spinster before even trying for marriage. But, we love her and support her decisions."

You scoffed internally, wanting nothing more than to blaspheme at your stepmother in that moment.

The conversation with Lady Bridgerton wrapped up and the focus then became the considering of various potential suitors. It was the first social event that you had the privilege of attending since the year prior, so you fully planned to savour the moments you were free from the house.

And then the room hushed into whispers as the door opened, it being remarkably noticeable how all the ambitious eyes of the Mamas zoned in on one particular man gracing the room with his presence.

"That's him- that's the duke!" Lady Malton whispered, mainly to Grace, but anyone close by could have heard her.

"Gosh, he's handsome," Tia mumbled to your left, "Shame I'm too young."

You kept your eyes glued on to the pale man with curly brown hair gelled somewhat neatly. His eyes were narrowed like that of a cat's, and his very presence commanded authority - yet he was polite to every hopeful Mama who approached him. Dismissive, but polite.

"Ah, Lady Bridgerton," he spoke, near enough to you for you to hear his gruff monotone voice as he bent over to kiss the dowager viscountess's hand, "Thank you for the invitation, and happy birthday."

"It is an honour you attended, your grace."

The man nodded, chatting to her for a few moments longer as the noise and bustle returned to the room, so you couldn't hear the rest of it.

"Now is our chance," your stepmother said as the duke's conversation wrapped up. She quickly sped towards him. "Your grace!"

The duke paused, and half-turned so he was fully facing your brood.

"Lady Malton, Baronetess of Catury," she curtsied, "And this is my daughter, Grace," she gestured towards the girl.

When his eyes flicked to Tia, she hurried to introduce her, but when his eyes flicked to you, she remained silent.

"And you are?" he inquired.

Your eyes widened: you were rarely spoken to, "Y/N- Miss Y/N Malton," you corrected.

"Don't pay her any mind, your grace," your stepmother quickly said, pinching you in the side as subtly as she could which made you flinch - as it always did. You didn't notice the way the duke's beady eyes followed the interaction. "She isn't a debutante."

"She looks old enough to be." He was clearly referencing the fact you obviously had a few years on Grace.

"It is her own choice."

You couldn't help the scowl that itched at your eyebrows, and the duke couldn't help but notice it.

"Would you care for a dance with Grace?"

The duke's eyes flicked over your sister again, "I have no intentions of dancing this evening- if you excuse me."

And with that, he departed, just to be ambushed by yet another Mama.

Your stepmother turned and glared at you, "You ruined Grace's chances."

"I didn't do anything," you said simply.

"You spoke. You know you're not supposed to."

"He asked me a question."

"I respond to the questions about you."

"Mama," Grace interrupted, shooting you a sympathetic look, "Is that the Earl of Kilmartin over there?"

Lady Malton's head snapped in that direction, "So it is! He has returned from India."

You couldn't be more grateful to Grace for the distraction.

***

"Saunders," the duke, Mattheo, called from his work study in Riddle Manor, his London residence. It was merely a couple hours after he had returned from Lady Bridgerton's soirée.

The secretary hurried into the office, "Yes, your grace?"

"What do you know of the Malton family?"

Saunders paused, "Sir Vincent Malton?"

Mattheo nodded.

"He is married to Dame Daria Malton and has six children. He attended Eton and Cambridge, studying history."

"And of his children?"

"Two sons and four daughters, I believe."

"And what of Miss Y/N Malton?"

The secretary immediately recognised the name, "She is the oldest, your grace. She is one-and-twenty and well-known for not having debuted yet."

Mattheo frowned, leaning back in his chair, "Is there a way in which she is different from her siblings?"

"I-" the secretary thought for a moment, "I believe she has a different mother than her younger siblings, if that's what you mean."

"Lady Malton is not her mother?"

"Well, yes and no. The current Lady Malton is not her mother, but the Lady Malton before her was. She passed in childbirth, I believe."

Mattheo hummed, "I see."

"Is that all, your grace?"

"Prepare the carriage to journey to Malton House tomorrow morning, Saunders, and locate my mother's engagement ring."

Saunders' eyes widened, but he quickly nodded, "Of course, your grace."

Nothing made Mattheo angrier than cruel parents.

***

Lady Malton and Grace were up bright and early the next day, as all debutantes and their Mamas were after a social event. They were to dress in some of their nicer but not so fancy attire ready to sit in the upstairs drawing room in await for any callers they may receive in the downstairs drawing room. You, however, stayed tucked nicely into bed until a more reasonable hour, since your stepmother certainly wouldn't want to catch sight of you until lunchtime - if then.

Still, you rose from your slumber at around eleven o'clock and called for your lady's maid, getting dressed in a simple baby blue piece that you had purchased a few years ago. You rarely got new dresses under Lady Malton's reign.

"I'll take my breakfast in here, please, Melinda," you smiled.

***

The Duke of Covenshire had been up at an exceptionally early hour, having taken a ride on his favourite stallion at sunrise, to then return to his city house and retreat to his office for a few hours accompanied by some breakfast.

He was still there at eleven o'clock.

"Your grace," Saunders began after having knocked on the door, "The carriage is ready for you."

"And the ring?" the duke inquired.

"Here," the secretary presented it, "It was still safely in the dowager duchess's bed chamber."

Mattheo had seen no point in keeping it anywhere else since that room had remained unoccupied for quite some time now.

"Excellent," he murmured, "Now, let us make haste."

***

It wasn't a long journey to Malton House, so really it was no time at all by the time that the Covenshire carriage pulled up to the smaller but still grand home. There were two or three other carriages parked outside, likely belonging to other potential suitors.

Mattheo wasn't worried: he was a duke, after all, and the Maltons were merely baronets. They would jump at the opportunity to marry a daughter off to be a duchess.

After knocking on the door, he was greeted by a short balding man with a seemingly permanently curved eyebrow.

"Here for Miss Malton?" he asked.

"Yes," Mattheo replied, although he had a feeling they weren't referring to the same one.

"Name?"

"Mattheo Riddle, Duke of Covenshire."

The butler's eyes widened, "Right this way, your grace."

Mattheo was led through the hallway into the downstairs drawing room, where Lady Malton and Grace were perched on an orange settee. On the other side of Grace sat an older gentleman, meanwhile on the settee sat across from them were two others. One of them was roughly the same age as the first, whereas the other was much younger - closer to Grace's age.

"Your grace," Lady Malton instantly said, shooting up to curtsy.

"Lady Malton," Mattheo nodded, "May I speak with Sir Vincent?"

"Yes, yes, of course," the baronetess said with widened eyes, "I'll go fetch him at once."

Typically she would have sent a servant to complete such a task, but clearly the shock had consumed her to the point she sprung into action. Once she had departed the room, Mattheo turned his eyes to Grace and the other three gentlemen who were all staring at him curiously.

"Who are you gentlemen?" he asked.

"Edward Cann, Viscount of Sancourt," one of the older gentlemen introduced.

"Gareth Warner," the other older one spoke.

Mattheo couldn't help but question the audacity of an older man to pursue the hand of such a young woman when he didn't even possess a title. Still, his eyes turned to the youngest man.

"Sir Charles Robinson, Baronet of Rackney."

"And how old are you?" his eyes were still on Charles.

"Twenty, your grace."

Mattheo hummed, that was more appropriate for Grace. Unusual for a man to seek a wife at such an age, but not unheard of.

"Lord Cann and Mr Warner," he began, and they perked up at his address, "May I ask what the devil men of your age are doing pursuing such a young woman?"

They were clearly taken aback by his blunt honesty, as were the servants littered around the room.

"I certainly will have to rethink my family's business with your estates in light of such news."

And with apologies to Grace and Mattheo, the two older gentlemen quickly vanished from the room, moments before the Lord & Lady of the house made an appearance.

"Your grace," Sir Vincent spoke, holding out his hand, which Mattheo shook, "To what do I owe the honour?"

"May we proceed to a more private location?"

"Of course, right this way."

"Your presence won't be required any longer, Sir Charles," Lady Malton said, clearly confused at the absence of the two other gentlemen.

Mattheo interrupted, "Oh, I'm sure it will, Lady Malton. I wouldn't dismiss the young gentleman."

Before she could ask what he meant, he was being led out the drawing room and to the baronet's office.

"I believe you know what I am here for," Mattheo stated simply, after declining the offer of brandy.

"I shouldn't want to get my hopes up, your grace."

"I would like your daughter's hand in marriage."

Sir Vincent nodded, "Of course, I shall dower her fairly-"

"Unnecessary. I have no use for a dowry, no matter the size."

"Oh- okay," the baronet paused, "Which daughter is this?"

Mattheo almost frowned: was Sir Vincent not aware of his daughter's status in society? Perhaps he left such matters up to his wife.

"Miss Y/N Malton."

"You're the first suitor that we have received for her."

The duke's breath hitched.

"This is such a relief - of course, we will arrange the wedding right away."

"I would like to marry her quickly," Mattheo said, "We will need to procure a special license."

Sir Vincent nodded, "Whatever you wish, your grace. It is an honour to be your father-in-law."

Mattheo turned to leave after saying his thanks, but paused and faced the baronet again, "You should definitely consider Sir Charles Robinson to marry Miss Grace Malton, he is a fine young man."

The baronet was clearly confused at such a statement, but absently nodded nonetheless.

***

You had been shocked when your father called you down to the drawing room: you couldn't remember the last time that he had requested your presence. Not that he requested your sisters' presences either, you were pretty sure your brother Vincent was the only of his children he spoke to.

"Excellent news for our family," he began, with Lady Malton looking thrilled at what she expected him to say, "Excellent news indeed."

You almost rolled your eyes, expecting that you had simply been called down to receive the announcement of Grace's engagement.

"The Duke of Covenshire has proposed."

Lady Malton stood up, "This is fabulous news! Well done, Grace."

"No," Sir Vincent silenced his wife, "Well done, Y/N."

Your head snapped up.

What?

"Whatever do you mean, Father?"

"His grace has asked for your hand in marriage," you had never seen your father so happy, "And naturally I accepted."

Lady Malton stood in absolute horror.

"I was beginning to become worried about your lack of proposals," he continued, unaware of his wife's reaction, "But clearly God was holding out in await for this massive surprise."

"But- what about Grace?" Lady Malton finally spluttered out.

"I am in the process of discussing that matter with Sir Charles Robinson, the duke recommended him himself."

You noticed the way Grace smiled to herself at that and looked abashedly to the ground. Clearly she was happy with such an arrangement - had the duke known that and so used his influence to help her?

"His grace wishes to be married quickly."

And thus, at the end of the week, you were married.

***

You had no idea what a honeymoon night was supposed to entail. Typically, a Mama would give a bride-to-be 'the talk' the night before her wedding, but Lady Malton would never do such a motherly thing for you. Thus, you were left completely clueless.

Plus, apart from the exchange of your vows, you had hardly spoken to the duke before, so you really didn't know where the evening was going to take you as you stepped out of the carriage outside Riddle Manor. You were both to spend the night in his London home before beginning the three day journey to his countryside residence the next day. It was a typical agenda for newly weds.

You were introduced to the various staff, including your new lady's maids - you now had two of them, as opposed to one - before you were both led through to the dining room. Your eyes fell on the long dining table, with the two distanced ends laid and nothing more.

You grimaced.

"Is salmon not to your tastes?" your husband asked you.

"Tis a very formal set up," you explained simply, but said nothing more as you assumed one of the seats.

"I mostly take dinner in my work study, so this will be a rare occurrence."

You ate the entire meal in silence, and then it was time to be shown your bed chambers.

"This is the duchess' chamber," he gestured to the door, "You may redecorate it however you so wish."

You hummed.

"My chamber is next door - we have an adjoining door, of course."

You said nothing.

"Are you going to enter?"

"But what of our consummation?" you asked.

Mattheo paused - he hadn't expected you to be so blunt.

"Lady Malton did not give me a talk like she was supposed to," you explained, somewhat shyly, "I do not know what is meant to happen, but I know that something must."

"Right," he said slowly, "We will consummate."

***

You lay awake in bed next to the duke the next morning, unable to get the memories of the night prior out of your head. Never would you have guessed that that was how babies were made, something that felt so heavenly, so good. But, you were also confused, many women muttered about it in fear, as if their consummation was unenjoyable.

Perhaps it differed with each man. Regardless, with Mattheo, it was completely and entirely soul-consuming, and you wished to experience it a countless number of times over.

A knock sounded on the door, "Your graces, breakfast is ready."

Mattheo was still sound asleep, "We'll take it in here," you replied.

You weren't used to having power in a household.

Also, how did the servant know you weren't in the duchess' bed chamber?

Mattheo woke up once the servants had wheeled in the breakfast selection, and once you were both loosely dressed, you began eating. It was then that he began speaking.

"Now is as good a time as any to set out the details of this marriage," he said, making you look up from your eggs, "I married you because I can't stand when parents mistreat their children."

Your heart warmed at that: he had noticed how Lady Malton treated you?

"I do not intend for love, but obviously at some point there will need to be an heir," he said, "You may have conceived last night, but it is unlikely. In the probable case that you haven't, we can wait a couple years to produce one should you so wish."

You thought over what he was saying - perhaps part of you had hoped that he had fallen in love with you at first sight, but you knew that was childish. This was a marriage of convenience.

"I only have one condition when it comes to children," you said slowly.

"Which is?"

"That you are an involved father," you said, "Like the Bridgertons are known for being."

Memories flashed through Mattheo's mind of his childhood: his father's coldness and distance all throughout the years until he returned from Cambridge a grown man. Only then did the late duke want anything to do with his son.

"I shall be involved," he said.

***

You couldn't look Mattheo in the eyes, you soon realised. He scared you, not in the way that Lady Malton had, but in a way you didn't quite understand. He made you nervous, made you unable to speak more than a few words at a time. Not that you did speak much: the entire journey to Covenshire Hall had been very much one of silence. The only sound to accompany you was the wheels and hooves against the cobbled roads.

The nights were spent in inns, in separate bed chambers.

Covenshire Hall was enormous: far bigger than the Catury estate that you had spent half your childhood on. It made sense, obviously, you were no longer a mere baronet's daughter, but a duchess.

"Your graces," the butler greeted you as you stepped out the carriage, "Welcome."

"Dantle," Mattheo replied, "Gather all the servants in the entrance hall."

"Right away, your grace."

The man disappeared inside, and you soon had entered through the same doors that he had, to be greeted by the largest entry room that you had ever seen. Symmetrical stairs curved around the walls either side of you, carpeted in plush blue velvet. The walls were decorated in a branch-design, but the once deep maroon colour had faded over time: it was evident to you that there hadn't been a lady of the house in quite a few years.

And then, quite quickly, the room filled with lines of house staff - more than you had ever seen for one household before. You were introduced to them all, including the primary housekeeper, Ms Godley. She was an older woman, with mostly grey hair that still held evidence of her brunette days, and a lightly wrinkled face that seemed more to do with the permanent pursing of her lips rather than age. Her eyebrows were ghastly thin, much like the rest of her, which could only be described as bony. She wore a pleated black dress down to her ankles, suggesting that she was in mourning.

You smiled politely at her, but she did not return it.

"I will leave you in her capable hands," your husband said to you, "She will provide a tour of the grounds."

"Where are you going?" you couldn't help but ask.

"My office."

You watched as he left, before turning back to Ms Godley.

"Where shall we begin?" you asked, attempting to be friendly.

***

You didn't like Ms Godley - not one bit. She reminded you of your stepmother, except this time you didn't even have younger siblings to provide a distraction. It was quite evident that she wasn't particularly fond of you either, although you had no idea what you could have done.

"This is the nursery," the woman said tightly, "It has been empty for some years now."

Gazing around the room of faded yellows and purples, you were cast back to when you were in your nursery, though you always got the short end of the stick when it came to beds. Nonetheless, it had been a relatively pleasant time for you, back when your sisters were too young to notice that Lady Malton treated you differently, so you would all play together as children do.

You didn't want any of your children to feel left out.

"Your grace," Ms Godley said curtly, "We don't have all day."

You sighed, exiting the room.

***

Loneliness was a familiar emotion to you, so a week of solitude in Covenshire Hall wasn't all that much of a change from your old life, other than the fact you now had servants waiting on your hand and foot. Although, you were growing quite bored: at least with the Maltons, you were always distracted by gauging your stepmother's mood.

You decided that you needed a distraction, and since the prestigious house was in desperate need of a fresh lick of paint, you landed on redecorating.

"You called for me, your grace?" Ms Godley stood before you in the duchess' office that you had taken to using regularly.

"Yes," you stood up, walking around your desk, "I have a matter to discuss with you."

It took everything in you to act courageous in front of a woman so similar to Lady Malton.

"I wish to redecorate the house," you said simply.

By some miracle, Ms Godley's lips pursed even more.

"Starting with the entrance hall - since that is the first room guests see, then-"

"No."

You paused - was she allowed to say that to you? "No?"

"No. This estate is not a part of your lineage, you have no right to tamper with it."

The amount of bravery that it had taken for you to have this conversation with her, just for her to pull a line that sounded so eerily similar to Lady Malton's.

"I am the lady of the house," you said, but it was obvious you weren't speaking as surely of yourself as moments prior.

"The dowager duchess was never permitted to redecorate either," she said, "And I imagine that the late duke would especially not want somebody as measly as a baronet's daughter interfering with his heritage."

You stood in shock for a few moments, eventually managing to splutter out, "You are excused."

Once she was gone, you finally gave in to the panic consuming you, feeling your breath beginning to dramatically labour and push against your corset. You felt trapped, suffocated, like you had your entire childhood, and you didn't like it. You had to escape.

So, you did.

You weren't running away by any means: you just needed fresh air, and the woods on the Covenshire grounds seemed perfect to hide away for a while. Just a couple days ago, you had taken a walk through them. Of course, that was on one of the paths that navigated between the trees, this time you simply started running straight ahead once you breached the tree line.

But you could only go so far when you had to hitch up your thick heavy skirts to make progress, so it wasn't long before you collapsed against a tree, your lungs pounding against your rib cage which were in turn pounding against your corset.

It was then that floods poured out of your eyes and down your cheeks, leaving a sticky, puffy trail behind.

You should have known better.

Just because you were a duchess didn't mean you suddenly had control over your own life.

You failed to notice the looming grey clouds gathering above, up until the sky thundered, and the familiar trickle of heavy rain commenced.

***

Mattheo was sat in his office, going over estate finances, when a knock sounded on the door.

"Your grace?"

He hated being interrupted during work, but still said a grumbled, "Come in."

"I am so sorry to disturb you, your grace," Dantle said, bowing his head, "But the duchess appears to be missing."

Mattheo's head shot up, "Missing, you say?"

"Ms Godley was the last one to speak to her, approximately two hours ago."

"Where has she gone?" the duke was now standing up.

Dantle appeared uncomfortable, "I do not know, your grace. Apparently she ran down into the woods."

"Ran?" Mattheo felt his blood boil, "Have you gone out to look for her?"

"No, your grace, the storm-"

"The storm?" he saw red, "The bloody storm?" He then let out a sound somewhat adjacent to a growl before pushing past Dantle out his office.

He was going to find his wife.

***

You probably had pneumonia or something at this rate, you thought to yourself. Your body was completely freezing and soaked, and your lack of cloak was becoming apparent as a massive problem in terms of your well-being. You should have gone back inside the second the rain started, but that was when you were still in the depths of your upset. It wasn't until you were too cold to move did you calm down a bit more.

To be honest, you were about ready to accept your fate.

"Y/N!" a faint cry came from nearby, and as much as you wanted to call out and alert them of your location, your voice was weak.

By some miracle, the man - your husband - managed to locate you.

"Y/N, oh, God," he blasphemed, "Are you okay? What are you doing out here?"

You couldn't even reply.

Mattheo scooped you up into his arms and began making haste back towards the mansion that you shared.

"Stay with me," he murmured at irregular intervals, right up until you felt the warmth of a fireplace hit you on the cheeks. You were in your bed chamber, you realised, upon noticing the faded floral pink wall decor.

Your skin was so numb you hardly felt your husband begin to peel off all items of your clothing, including your undergarments. Typically, you would have felt embarrassed, but you were completely spent.

As he picked you up again and carried you through to the bathroom, where a bath had been prepared, you couldn't help but curl into him.

"I ordered it be run before I went to find you," he said softly - the softest you had ever heard him speak.

The warmth of the water felt heavenly.

"What happened, darling?"

You shivered, this time not because of the cold, but because of the nickname.

"Godley," you forced out between your blue lips.

"Ms Godley? What did she do?" he asked as he began to wet your hair.

"I wan- wanted to redecorate the house," your teeth were chattering, "She said I couldn't change anything."

Mattheo said nothing.

"It's- it's the way she said it," you clarified, not wanting him to think you were a brat who had simply been told 'no', "She was so mean."

"How did she say it?" you didn't miss the edge to his voice that hadn't been there before.

"She said it would upset the- the late duke - and that- that he especially wouldn't want a measly baronet's daughter to-" you choked on re-emerging sobs, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, my love," you felt him press a kiss to your forehead, "I will handle this."

***

After you had warmed up in the bath and been wrapped up in thick clothing, Mattheo gently escorted you to one of the larger drawing rooms, where, to your horror, every single staff member of the house was gathered. Including Ms Godley.

"It has come to my attention that the duchess is not receiving the respect she deserves in this household," your husband sent an icy glare in the housekeeper's direction, "As the lady of the house, it is her right to decorate our rooms however she so pleases."

Ms Godley's lips pursed.

"The redecoration that her grace desires will commence immediately," Mattheo gave a forced smile, "Follow her every instruction. Any questions?"

"What of the late duke?" Ms Godley asked.

"What of a man of whom is dead?"

"Surely you should respect his wishes."

"How I choose to treat my father's wishes is none of your concern, Ms Godley. You are overstepping."

The old woman opened her mouth to say something, but decidedly shut it before saying, "My apologies, your grace."

"Apologise to my wife as well."

"My apologies," Ms Godley gave a stiff curtsy.

You had been glancing nervously between your husband and the housekeeper throughout the entire exchange, feeling overwhelmingly put on the spot. It was the second after Ms Godley apologised to you that your chest tightened and you erupted in a coughing fit.

"Darling?" Mattheo asked worriedly as you fell forward.

"Can't- breathe-" you choked out.

You felt a hand press to your forehead.

"She's overheating," the duke said loudly, "Help me get her to bed. And call the doctor."

Murmurs of, "Right away, your grace," came in reply.

"You're going to be okay," Mattheo said softly to you as he picked you up for the millionth time that day, "You must be."

***

The doctors concluded that you were pneumonic, which had been what everyone suspected but were too scared to say in front of you. But, you weren't an idiot, and understood what your symptoms meant.

There was a good chance that you would die.

It was dark outside: it often was when you came to from your fever dream episodes, for a few minutes of painful consciousness. You lurched up in bed, quickly producing horrific gurgling coughs and splutters, unable to stop yourself from groaning in pain in between. Tears pricked at your eyes as you placed a hand on your chest, your blurred vision just about making out the duke running in from the door between your bed chambers.

Mattheo grabbed the cloth from your bedside table and dipped it into the pot of water placed for this occasion, hurrying to press it to your burning forehead. You let out a brief sigh of relief, before you began coughing again.

He rubbed your back, "You can get through this."

You weren't sure if you could, in fact, you felt deathly, as it were. But, your husband's words gave you a sense of strength and hope, and it was all you could do but nod after the coughing subsided.

"If- if I make it," you murmured, falling back on to the pillows. Your voice was low and cracked. "Please- may we go to London?"

"Whatever for?"

"I..." you trailed off, "I would like to make friends."

And before Mattheo could question you further, you drifted back into unconsciousness and shallow breathing.

***

It was three days later, on a chilly but sunny morning, when you awoke naturally instead of being forced awake by coughs. Your breathing felt stronger, and you weren't overheating, which was the best feeling you had felt in forever.

You heard voices outside your door.

"Is she doing any better, your grace?" who you assumed to be the doctor asked.

"We were about to check," your husband's familiar voice replied.

The door opened, and you blinked a few times to clear your vision as the two men approached you.

"Mattheo," you said softly, your words still sore to speak.

"You're awake," he said simply, pressing his hand to your forehead. The physical contact comforted you.

"How do you feel?" the doctor asked.

"Better."

He raised his eyebrows, "In what way?"

"Every way."

He performed a more thorough examination, and concluded that while you likely still had a couple more days of illness, you had pushed through the worst of it and were well on your way to recovery. You were relieved to hear that, but even more relieved to finally be able to take a bath and and cleanse yourself.

"You wanted to return to London," Mattheo said simply at dinner that night, as he was taking it in your room with you.

"I said that?" you asked. You knew that it was what you wished to do, you just couldn't recall mentioning it to your husband.

He hummed, "While you were feverish."

He had been taking care of you?

"Well, yes- I wish to finally have a social circle."

"You mentioned that also."

You said nothing.

"Once you are fully returned to health, we shall make the journey," he said simply.

You couldn't help but beam, "Really?"

"Really."

"Thank you- thank you so much."

He shook his head, as if to say 'don't thank me'.

"I'm so glad you're my husband."

Mattheo chuckled, "I'll take care of you no matter what, darling."

***

Two weeks later, and the doctor had determined that you were back to being healthy and thus your convalescence was able to come to an end. It was then arranged for you and Mattheo to return to London for the remainder of the season but three days later, once you would have passed an appropriate honeymoon duration. While you were terribly excited to be able to properly socialise, you were also nervous. For one, your stepmother would be there, and for two, you weren't that experienced with the correct customs for socialising. The only comforting factor was that your husband would be there with you: a man who you held a lot of adoration for, and felt an immense amount of comfort from.

After the pneumonia episode, he hadn't distanced himself quite so much. Granted, you still hadn't engaged in your wedding night type of intimacy again yet, but you ate meals together, and frequently found yourself wandering over to his bed chamber in the night. The first time you had done it, it had been most nerve-wracking.

It had been a few days since you had snapped out of the fever dream episode, and were feeling much more energetic. Unfortunately, you had also been dealing with bouts of insomnia, which you suspected had something to do with your fear of falling asleep and re-entering the fever dream. Like usual, you found yourself up at the early hours of the morning, only the exhaustion was catching up to you and you could feel your chest tighten as hysteric panic began to set in.

Before you completely freaked out, you forced yourself up and over to the adjoining door, aiming to seek comfort from Mattheo even if the prospect of doing so petrified you. He stirred the second that you entered the room, at least it appeared like he did from what you could make out in the shadows. "Y/N?" he murmured.

You let out a sob.

"Come here," he said without hesitation and you gladly obliged, finding that you could finally drift into a slumber once in his arms.

And, thus, you went to him whenever you couldn't sleep.

But, now, you were in the carriage back to London, with your hands folded neatly in your lap and your husband sat across from you. You weren't sure why, but there was an awkward silence present.

***

Mattheo was conflicted.

He didn't know why he cared so deeply for you, why he was so willing to aid you whenever you were in need.

A strangled, screaming part of himself deep inside knew exactly why he felt how he did, but the part of him that he listened to feigned ignorance and told him it was simply expected of him to take care of his wife.

But the thing that confused him the most was the fact he felt the urge to tell you about his childhood, about his father, and about the lack of family and love he had endured. Why would he want to tell you such personal information that didn't even matter any longer, since the cause of it was dead?

Why did you make him feel this way?

"Mattheo?" he looked up at you sat opposite him. Your voice sounded small and timid.

"Yes?"

"Are you mad at me?"

He could have sworn he actually felt the searing pain of his heart breaking at that moment. He wasn't sure he was capable of being mad at you. "Of course not, why ever would you think that?"

You gave a gentle shrug, "You're quieter than normal."

"I'm often quiet." It was true: he was often regarded as a grumpy and brooding individual.

"Yes," you said tightly, "But not like this."

It stunned him how easily you could read him, but, then again, maybe he had never been close enough to anyone for them to know him. Maybe his emotions were obvious to anyone who cared enough to try and figure them out.

"Do you not wish to return to London?"

Mattheo paused for a moment. He hadn't put any thought into whether or not he wanted to go back to the capital, but initially it seemed like an obvious answer since he had always despised the season. Overbearing Mamas and their brood of debutante daughters were his idea of hell, but now he felt different. He realised that he did in fact want to go to London, not just because he was now married and off the Mamas' radar, but because you wanted to go. Mattheo was faced with the overwhelming realisation that he simply wanted to do whatever you wanted to do.

"Oh, dear, you don't, do you? We can turn around," you said quickly, making him snap out of his thoughts.

"No," he rushed to say, "We shall go to London."

"But you don't want to go."

"I do."

"But-"

"We are going, and that's final."

You opened your mouth to say something more, but decided against it, and turned your gaze to out the window.

The rest of the journey was silent.

***

"We need to discuss the rules for our time here," Mattheo said once you had settled into Riddle Manor for some dinner.

"We do?"

He hummed, "I will not be attending every social event we are invited to."

"But- people will think our marriage is rocky if you're not with me. The ton will talk, they always do."

"I said not every social event," he reminded, "I will attend some."

"You have to attend the first one," you said, "That one is the most important."

Mattheo agreed, "Of course, but from then on, it will be events here and there. You are welcome to attend alone."

You deflated a bit, but nodded your head, "Maybe we can host a ball at some point."

His eyebrows raised. Riddle Manor hadn't been the location of a ball in almost thirty years - there had been no lady of the house to host it.

"Perhaps," he replied pensively.

***

The next social event, to Mattheo's great horror, was the infamous Smythe-Smith musicale. Otherwise known as a torturous cacophony of four tone-deaf girls of whom were trusted with instruments that should have undoubtably never been allowed within five feet of them. You had heard what the quartet were like, having never attended yourself, and - honestly - you were rather excited to finally be a part of an inside joke of the ton that you had been left out of. Your husband was not nearly so enthusiastic, having attended exactly twice before, but not for a good many years.

Unfortunately, as selfish a woman as Lady Malton was, she was more than willing to sacrifice her hearing in order to secure impressive marriages for all of her (biological) daughters. So, you weren't surprised to enter the Smythe-Smith ballroom and see her stood with Grace closely by her side.

"Introducing, the Duke and Duchess of Covenshire," the man stood by the door announced, making your half-sister and stepmother quickly turn their attentions in your direction.

You squeezed Mattheo's arm tightly, to which he patted your hand and nodded when your family members approached.

"Your grace," Lady Malton gave a gentle curtsy - to Mattheo, not you, "How fares your marriage?"

It was a question that bordered on the edge of improper for polite society. "Most excellent," the duke replied coolly, making you smile to yourself.

Lady Malton gave the politest smile her sour face could muster.

"What brings you here?" Mattheo asked, trying to gauge why Lady Malton would put herself through the Smythe-Smith musicale with no daughters on the marriage mart.

"Marriage prospects, of course."

"Is Miss Grace Malton not engaged to Sir Charles?" he asked.

"Well- uh- yes."

The duke raised an eyebrow at the woman, and you must say that you were thoroughly enjoying this interaction.

"They shall be married at the end of the week," she said reluctantly, "But until the vows are complete, things can change."

That was when you realised: Lady Malton was praying on securing a last-minute proposal from someone of a higher status than Sir Charles. If it meant marrying into more wealth and more powerful connections, surely your father would agree to it.

"You should come to the wedding," Grace blurted out, "We thought you would still be in the country, so we didn't send an invitation."

You knew the real reason that you hadn't received an invitation was because Lady Malton would have taken control of all the wedding arrangements, and you were most certainly not on her invite list. But, she couldn't revoke the invitation to the duke's face and in a public setting, so she forced herself to smile and agree.

"That would be lovely," you beamed, purposefully showing as much enthusiasm as possible, simply to upset your stepmother, "Now, if you excuse us, I wish to secure front row seats."

Multiple people around you stared at you like you were insane - they just wouldn't understand your motivations.

"Trust me, front row seats are never the ones that need to be fought for here," Mattheo whispered to you as you both moved over to the rows of chairs set up.

You shrugged, "You're sitting with me whether you like it or not."

"Ah, Lady Danbury," he spoke as you came face to face with the renowned old woman sat in the very central front seat.

"Your grace," she raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Come to enjoy the musicale?" your husband asked, the sarcastic undertone impossible to miss - at least to you.

"But, of course," Lady Danbury smiled, "I attend every year."

You desperately wanted to enter the conversation, but you didn't know how.

"You're the eldest Miss Malton, aren't you?" she said towards you, making you freeze on the spot.

"Uh, yes - Lady Riddle now, actually."

She hummed, waving her cane around despite being sat, "Yes, Duchess of Covenshire. Quite grand, no?"

You awkwardly smiled.

The dowager countess turned her attentions back to Mattheo, "I must admit, I didn't think you would marry for quite some time, your grace."

"Nor did I," he simply replied, which for some reason, slightly hurt you. You had inconvenienced his life: you were a burden to him as a result of him being a good person.

"I fear that love does tend to have the effect of uprooting our lives," Lady Danbury said wistfully, a gentler emotion than you had ever witnessed on her from afar at the few social gatherings you had been allowed at.

Love.

"I only wish I had been so lucky as to have had it been with my husband."

You looked up in surprise. To be honest, you knew very little of the dowager countess' life: she had been a widow for as long as you had been alive, so it was hard to imagine her having a husband. All you knew was that she was widowed very young, and chose to never remarry. Part of you had assumed that it was because of how much she loved her husband, like the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton. It was clear now that you were wrong, but you knew better than to pry.

"Alas, let us enjoy this musicale," she said with a glint in her eye, "It is meant to be a joyous occasion, after all."

You knew she said it sarcastically, but, for you, this was indeed a joyous occasion. You were more than thrilled to finally be a part of London society - the ton.

Sparing a glass in Mattheo's direction, you were surprised to see that he was already looking at you.

***

The duke did not attend another social event with you for the rest of the week, but almost every night you were out. It was strange, not needing to be chaperoned as a married woman, but you quite enjoyed it.

The first two events alone you spent as a wallflower - albeit a married one - which weren't so enjoyable. But, once people realised that the Duchess of Covenshire was present at the social events, you began attracting a lot of attention from fellow ladies who aspired to be friends with someone of such a powerful status. Soon, you were mingling with the ton as if you had always done so, although your social skills were still inept. Thankfully, most were willing to overlook this due to you being a duchess.

Then, your sister's wedding came around, and it meant that you would have your second outing with your husband accompanying you. That made you more excited than you were willing to admit.

"Blue is most becoming on you," Mattheo spoke from behind you, making you jump. You hadn't heard him enter your bed chamber.

"Thank you," you replied, "I had it tailored on Tuesday."

"How much?"

You blanched - it had been quite expensive. You had felt guilty at the time, but found it difficult to say no to the Madam who had been dressing you.

"Darling, you are free to spend my money, I am simply curious," he reassured you, "My wife deserves only the best, after all."

Butterflies swarmed in your stomach. Was it normal - for you to feel this way towards your husband when it was merely a marriage of convenience? You were snapped out of your thoughts when he moved closer to you and began kissing along your neck.

"Mattheo," you murmured.

He hummed, "Shame you're already dressed," and then he reluctantly pulled back, "But, we must depart now anyway."

That was the first hint you had received that he wanted to repeat the intimacies of your consummation. And it made your skin feel hot and prickly.

***

Your half-sister was a gorgeous bride: her elegant dress matching her eye colour and making her glistening smile seem bright. It was obvious that she was elated to be with Sir Charles, the incredibly young baronet who hung off her every word. One could only describe it as a love match.

"Thank you," you said to Mattheo, who was stood next to you as you applauded the newly weds.

"For what?"

"For recommending Sir Charles - and for marrying me."

He chuckled, "There is no need to thank me, darling. I can hardly complain about having a breath-taking wife, can I?"

Yet again, butterflies, and the overwhelming sense of desire.

Soon, it was time for the first dance of the newly married couple, celebrated back at Sir Charles' London residence. After they danced the first number alone, more couples joined the dance floor for a waltz. You couldn't help but look up at your husband hopefully.

He sighed fondly and held out his hand, "My lady?"

"My lord," you murmured, taking his hand and allowing him to lead you on to the dance floor.

As you moved into position, you found yourself avoiding looking at Mattheo's face, as for some reason it scared you. Maybe it was the proximity, or the emotions you had been consistently feeling for the last few days. Regardless, you felt timid.

"Darling?" your stomach flipped, and you were forced to meet his eyes.

"Yes?"

"I prefer it when you look at me," Mattheo muttered before he could stop the words from tumbling out. Momentarily, he froze, unable to ignore the way his heart burned in his chest.

"Okay," you said breathlessly, now not being able to tear your eyes away from him.

"You're so perfect."

A lump formed in your throat, "No one's perfect."

"Perfect for me," he said so quietly you almost didn't hear, just as the dance came to an end.

You stood in silence for a few moments, unable to process his words.

Eventually, you spoke, "Mattheo, I- I..."

The look in his eyes beckoned you on.

"Heaven knows I know nothing of love nor what it's like to be loved, but- but I think I love you."

His expression was unreadable, and you felt as if you had said the wrong thing, right up until, "I think I love you too."

God, why were tears pricking in your eyes?

No one had ever said that to you before.

And then you shoved yourself into his arms, desperately seeking warmth and affection as if it were your life line. The other people at the wedding and propriety be damned.

Mattheo moved his head to whisper in your ear.

"All's well that ends well to end up with you."

————————————————

masterlist

written; 09/08/2023 —> 04/10/2023 published;05/10/2023 edited; —/—/——

#harry potter #hp oneshot #hp #hp fanfic #harry potter oneshot #fluff #harry potter fanfic #angst #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x you #mattheo x y/n #mattheo #marriage of convenience #bridgerton au #hurt comfort #strangers to lovers #period au

[elierlick]

Ewan Forbes was a Scottish nobleman who began his transition at age 15, around 1927. He was among the first transgender Europeans to have their gender accepted in court after his cousin sued to inherit his baronetcy. The court eventually ruled in Ewan's favor in 1968 and he inherited his family's 17th century pink castle in Brux. The massive estate was reportedly an inspiration for Walt Disney's castle design.

I was completely captivated by these photos of him so I decided to colorize them. That's him with his wife Isabella Mitchell on the left (1966) and a golden lab named "Stolen Day" on the right (1952).

Ewan published a 1984 memoir, The Aul' Days, which focused on his different journeys. More recently, Zoë Playdon wrote The Hidden Case of Ewan Forbes. It follows Ewan's legal case and transition.

The Aul' Days: archive.org/details/auldaysforb00forb/page/n1/mode/ Hidden Case: transreads.org/ewanforbes/

#history

[themalhambird]

Thinking about how Jane Austen's six novels taken together (in writing order, not publication order) become an increasingly scathing criticism of social class, i.e:

Northanger Abbey: Individual members of the gentry (General Tilney, chiefly) come in for some criticism, but mostly on a personal level: General Tilney is a grasping, tyrannical father to be sure but we hear little (though we might easily infer) of what he is like as the resident landholder. The final crisis of the novel, General Tilney's refusal to sanction Henry and Catherine's marriage, is resolved by Eleanor's marriage to a Viscount.

Sense and Sensibility: The "correctness" and "elegance" of the fashionable members of society- the Dashwoods, Robert Ferras, Lady Middleton- are negatively contrasted to the warmness and frankness of Mrs Jennings- whose kind-heartedness makes her more attractive, in spite of her lower-class origins and perceived vulgarity, than Fanny, Lady Middleton or Mrs Ferras (snr).

Pride and Prejudice: The aristocratic Lady Catherine de Bourgh is an interfearing busy body whose title and money only excuse her officiousness and rudeness. Darcy's pride in his superior situation to the Bennets leads him to act wrongly with regard to Bingley and Jane. Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, in trade, are more respectable- certainly better parental figures- than the gentleman Mr Bennet (and Mrs Bennet too). At the same time - Darcy's strengths are displayed in his undertakings as the resident landholder of the Pemberly estates- he supports the poor, and his situation allows him to shield the more vulnerable when he his spurred to act (Georgiana, to a less successful extent Lydia). Wickham's circumstances - debt, etc- could easily be read as the consequences of his wanting to step out of his place- his desire to be the oldest, or at least the second, son of a Mr Darcy- rather than what he 'is'- the son of Mr. Darcy's steward

Mansfield Park: Hey. HEY. look at the shitshow of a baronetcy. Lady Bertram is functionally useless. Sir Thomas is such a bad father that his daughters marry idiots just to get away from him. Also, having money can't give you intelligence or a personality. Most of "fashionable society" are actually miserable and mercenary and also probably immoralistic. The Church is clouded by corruption and isn't actively benefiting the local parish the way it should. The whole thing is underpinned by slavery, and the hardworking Price Children are ultimatley more deserving than the flighty Bertram ones. THAT BEING SAID: the portrait of Mr. Price is hardly better than the one of Sir Thomas, and Mansfield Park does stabilise- indeed, begins grows stronger with the reformation of its heir, and the implication that Fanny and Edmund go on to have children of their own. There is less of a quarrel with establishment, and more of a quarrel with the people who fill it.

Emma: "Gentility is inherent one can sense it in a person-" no you can't lmao shut up. There is literally no inherent difference marking out a gentleman's daughter and a farmer's daughter. Emma's snobbery as to class leaves her, at various times, both isolated and into some *serious* missteps. Emma and Frank Churchill both have a tendency to treat others as playthings, as their money allows them to do so.

Persuasion: The peerage/nobility are patently ridiculous throw them out in favour of [relative] meritocracy and hard workers. Sure, the resident landowners are supposed to be of benefit to those beneath them but they're not, actually, they take all of the privileges and fulfil non of the responsibilities and are pretty much uniformly selfish and our heroine Casts Them Off.

#jane austen #class #its late okay i haven't neccessarily thought about it *thoroughly* but. y'know. #i thought #northanger abbey #sense and sensibility #pride and prejudice #mansfield park #emma #persuasion

[weirdowithaquill]

Sir Topham Hatt is a BILLIONAIRE?!

Ok, so I just discovered this, and I was wondering if anyone else had discovered this - but apparently the Fat Controller is richer than Mr Burns according to Forbes magazine?! And he's worth $2 Billion USD, for his massive railway empire, vintage locomotive collection and real estate holdings.

Ok, I'm sorry - but Sir Topham Hatt is worth more than Rihanna, and to make matters even more interesting - $2 billion is what Forbes pegged his worth at in 2010 (and then continuously to today, where he still is amongst the 15 wealthiest fictional characters according to Forbes).

What's the betting he's worth more now? The Thomas and Friends franchise has made approximately $9.12 billion USD in its lifetime - putting it on par with Jurassic Park, Angry Birds and Dragon Ball in worth, and meaning that the little blue tank engine is worth more than Mario. Are you saying Sir Topham wouldn't have invested in this media juggernaut? Not to mention the fact that as an industrialist and transport tycoon who has a monopoly on transport on and off the famed Island of Sodor, he probably makes a ridiculous amount of money every year from tourism.

And that's before we mention that one little fact that his family is intertwined with all the other major players on the island, including the Earl, the Viscount, the Brown family (Skarloey Railway) and the Croarie family (Anopha Quarry). So the Hatt name has several other prominent families backing it.

Does this make Sodor an oligarchy? The Brown family is a political dynasty with a railway, the Croarie family owns the largest quarry on Sodor (if not possibly England, seeing as its still running, 100 years on), the Norramby family holds an Earldom, the Regaby family is both part of the railway and holds a Viscountcy, and the Hatt family runs a transport empire, which includes all the major ports on the island, as well as holding a Baronetcy.

Um... so Sir Topham Hatt might actually be worth even more than he's listed as owning? Cause I talked about all of this without mentioning the Sodor Aluminium Company, which the NWR owns a sizeable stake in.

The Hatt Family is making bank off mineral wealth, manufacturing, transport, tourism, real estate, generational wealth and tourism. And all this with a vintage fleet of steam engines (which only add to his net worth, due to their rarity and star-value).

So, uh... how do I get in on this?

#railway series #weirdowithaquill #thomas the tank engine #railways #sir topham hatt #Forbes billionaire Sir Topham Hatt #forbes magazine #fictional billionaires' list #rambles #When I woke up today I did not expect to discover that Forbes Magazine rated the Hatt family as one of the richest in the fictional world #Sir Topham Hatt is coming for your money #The Sodor Oligarchs

[llyfrenfys]

Y llyfr heddiw yw 'The Hidden Case of Ewan Forbes' gan Zoë Playdon, a gyhoeddwyd yn 2021.

Hanes y dyn traws Albanaidd Ewan Forbes yw'r llyfr hwn. Roedd Forbes yn fab i John Forbes-Sempill, 9fed Barwnig Craigievar ac yn frawd i William Forbes-Sempill, 10fed Barwnig Craigievar. Bu farw ei frawd ym 1965, felly roedd Ewan yn llinell ar fin etifeddu’r farwnigaeth, ond heriodd ei gefnder ef am y farwnigaeth yn 1968 oherwydd bod Forbes yn ddyn traws. Creodd Forbes ddogfennau meddygol ffug i ddangos ei fod yn rhyngryw - i newid ei gofrestriad genedigaeth o fenyw i wryw. Yn ei amser, roedd yn amhosibl newid cofrestriad genedigaeth heb honni i fod yn rhyngryw, felly nid oedd gan Forbes unrhyw dewis arall.

Mae'r llyfr yn bwysig iawn i hanes traws ym Mhrydain ac yn ddiddorol iawn imi fel dyn traws yn y DU.

Ydych chi wedi darllen y llyfr hwn?

/

Today's book is 'The Hidden Case of Ewan Forbes' by Zoë Playdon, published in 2021.

This book is the story of Scottish trans man Ewan Forbes. Forbes was the son of John Forbes-Sempill, 9th Baronet Craigievar and the brother of William Forbes-Sempill, 10th Baronet Craigievar. His brother died in 1965, so Ewan was then next in line to inherit the baronetcy, but his cousin challenged him for it in 1968 because Forbes was a trans man. Forbes created fake medical documents to show he was intersex - to change his birth registration from female to male. It was impossible to change a birth registration without claiming to be intersex in his time, so Forbes had no other choice.

The book is very important to trans history in Britain and very interesting to me as a trans man in the UK.

Have you read this book?

#cymraeg #welsh #trawsryweddol #cymblr #llyfr #The Hidden Case of Ewan Forbes #trans history #transgender history #Scottish transgender history #Yr Alban #trawsrywiol #rhyngryw #anneuaidd #Llyfrau Mawrth

[nothwell]

hello my name is Sebastian Nothwell and i have written queer romance books. learn all about them under the readmore.

you can find more info on my AUTHOR SITE.

and my drawerfic on my PATREON.

there is also a PODCAST.

thank you for your time.

~

Mr Warren’s Profession - mm Victorian romance; a wealthy baronet falls for a clerk in a textile mill; aristocrat x commoner, hurt/comfort, angst, lavender marriage, engineering.

Throw His Heart Over - equestrian sequel to Mr Warren’s Profession; hurt/comfort and horses.

Hold Fast - mm Victorian whaling romance; a harpooner inherits a baronetcy and falls for the estate agent tasked with turning him into a gentleman; hunting, angst, dance lessons, Pygmalion, hurt/comfort.

The Haunting of Heatherhurst Hall - ff Gothic romance; sapphic yearning, lavender marriage, haunted house, ghosts or gaslighting?

Oak King Holly King - mm Victorian fae romance; fae warrior fated to die x mortal clerk destined to save him; hurt/comfort, fae x mortal, antlers, homoerotic duels.

Tales from Blackthorn Briar - sequel to Oak King Holly King; polyamory, creative anatomy, fae x mortal, hurt/comfort.

Fiorenzo - mm fantasy-of-manners romance; hurt/comfort, royal x commoner, masquerade, homoerotic duels, dance lessons, creative anatomy, fantasy!Venice.

#pinned post #mm romance #gay romance #queer romance #romantasy #fae romance #historical fantasy #portal fantasy #isekai #fantasy of manners #mannerpunk

[aziraphales-library]

Hi!! Thank you for doing all this! I wasn't sure if this was already something you've been asked about, but do you know of any arranged marriage fics? I keep trying to find some but the filter always looks for the arrangement instead. I figured I'd give asking you a shot!

Thank you!!

Hello! There are a few posts on our #arranged marriage tag. Here are some more for you...

Comfort, Keep, and Honor by Meridians_of_Madness (M)

If Heaven and Hell decided that they needed their Earth operatives married straight from the beginning- well, it all ends the same way, but the road getting there is different. An Arranged Marriage AU.

An Arrangement of True Minds by Sodium_Azide (T)

Two families, alike in pragmatism if not dignity, make an arrangement 14th century style.

Aziraphale Fell and Anthony Crowley do their family duty, as they understand it, but their actual sacrifice wasn't written in the prenup.

Circumstances of Distinction by angelsnuffbox (M)

"Once, when Aziraphale was younger and far more of a romantic, he had hoped to be swept off his feet into a whirlwind romance: to feel his heart grow asunder over the passionate thrills of love - a Shakespearean love, filled with flowery words and heated confessions. But such aspirations did not long last. In these circles of society, people married for power. For alliance. To marry for love was to condemn oneself to a life of poverty. And to find that love, out of circumstance, from the stale negotiations of a wedded alliance was above all the greatest privilege, one that could not be afforded by even the wealthiest creature in the world."

*

Sir Anthony Crowley has been living his independent life as a cast-out younger son when he had a baronetcy and failing estate suddenly thrust upon him. Mr Aziraphale, son of a wealthy tradesman, could be the answer to his troubles. A balance of rank and wealth, was this not just what unions were for? A series of meetings in the ballrooms of Bath will determine what fate has in store for these two.

A (non angsty) Regency era arranged marriage AU

Just Married by TawnyOwl95 (E)

Aziraphale East does not wish to get married.

His mother has other ideas. After all, what other choice does a gently bred omega have?

When Aziraphale persists in rejecting suitors, Mrs East takes matters into her own hands. However she has thoroughly underestimated how stubborn her youngest child can be.

As does his new husband.

to linger in you by NaroMoreau (E)

An arranged marriage is set in place before Aziraphale can be crowned as a King. He hates the idea but there's nothing to be done.

Luckily, his betrothed turns out to be quite agreeable, except...

... not everything is as it seems.

Incorporation by Ack_Emma (E)

Best friends from rival wool merchant families, Antoinetta Crowley and Aziraphale Fell are shocked when their parents arrange a surprise marriage between them.

But this new arrangement is a chance to be on their own side and to be left alone for a bit. Their lifelong friendship is solid, what could go wrong?

As it turns out, plenty.

Times are changing, and married life is harder than it looks when you're a pair of young, ineffable dorks.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #arranged marriage #human au #regency #adult omens #mod d

[homomenhommes]

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … May 1

1650 – Following the beheading of Charles I and Oliver Cromwell's rise to power, sodomy was made punishable by death in England, along with adultery.

1915 – Laurence Michael Dillon (born Laura Maud Dillon; d.1962) was a British physician and the first female-to-male transsexual to undergo phalloplasty.

Dillon, then physically female and known as Laura, was raised with his older brother Bobby by their two aunts in Kent, England. He received his undergraduate education at Oxford, where he was president of the Woman's Boat Club and won a University Sporting Blue award for rowing. After graduating he took a job at a research laboratory.

Dillon had long been more comfortable in men's clothing and felt that he was not truly a woman. In 1939, he sought treatment from Dr. George Foss, who had been experimenting with testosterone; at the time, the hormone's masculinizing effects were poorly understood. Foss provided Dillon with testosterone pills but insisted Dillon consult a psychiatrist first, who gossiped about Dillon's desire to become a man, and soon the story was all over town.

Dillon fled to Bristol and took a job at a garage. The hormones soon made it possible for him to pass as male, and eventually the garage manager insisted that other employees refer to Dillon as "he" in order to avoid confusing customers. Dillon was promoted to tow truck driver and doubled as a fire watcher during the Blitz.

Dillon happened to come to the attention of one of the world's few practitioners of plastic surgery. The surgeon performed a double mastectomy, provided Dillon with a doctor's note that enabled him to change his birth certificate, and put him in touch with the pioneering plastic surgeon Harold Gillies.

Gillies had previously reconstructed penises for injured soldiers and performed surgery on intersexual people with ambiguous genitalia. He was willing to perform a phalloplasty, but not immediately; the constant influx of wounded soldiers from World War II already kept him in the operating room around the clock.

In the meantime Dillon enrolled in medical school at Trinity College, Dublin under his new legal name, Laurence Michael Dillon. A former tutor of Dillon's persuaded the Oxford registrar to alter records to show that he had graduated from Brasenose rather than the women's college St. Anne's, so that his academic transcript would not raise questions. Again he became a distinguished rower — this time for the men's team.

Gillies performed at least 13 surgeries on Dillon between 1946 and 1949. He officially diagnosed Dillon with acute hypospadias in order to conceal the fact that he was performing sex-reassignment surgery. Dillon, still a medical student at Trinity, blamed war injuries when infections caused a temporary limp. In what little free time he had he enjoyed dancing, but he avoided forming close relationships with women, for fear of exposure and in the belief that "One must not lead a girl on if one could not give her children." He deliberately cultivated a misogynist reputation to prevent any such problematic attachments

Dillon's story came to light in 1958 as an indirect result of his aristocratic background. Debrett's Peerage, a genealogical guide, listed him as heir to his brother's baronetcy, while its competitor Burke's Peerage mentioned only a sister, Laura Maude. When the discrepancy was noticed, he told the press he was a male born with a severe form of hypospadias and had undergone a series of operations to correct the condition. The editor of Debrett's told Time Magazine that Dillon was unquestionably next in line for the baronetcy: "I have always been of the opinion that a person has all rights and privileges of the sex that is, at a given moment, recognized."

The unwanted press attention led Dillon to flee to India, where he spent time with Sangharakshita in Kalimpong, and with the Buddhist community in Sarnath before he turned to the Tibetan branch of Buddhism. He was ordained a novice monk of the Gelukpa order, taking the name Lobzang Jivaka, and spent his time studying Buddhism and writing. Despite the language barrier he felt at home there, but was forced to leave when his visa expired. His health failed, and he died in hospital at Dalhousie, Punjab, on 15 May 1962, aged 47.

1919 – The US military announced the findings of a court of inquiry, declaring that sufficient evidence existed to court-martial fifteen sailors for sodomy.

1922 – Tad Mosel (d.2008) was an American playwright and one of the leading dramatists of hour-long teleplay genre for live television during the 1950s. He received the 1961 Pulitzer Prize for Drama for his play All the Way Home.

Mosel's interest in theater began in 1936 when he saw Katharine Cornell on Broadway in George Bernard Shaw's Saint Joan. After the attack on Pearl Harbor, Mosel dropped out of Amherst College to enlist in the Army. During World War II, he was a Sergeant in the U.S. Air Force Weather Service (1943-46) as a weather observer, including one year in the South Pacific. In the post-WWII years he finished at Amherst and did graduate studies at the Yale Drama School (BA), followed by a Master's at Columbia University. He was writing plays while auditioning as an actor, and in 1949 he was on Broadway in the scene-stealing, non-speaking role of a confused private in the farce, At War with the Army.

His first teleplay was performed on Chevrolet Tele-Theater in 1949. During the early 1950s, he became a leading scripter for live television dramas, contributing six teleplays to Goodyear Television Playhouse, two to Medallion Theatre and four to Playhouse 90. He also wrote for The Philco Television Playhouse, Producers' Showcase and Studio One. After Eileen Heckart appeared in his 1953 play about a troubled marriage, The Haven, Mosel and Heckart became friends, and he wrote several scripts especially for her, including the 1953 Other People's Houses about a housekeeper caring for her senile father.

In 1997, Mosel recalled:

Paddy Chayefsky, Horton Foote, Sumner Locke Elliott, JP Miller and all of the group of writers that I knew, we grew up at the same time, and our eyes were on the theater. That was the Emerald City. That was the goal. Now, television came on after World War II, and television was a pauper. It had no money. No "self-respecting writer" would deign to write for television. Even drunken screenwriters wouldn't write for television. So who was there left? It was us. It was kids who would work for 65 cents. And so with a very patronizing attitude you thought, "Well, if I could make a few bucks doing that, it would give me time to write the great American play." It didn't take too much experience to realize that television was a medium all in itself, and that it was a career all in itself, and it was a thrilling one. But we stumbled into it by being snobs if I may say so. They would give anyone a chance. I look back on it, and I think, "Weren't we lucky to be there?"

Mosel's death at age 86 of esophageal cancer came after 18 years of residency at a Concord, New Hampshire retirement community where he often lectured. He was preceded in death in 1995 by his partner of more than 40 years, McCall's magazine graphic designer, Raymond Tatro.

1935 – Fabrice Emaer (d.1983) called "The Prince of the night" was an impresario whose nightclubs le Sept, and le Palace, were the premier spots in Paris nightlife in the 1970s and early 1980s, celebrated in memoirs and songs like Amanda Lear's 1979 song "Fashion Pack" which declared, "In Paris you got to be seen at Maxim's / The Palace / The 7 and then go Chez Regine."

Born May 1, 1935, Francis Paul Emaer grew up in Wattrelos near Lille in northern France. His father was a traveling salesman for the local spinning mills, and his untimely death left the family impoverished. At seventeen, he left his family and traveled North Africa and the French Riviera, before settling in Paris. By then, he had changed his name to the more elegant Fabrice, and worked as a stylist and make-up artist. He opened his first club, "Le Pimm's Bar," in 1964. Le Pimm's evolved into the premier gay club on Saint-Anne Street, situated in the heart of the gay neighborhood near L'Opera that was packed with bars, bathhouses, and prostitutes. The clientele was almost exclusively gay men who were there to cruise.

He had different ideas in 1968 when he took over another place down the block at 7, Saint-Anne Street. The Sept had a restaurant on the ground floor with a small dance floor in the basement which he decorated simply, with mirrors on the walls and a ceiling with multicolored lights that flashed with the music.

"...the greatest innovation of Le Sept was that it was defined by glamour, not homosexuality. Everyone came – gay, straight, and the undecided. 'You didn't have to be rich, you didn't have to be famous,' says former Le Sept DJ Guy Cuevas, 'you had to be beautiful.'"

Emaer himself fit the bill. He was handsome and charming. When Guy Cuevas took over at the turntables, the Sept became the "epicenter of disco", attracting all of Paris.

And after a visit to New York in 1977, Emaer returned with even greater ambitions—to create the Parisian answer to Studio 54 which he found impressive and repulsive at the same time. "It is completely sterilized, a ghetto for model agencies and Régine's emirs...." He sneered at the clientele which was "totally clean, beautiful, they look like they are fed on best quality corn."

Following the recommendation of then culture minister Michel Guy, Emaer chose as his address the decrepit Palace Theater on rue Faubourg Montmartre which would allow him not just a huge disco, but the accoutrements of a traditional theater space with stages and an enormous balcony. He restored the architecturally classified building, including the decor of the '30s, hired a huge team of party organizers and press people to promote the club, and brought Guy Cuevas as DJ from the Sept.

Again, he was met with success. The opening night, May 1, 1978, was packed. Clubgoers loved the music and Emaer's talent for creating a compelling crowd. At the entry, Emaer instructed Edwige and Paquita Paquin to choose an interesting mix of rich and poor, gay and straight, black and white, the bourgeois, even punk. Above all they looked for attitude and an interesting look.

The jetset followed Emaer from the Sept, along with thousands of others, from Alain Pacadis of the newspaper Libération who frequently evoked le Palace and its regulars in his chronicles to young journalist Frédéric Mitterrand, an unknown Madonna, and the famous Paloma Picasso whose wedding celebration eventually became a Palace event.

Emaer's only misstep came in 1981 when he broke the taboo against meddling in French politics, and one night asked the crowd to vote for François Mitterrand, who would become the first French President of the left in decades.

Emaer had never hidden his political leanings. He was openly gay and at some point even described himself as a "homosexual militant" whose commercial activities helped to build a sense of community among French homosexuals. He offered a Sunday "Tea Dance" free for gay men, and used the theater's giant screen to call attention to Argentina's disappeared.

But Paquita Paquin in her memoir, "Twenty Years Without Sleeping," remembered that his direct call to vote for Mitterrand left many of the clubgoers appalled. A large number returned their membership cards to "Privilege" the VIP lounge at the Palace.

That paired with the fading of disco, began to empty the club. By the time Emaer died of cancer two years later in 1983, Le Palace was struggling to fill its enormous dance floors.

1949 – Ronald E. Albers is a judge of the San Francisco County Superior Court.

A Democrat, Albers was selected on June 11, 2009 to serve on the San Francisco County Superior Court by Republican Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger. He was sworn in on June 15, 2009.

Albers was the first openly gay judge appointed by Schwarzenegger and is believed to be the first openly gay judge appointed by a Republican California governor.

Albers married his long-time partner, Colin Alexander, on June 17, 2008.

1954 – Alan Poul is an American film and television producer and director.

Poul served as executive producer for the HBO original series, Six Feet Under, on which he made his directing debut. He directed four episodes of the series from seasons two through five.

He later directed the pilot for CBS' series Swingtown, of which he directed a total of four episodes. He also directed the 2010 CBS Films romantic comedy The Back-Up Plan, originally titled Plan B.

He signed a new deal with HBO in April 2011. He was an executive producer of Aaron Sorkin's The Newsroom. He also directed five episodes of the show in the first two seasons.

Poul has been nominated for 7 Primetime Emmys, a Directors Guild of America award, and won a News & Documentary Emmy Award in Outstanding Historical Program for The Pacific Century.

He is married to Ari Karpel, an English and Theatre teacher.

1962 – Trebor Healey is an American poet and novelist.

He was born in San Francisco, raised in Seattle, and studied English and American Literature at the University of California, Berkeley. He spent his twenties in San Francisco, where he was active in the spoken word scene of the late 1980s and early 1990s, publishing five chapbooks of poetry as well as numerous poems and short stories in various reviews, journals, anthologies and zines.

In 2013 Lambda announced Trebor Healey as an outstanding mid-career novelist and the next day he won his second Ferro-Grumley Award for his moving, road trip novel A Horse Named Sorrow, also a Lammy finalist and still not released in paperback. It was published in October 2012 simultaneously with his speculative young adult novel Faun, about a boy whose changes at puberty are hairier and more pointed than yours were. Trebor won his first Ferro-Grumley, and a Violet Quill award, for Through It Came Bright Colors about 21-year-old suburban good boy Neill who breaks the stress of his family's struggles with his brother's cancer by sneaking into San Francisco for sex with men. Trebor's other books are Sweet Son of Pan, A Perfect Scar, and Queer and Catholic. His work is anthologized in many collections including Madder Love: Queer Men and the Precincts of Surrealism and multiple volumes of Best Gay Erotica.

Fifteen years before he was a PEN Emerging Voices mentor, he wrote a song for Pansy Division called Denny that foreshadows his fiction: smart, dark, quirky, angry, and funny.

He is openly gay and is currently living in Los Angeles.

1975 – Published reports confirm that Paul Newman is having financing trouble with his attempt to bring an adaptation of the Gay classic "The Front Runner" to screen. Newman eventually allows his option to lapse.

The First Issue

1976 – Christopher Street magazine debuts. The gay-oriented magazine published in New York City was known both for its serious discussion of issues within the gay community and its satire of anti-homosexual criticism. It was one of the two most-widely read gay-issues publications in the United States. Christopher Street covered politics and culture and its aim was to become a gay New Yorker. The magazine featured original fiction from such notable authors as Andrew Holleran as well as emerging new gay writers. Christopher Street printed 231 issues before closing its doors in December of 1995.

1996 – In the Australian Capital Territory, a policy went into effect allowing gay partners to have their inheritance rights recognized under probate law.

[hussyknee]

“Your valet had hopes of you?”

“You are scarcely the man to remark on that.”

“I had not thought he was a fool,” Dominic retorted . “We all know you set your requirements for a lover impossibly high; I am amazed you deign to fuck below a baronetcy.”

“I didn’t . That is, I kissed him, nothing more. It was my fault, I took the blame—”

“I thought you said he felt the same,” Dominic put in. “Where does the blame lie?”

“For God’s sake, he’s my valet. Where do you think?”

“If you forced unwelcome attentions on him, then on your shoulders, and heavily. But since I doubt you did any such thing—”

“I might as well have done. I pay his wages. What choice had he?”

Dominic frowned. “We are talking about Cyprian, aren’t we?”

“Good God, are you not listening?”

“I am, yes. The last time I encountered your valet he was orchestrating an act of alarmingly ingenious perjury that snatched Silas off the gallows. I wasn’t aware he had become an incapable.”

I am. Wheezing.

Richard: "I have abused my position and forced us to kiss consensually! I failed to protect Cyprian from his own choices! He doesn't understand that I'm dangerous to him!"

Dom: "Protect the–the guy who ran circles around the Home Office, set up the entire queer underground for the tonne and can go to the police right now and have every one of us hanged for sodomy??? You're dangerous to him???"

Richard: "You don't understand! I'm a lord!"

Dom: "You're a fucking imbecile."

"And he has gone without explanation or farewell, or—” Richard’s throat closed on his own words. How could Cyprian have gone without farewell?

“It would be hard for him to stay and undress you, under the circumstances,” Dominic observed. “You know, when I risked my closest friendships, my reputation, and the safety of my friends over a love affair, at least I was getting well ploughed for it.”

I want to say Dom is enjoying this too much, but tbh he's enjoying this the entirely correct amount.

Richard: "Well once I found out he wanted to fuck me like I wanted to fuck him, what did you expect me to do?"

Dom: "Fuck him??? Like a normal person??"

Richard: "But I couldn't!"

Dom: "Obviously you can't get dicked down with that stick up your ass."

#KJ Charles's situational comedy is unparalleled #I have been waiting for this fucking guy to get dragged for two and half books #when I tell you I am LIVING #*chinhands* #read Society of Gentlemen you miscreants #my leftist history nerd is so fucking in love with this take on Regency #knee of huss #queer fiction #classism #kj charles

[basingstokemercury]

Dame Carruthers' interest in Sergeant Meryll goes back long before the events of the opera, of course.

Before Phoebe or Leonard were born, before he even married.

When Meryll fell in love with another woman, Carruthers took a desperate step in her anger and heartbreak - turning to the dark sorcerous arts.

^ As she knows from personal experience...

Her dabblings unleashed a dreadful curse on the man who now seemed out of reach: whenever a scion of the Meryll line fell in love, disaster was sure to follow for the object of their affections.

Leonard's mother hardly lived to see her son.

Meryll's heart and hand free once more, Carruthers hoped that her love might be requited this time. It was not, and some years later, he took another wife.

Phoebe's mother met a similar fate.

When Meryll's third fiancée, one Bridget Maynard, fell ill, he began to suspect more than bad luck. Hoping to protect Bridget, he broke off their relationship. Months passed before she realised the short affair had led further than either knew - and the resulting daughter remained as ignorant of her father's existence as he of hers. (Bridget's constitution never fully recovered)

Leonard, knowing of his own mother's death, old enough to remember Phoebe's mother and Bridget's, and with romantic tragedies of his own in an otherwise glorious career, has also figured out the curse's existence.

^ Not just teasing or brotherly advice, but a dire warning unrecognised.

Carruthers' actions didn't go unpunished forever, though. After finally achieving her decades-long dream, she was married to the man she loved. It took years before he began to care for her in return, but once he did she found herself unable to annul her own curse.

Some generations after this, a grandson of Leonard, Rupert, was honoured with a baronetcy. By this time knowing of the curse and guessing its origins, he determined to take revenge on all witches. This backfired, of course, leaving his descendants to deal with two curses. (Luckily, one of those descendants was gifted with quite the faculty for logic, and eventually ended both - for that part of the family, at least.)

And, of course, a branch of the family eventually ended up in North America in the early nineteenth century. Despite the curse remaining in full effect, they managed to find success and happiness.

Unrelated to any of this, really, Jack Point is the natural son of the Lieutenant of the Tower. This may or may not be known to either or both.

#gilbert and sullivan #the yeomen of the guard

[scotianostra]

18th January 1782 marks the death of the Scottish Physician and philosopher John Pringle,

Sir John Pringle is one of three men who are named the "father of military medicine"

John Pringle led a varied life. Though a career in commerce beckoned, his life would lead a different path, he went first to be educated at St Andrews University and then to Edinburgh for a year before being sent to acquire commercial experience in Amsterdam.

One day, when visiting Leiden, chance and an inquisitive mind led Pringle to the lecture room of Herman Boerhaave, it inspired him to abandon his future in commerce and become a medical student. Compared with today, medical education was then extremely brief and, two years later, in 1730 Pringle qualified MD and returned to Scotland to set up practice in Edinburgh.

As well as practising medicine Pringle was known for his interest in moral philosophy and in 1734 was appointed Professor of Pneumatics and Moral Philosophy. However it was his medical abilities that earned Pringle his in history. In 1742 he was appointed as hpersonal physician to the Earl of Stair at Fladres who put him in charge of the military hospital.

Pringle was a careful and methodical man who believed that prevention was better than cure. He insisted on sanitary measures that reduced the rate of typhus and dysentery, diseases which killed more soldiers than actual battle, and pioneered the concept of hospitals in the field as neutral territory. In 1745 his services were recognized by the Duke of Cumberland who appointed him 'Physician General to His Majesty's Forces in the Low Countries and beyond the seas'. Pringle was subsequently elected a Fellow of the Royal Society. He had resigned his chair at Edinburgh but returned to Scotland where he witnessed the Battle of Culloden in 1746 and compared the varying degrees of morbidity in the forts which had been built to subdue the Highlands.

After another sojourn overseas with the army he settled in London in 1749 and carried out various experiments on putrefaction, recommending the use of ammonia whenever it occurred. He continued his interest in typhus (or 'gaol' or 'putrid' fever) and wrote the work for which he is primarily remembered, Observations on the diseases of the Army. This was first published in 1752 but ran to several editions. He was appointed physician to both King George III and Queen Charlotte, a Fellow of the Royal College of Physicians of London and, in 1772, President of the Royal Society. The King acknowledged his work by awarding him a baronetcy in 1766. In 1778 Pringle retired as PRS because of declining health and returned to Edinburgh but, feeling that the city had deteriorated since his youth, returned to London where he died a year later.

There is a monument to Pringle in Westminster Abbey, as seen in the pics, it reads;

Sacred to the memory of Sir JOHN PRINGLE, Baronet, who was at an early period of life Professor of Moral Philosophy in the university of EDINBURGH: afterward physician to the ARMY, to the PRINCESS OF WALES, to the QUEEN and to KING GEORGE III. President of the ROYAL Society; member of the ROYAL Academy of SCIENCES at Paris etc.etc. His medical and philosophical knowledge, his inviolable integrity, and truely Christian virtues rendered him an honour to his age and country. He was born in SCOTLAND in April 1707 and died in LONDON in January 1782.

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