mingle post #2: promenade

[nomdepen]

I THINK IT IS A PLEASANT MORNING FOR A PROMENADE

Dearest gentle reader,

If a listless misses’ eyes wander to garden husbandry, she ought be forewarned of that age-old adage – the shallow-rooted weeds of spring will quickly overgrow the garden if left uncultivated.

Words best taken to heart, particularly if a young lady should prefer to wake in a marriage bed of roses, rather than nettles. But do not mistake me as a meddlesome mama, for I much prefer more the thorny stories to grace these pages...

I. SLIP AND FALL

The Serpentine must have been rather thirsty for a new feature this season. Nothing had made such an alluring splash as when the 9th Viscount and Mr. Dorset took their rather theatrical dip, thanks to the services of one Newton Sharma (arguably the true heir to the Bridgerton title, but what does this humble writer know?).

This author is not sure what action has predicated the repeat occurrence witnessed today, but it appears an unsuspecting member of the ton lost their anchorage on a rowboat and was met with a soggy fate. The ducks appeared mildly perturbed, and one hopes any unsuspecting lady or wayward gentleman took their swimming instruction seriously. Otherwise, this small event is sure to cause monumental waves.

II. OFF THE PATH

While this author does not peddle in misinformation, she is known to occasionally indulge in tales of phantasmagoria. One legend persists that, on a fateful night in the season of 1792, one Miss Genevive Pendlebrooke, upon discovering her betrothed, the witless Mr. Girard, tangled in the arms of the Dowager Countess Sadler? The bereft lady fled into the Hyde Park hedge maze, never to be seen again.

The ton claims to take no meaningful stock in tales of the ineffable. The hedge maze is a lovely place for a quiet stroll, particularly as Apollo’s chariot fades from view and the sky is awash with saturated colors. My dearest readers… just make certain you take care at each turn. For as the sunlight fades, the hedges rapidly appear to lose all sense of direction and reason.

Of course, should one find their way into the hedge maze at nightfall, one ought to exercise caution, lest they allow themselves to follow the haunting sounds of weeping through dense foliage.

III. A SEDUCTIVE SCENT

<< aka sex pollen prompt! >>
Despite her continued reticence to choose a jewel of the season, Her Majesty the Queen has revealed affections for the softer curves of nature’s beauty. Her new garden, bursting with blooming geraniums, has come to fruition and gilds Hyde Park with romantic pastel hues. It is only natural, that anyone on the ton should indulge in a stroll.

Any young lovers or perfect strangers who happen upon each other whilst admiring the sultry petals may find themselves battling another mystery, it would seem. Whether it is the tantalizing scent of the blooms or the pull of certain other primal repressions, this author cannot--or shall not--say. But... There are sure to be some innocent discoveries that would make a rake blush.



-- Lady Whistledown

♥

Comments

OOC Plotting Thread

[nomdepen]

Looking to play a specific plotline, AU, or connect with a specific character? Comment here and let us know what you are looking for!

Elle ❀ Anthony Bridgerton

[viscountbee]

Though my TL is, loosely, anywhere in seasons three and four, I’m not as restrictive for tagging into someone else’s post! Especially if there’s an idea or CR you’d like to take a shot at with Anthony? Comment here or feel free to add me on Plurk @ ilovesatellites. Dirges on pianoforte for his nonsense costs extra~

Thanks admins 🥹

Top-Level Tracker

[nomdepen]

Comment below with your character's name in the subject line and a link to their top-level so you are easily discoverable.

Daphne Bridgerton

[artoftheswoon]

Link

Kate Sharma

[malletofdeath]

Link

Sophie Baek

[theladyinsilver]

Link

John Stirling

[needtonap]

Link

Colin Bridgerton

[graphicpining]

Link

❀ Anthony Bridgerton ❀

[viscountbee]

I am a gentleman

Penelope Featherington

[nomdepen]

Link

Benedict Bridgerton

[venturesomecourse]

Link

The Duchess

[artoftheswoon]

Slip and Fall

Promenade have become an obligation for Daphne, though a pleasant respite as well. It is a time she may be with her husband and little Auggie, pushed in his pram by the nanny. There are no accounts, no visits she must make. Only the warmth of the day and the sweet smell of grass and flowers. The languid ease of the day, coupled with the gentle lap of the water in her ears, relaxes Daphne. She could close her eyes and bask in the moment and memories this brings, but a sudden splash jolts her eyes open.

Anthony, looking like a damp weasel, pulls himself from the water. Newton, the obvious culprit wanders back to Kate, as though looking for praise and pets. His glee is infectious and one look at his happy has Daphne laughing, though she attempts to cover it with her hand. Her snorts return, most unbecoming of a duchess.

"A true menance," Daphne manages to get out with a huff, drawing in another lung full of air. "Whatever Anthony is done, it seems Newton is not allowing Anthony to forget it. Don't you think?"

Off the Path

The green hedges were now aglow with orange and red, the hues of an tired sun, winding further towards the horizon. There were others about, but they were further in the maze and entirely occupied. Daphne dares not to go further, only a turn or two and there is a small stone bench waiting for her. She smiles and sighs arranging her skirts neatly as she settles into her seat.

The events of the day have drained her and there is a certain excitement at returning home. Supper will be waiting soon and she will have nothing but privacy with her husband at their informal table. She smiles, satisfied, yet content in this spot. Home is waiting.

But just a moment longer.

slip and fall

[letsnotbehastings]

Simon cares not a whit if Daphne's snorts are unbecoming of a duchess. It's hardly the only thing she has done that is unbecoming of a duchess, and he rather likes the snorts, anyway. They can certainly get a laugh out of him.

He doesn't even feel bad for laughing at Anthony's distress. True, the man is both his best friend and his brother-in-law, but if those aren't the exact reasons that Simon can laugh at him, then what are?

He clears his throat and adopts a serious look, though Daphne would know how hard he's trying not to start laughing again.

"Should we be helping him?"

The Viscountess

[malletofdeath]

Slip and Fall

Newton is an absolute menace. Once again, he put himself underfoot, inevitably knocking Anthony back into the water. The pup hurries toward her, his tail wagging excitedly, ae though it was a good turn to put Anthony into the water once more. Regardless if it was naughty, Kate scoops him into her arms, gentle stroking his ears as he preferred. "Oh Newton, how could you do such a thing to the viscount?" Her husband is much more gentle now, and far more good humored. So she doesn't hesitate to grin at him as she admires the view.

The day had started so well. Edmund had the chance to meet his cousins. Anthony and Kate had a small picnic. Then, after a gentle suggestion of a boat ride did everything collapse around them. Poor Newton. Eager for attention and overjoyed at the chance to seize it. This certainly is the way.

"How can one be mad at him, he enjoys the as much as...everyone." Especially her. "A pity we did not bring a change of clothes for the discount. Next time, we'll be better prepared."

Off the Path

The heat of the day must be insufferable, even as the sun finally begins to hide its face, for Kate has not felt she could breathe since arriving. She reminds herself repeatedly this is for Edwina, but the words have grown stale and the false happiness she presented has begun to slip, as quickly as the sun has.

She did not think where she was going, only that she must get away from other eyes. A moment of respite would be enough to gather herself. Turns and bends, she pays no mind to her direction, only the chance to escape. Her shawl drags behind her, having slipped from her arms in her hurry. Silk passes over grass, shawl and hem providing a sweet sound to soothe her heart and mind.

Ever since the masquerade, she has not been herself. Thoughts and feelings that she cannot suppress restrict her chest. Her heart has not stopped racing for a single day. What should she do? Should she retreat home, claiming illness. It's a thought, but for now, she will simply get lost.

Off the Path ❀ S2 divergence, post-Sheffield dinner events

[viscountbee]

Anthony's mother, blessedly, has intervened after the outburst her son had made. While the Viscount was within his rights, by even polite society standards, to have cast the Sheffields out from the Danbury dinner table - certainly aided by Lady Danbury, woman of the house, and a lack of protesting his reaction. Though Anthony had been certain that Miss Edwina would not want to end their engagement, it should come as no surprise that he remains terrible at understanding women.

Miss Edwina had, it turns out, always desired a love match above all else. She was fond of the Viscount, and none the wiser to his slowly opening heart for her sister, yes. But. The younger Sharma felt no stirring in her own chest for Anthony Bridgerton that she expected when he leapt to the praises of their mother, Lady Mary. She had to admit to both her, and Lady Danbury, that she was hopeful the season was not all lost. Lady Danbury was keen to keep in the Queen's good graces and some maneuvering would been required but. Queen Charlotte would rather save face than be castigated by Lady Whistledown for a poor choice in diamond. Enough of a detail it might all work.

Anthony's presence wasn't even required, really. He came at the end out of respect for Miss Edwina and was impressed by her own poise and graciousness. The disappointment in his guarded ways was obvious, and deserved, but Edwina remained polite about it all. Though Anthony did not voice it to anyone but Lady Danbury, he went on to authorize the transfer of a modest dowry addition. It's the least he could do after blowing up the Sheffield arrangement. Not that he could've known about that before being put into such a volatile dinner.

It's now done. A stiff and half-hearted showing is made at the Promenade to escort Eloise, and appease Violet's demand that Anthony clearly message to the Ton there's nothing untoward regarding the dissolution of his engagement with the younger Sharma. Performance is given, brief and halfhearted though it may before he retreated to Mondritch's for an afternoon tipple. Mrs. Mondritch is kind enough to both callout the small drops of blood that come through the Viscount's white gloves. She's the wife of a boxer and insists on rewrapping the healing wound Anthony has been hiding from family at home. The married couple send him off with a lecture; stop clenching your fist and disrupting the body trying to knit flesh and sinew. If sorting some kind of business is required to follow the instruction?

Well Bridgerton, get to it.

The problem is Anthony's certainty. Certainty he's been right about how destructive love is, just given the current mess of affairs things are in without it at the forefront. Certainty Miss Sharma hates him. Certainty the he wants to love her, regardless of how much more ruin it brings him. Now, or in the unstoppable future that Anthony's knows, with that same certainty, cometh just as it did for the Eighth Viscount Bridgerton. The Mondritches refuse Anthony continued drinks soon after, with more authority than all his self-assured conclusions. It's a deft way of being handled that he doesn't immediately recognize and, as such, cannot immediately protest. Defiance doesn't make it past his sulking posture as the Viscount takes the walk to clear his head that's been, essentially, prescribed.

* * *

It's not often that Anthony goes walking at dusk. Participation as head of the family is still expected of him, residence at his bachelor lodgings or no. In the past, it counts as too early an hour to begin drinking nor would the women he took as paramours be free for entertaining. Not that rakish thoughts of anything come to him these days that aren't about his now former-betrothed's sister. Rakish thoughts, enraged thoughts, affectionate thoughts, amorous thoughts. His mind is racing by the time Anthony entires the hedge maze. He's always had an excellent sense of direction but his patience leaves something to be desired. As a young man, these sorts of things were merely tedious.

Right now? It's welcomed that the Viscount can walk for as long as he likes, hours if needbe, with that nervous energy until it dissipates. Or his legs give it. Whichever comes first to finally still Anthony Bridgerton, the endless paths of shrubbery provide an excellent excuse for what would otherwise be a humiliating display of Anthony's inability to control his melancholy.

It's not too long Anthony spends ruminating in solitude, though the colors of the sky have turned rather saturated since he first wandered in, when the edge of a piece of fabric catches his eye. The color is a deep indigo that rivals the vibrance of the sky that can be seen overhead. Anthony's heart leaps into his throat. Though he cannot explain why, he knows it's Miss Sharma's. As if a physical manifestation of the thread that keeps drawing them together, the pashmina's edge draws him to follow as it disappears around the corner. His pace hastens until he finally catches up enough to catch a partial silhouette, leaving her shawl behind as it fully falls on the grass.

"Miss Sharma..." The Viscount announces himself clearly, lest he frighten her with such a sudden appearance. Kate's wrap is held between pristine gloved hands, a fresh pair donned to cover his bandages courtesy of Mrs. Mondritch so that Anthony might keep up appearances. The way it's offered is with an almost overwrought obeisance; he even has the slightest bend at the waist and tip of his head. His motions are not put upon and, in fact, they're so thoroughly meant that he's unaware of himself. Anthony meets Kate's gaze with only the most penitent eyes. He commits himself to remaining quietly steady, no matter the anger or revulsion he knows he deserves. The aforementioned idiotic certainty is at the helm of his expectations and, as such, he braces himself for Kathani Sharma's righteous vitriol.

The Lady in Silver

[theladyinsilver]

Off the Path (with a seductive scent for Benedict)

Had Sophie the choice, she would have avoided today, but Miss Eloise and Miss Hyacinth had planned to join their family the night before. For a moment, it seemed Eloise might stay behind, to avoid potential suitors, but sadly, Hyacinth overruled her objections. So, Promenade they must.

After the night before, Sophie's head is in a jumble. So many thoughts and proposals, when all she wants is to hide. Only doing her work would offer respite and protection from Araminta Gun. Being a lady, it was too much, she'd be too exposed, too vulnerable. No, all of this is impossible.

Hyacinth had already departed through the maze, chased by Gregory in one of their usual games. Sophie can't venture far inside, lest she grow lost and misses Hyacinth coming out. So instead, she settles on a stone bench, resisting the urge to bury her face in her hands.

Soft footsteps come from the entrance, a gentle seeming person, kind enough to just surprise her. Careful not to fully meet their eyes, Sophie rises from her seat in deference. "Forgive me, am I in your way?"

Did someone say Benedict

[venturesomecourse]

"No." He had seen her follow Hyacinth over here, and waited while Hyacinth disappeared into the maze. This being an open space, so public, it seems safe enough to have a conversation. As tempting as it might be to misbehave, they would have all eyes on them in mere moments, and he won't risk the impropriety here.

Even though it is so incredibly tempting.

If public conversations between a gentleman and a maid from his brother's household are all they can have, he'll just have to find a way to be satisfied with that. As unsatisfying as it is.

Lord Kilmartin

[needtonap]

Slip and Fall

John is nothing if not content. True, his cousin has arrived, bringing a level of chaos he's always enjoyed, but Francesca seemed unsettled. Order in their household has always been religiously followed, yet his cousin always seem able to convince him to break convention. His eccentrities were unable to overpower his cousin's will.

He hoped that the chance to spend time with Francesca's family might help with the tension. It has been the honor of his life to be part of this family, thus, he never wished to take it for granted.

Anthony's sudden dip seemed to cause an uproar. There is laughter, jokes, yet John is on the fringe, smiling to himself in amusement. "One would think Newton has a vendetta against Anthony."

The 3rd Son

[graphicpining]

Slip and Fall

It's been difficult for Colin. Despite an initial positive reception to his novel, sales have dropped off and talk has died down. His second novel has been rejected several times, while Penelope seems to be thriving as a new author. He doesn't wish to be jealous of his wife, but the feeling is there and there has been tension.

Still, he agreed to promenade as Daphne and Kare have arranged for their children to be present. Elliott should know his cousins better and Lady Featherington insisted on a family picnic.

The heat doesn't help any of it. Colin removes his coat, but still can feel perspiration forming at the back of his necks and arms. It seemed, however, that Anthony found the solution.

Having missed his brother's first fall into the lake, he's grateful to witness it now. Colin smiles, still short of a grin, chuckling to himself. Leave it to his brother to lessen his mood.

The 3rd Daughter ❤️

[nomdepen]

The tension has certainly been felt. Penelope has done her best to ignore it; Colin is sensitive, of course, and prone to melancholy in ways that are both familiar and heavy. It takes far too much effort, at times, to convince herself that it is not her.

They have an impossibly happy marriage, most days. But in some moments, she wonders if the scars from those beginning days would always find a way to split open.

Penelope settled Elliot in with the other Bridgerton children and she found her way back, as she always did, to Colin. The amusement that spreads over his face makes her release a slow sigh of relief - the weight not lifted but at least abated, for the moment.

"I did not expect him to make a habit of it." Her tone is light, like she is handling something breakable.

Viscount No. 9

[viscountbee]

❀ Slip and Fall ❀

The Viscount has truly taken a shine to marriage. Or, perhaps, marriage has taken a shine to him. He's always shown up to the Promenade and, mostly, managed to enjoy himself. Some of Anthony's fondest memories involve playing silly games with all myriad of his siblings through the years. The difference in the years since the worst family Promenade, insisted upon by the Dowager Viscountess during his disaster of a season, have brought out the best in her eldest son.

Anthony takes a vested interest in the planning of the Bridgerton household's day. A beautiful canopy is set up a suitable distance between the path and a copse of trees that run to the Serpentine. He's fussing with pillows, embroidered throws, and more, in anticipation of one of Violet's quickly multiplying grandchildren needing space to play. It's not the most critical, nor complicated task, but for all he's grown? Anthony is still easy to rile up.

❀ DRY ❀
There's tulips left in one chair, clearly for his beautiful, perfect Viscountess and he's set small florals tied in ribbon nearby, to gift his many sisters. The flowers also vexing appear to be vexing Anthony. Everything matters more. An audible huff can be heard and that critical posture that defines his silhouette takes no time to settle in.

❀ WET ❀
Anthony is avoiding dripping all over the Bridgerton family picnic and assoicated linens. Thanks to one small, boisterous corgi that is indeed his dog through marriage, one may encounter the Viscount hanging garments off dock pylons for the second time in almost as many years. The late Edmund's watch must be maded of supernatural stuff because it once again comes out from the Serpentine unscathed. The same can't be said for Anthony but he's somewhat, marginally, slightly better humored than he was before.

[venturesomecourse]

Benedict, for his part, is more than a little amused. Probably because he's not the one who keeps ending up in the water thanks to a furry instigator.

He takes his moments of amusement where he can find them.

"What did you ever do to him that he has it in for you in this manner?"

lady whistledown~

[nomdepen]

ɪ. ꜱʟɪᴘ & ꜰᴀʟʟ

Penelope is getting overheated. It began as a relatively temperate day, and she was not really opposed to a promenade when the London weather chose to be kind. However, the sun chose to overcompensate on this day and was now bordering on brutal.

She huffed a breath and flipped her fan out, drifting it dramatically across her face as she tried not to pull at her bodice. This was unsustainable. So much so she was ready to take her leave, until a dramatic splash almost made her jump out of her skin. Penelope rushed over to the side of the lake, peering into the rippling water.

“Do you need assistance?”

ɪɪ. ᴏꜰꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛʜ

Despite her own cautious words (or, perhaps, in spite of them), Penelope decided a hedge maze walk at twilight would be refreshing, especially now that the heat was starting to lessen. Crickets were singing, and she felt the soft brush of wings near her cheek, no doubt a bee or some other lost critter rushing home late. The hedge was slowly twinkling with lazy glowworms, casting an eerie light across the tangled branches.

Penelope took her time pacing past the wall, the light fading into a strange solitude that was unlike what she was used to. Solitude that was encompassing, but somehow less lonely than what she had known most her life. Lighter, in a way, at least when it came to the weight on her heart.

The light had faded once she came back to herself, and it was only then that she realized how far she had let her mind—and her feet—wander. Deciding she would simply backtrack, she took a turn around a hedge... and another... and another.

They certainly did all look the same in this light, did they not? And she was lost.

ɪɪɪ. ᴀ ꜱᴇᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴛ

Even though Penelope may have put away the citrus gowns and bright ribbons, that did not mean she no longer enjoy a field of brilliantly colored flowers. Her stroll was casual as she enjoyed the view of the newest blooms and talked herself out of picking one to slip in her glove and take home.

(She was already in trouble enough with Her Majesty and did not wish to tempt fate.)

She leaned over to a particularly enchanting bloom and sniffed. The flowers certainly smelled potent, but Penelope is sure she has never smelled anything quite like that before.

[Any canon point, will match prose or brackets.]

I + wildcard

[artoftheswoon]

The heat is hard to ignore and it's obvious that it has affected others differently. Anthony has gone for a swim, while Penelope seems to be melting. There is no relief Daphne could truly offer, but a small one might be something to keep Penelope from fainting.

Daphne gently touched Pen's arm, trying to hide her towards the small tent erected for the family to enjoy their picnic. "Come, have some lemonade."

The children have been let out of their pram and allowed to play on a blanket. Auggie, being the oldest, toddles from person to person, simply looking for more attention and affection.

the spare

[venturesomecourse]

Slip and fall

Benedict had almost decided not to come today (his sisters have other brothers to be their escorts, after all), but in the end, he had decided to come along. Mostly to avoid having to sit around Bridgerton House by himself. Sometimes he wants a little solitude. Other times he does not. Like today.

Besides, if he comes along, he can at least pretend that he's determining which of the debutantes he would like his mother to introduce him to. (The answer to that question would be none of them, but Violet won't accept that answer, so he makes the smallest amount of effort possible.)

It is all worth it to see Anthony dunked in the water by someone with twice as many legs (and twice as much sense) as he has. Benedict isn't even sorry to be laughing at his brother so.

"We can't take him anywhere."

He's not talking about the dog.

Off the path

He hasn't come into the maze for any particular reason. But with his artist's eye, he's always enjoyed the sunset for the colors it brings, and here inside the maze, he can't help but notice the dramatic shadows brought about by the setting of the sun, too.

He's settled on a bench with a pocket-sized sketchbook and a pencil, busily putting the hedges and the shadows and the angles down on paper, and he doesn't hear anyone approaching where he sits.

A seductive scent

Benedict is just meandering around the park, avoiding debutantes, keeping an eye on his unmarried sisters from a distance, when he wanders a little too close to Her Majesty's new flowers. What an intoxicating scent they're giving off...

[Anyone who is not related to him is welcome to find him among the flowers.]

🌺🌺🌺

[nomdepen]

The sun is out, the Ton is buzzing, and Penelope is sulking.

Her re-introduction into society had been an utter disaster, as far as she is concerned. One night of poor reception had spoiled it all, but she has a new wardrobe now and is resolved to seeing this season out with what little pride she has left intact.

Still, she keeps to herself, wandering the Queen's new flowers to admire. The scent is unlike anything she think she has smelled before. Penelope pauses, glancing up only to see Benedict across a small stretch of flowers, parallel to her.

"Mr. Bridgerton," she offers. "Lovely day, is it not?"

the nuerospicy one

[sonatinas]

( slip and fall )
[The Serpentine has once again proven itself a stage for the ton’s most unfortunate accidents. This time, however, it is not a dramatic plunge but something rather more delicate—a silk glove, clearly expensive, clearly misplaced, and most certainly not abandoned by accident. Francesca Bridgerton is seen standing at the edge of the water, holding the lone glove between her fingers as though it might confess its owner if handled gently enough.

A gentleman passing by might recognize the embroidery as belonging to someone of notable standing, though whether he admits it aloud is another matter entirely. Francesca, for her part, appears unconcerned with propriety as she watches the water ripple, turning the glove once more in her hand before finally glancing up as if expecting someone—anyone—to step forward and claim it before she is forced to decide what to do with it herself.]

( off the path )
[Hyde Park’s hedge maze has always been recommended as a charming diversion for polite society, though few speak of how quickly charm becomes uncertainty when dusk begins to settle. Francesca Bridgerton is seen moving deeper between the hedgerows than one might consider entirely sensible, though she does not appear distressed so much as quietly intrigued by the way paths seem to shift when not properly observed.

The light thins into amber and shadow, and the maze begins to feel less like a garden feature and more like something that listens. Francesca pauses at a junction where three paths diverge, turning slightly as though she has just heard her name spoken somewhere behind her. Rather than calling out for help, she lingers—waiting, perhaps, for someone else who might also be wandering, or for the hedge itself to decide whether it will allow her to leave on her own terms.]

( seductive scent )
[Following a pleasant afternoon picnic upon the lawns, where laughter and conversation had briefly softened even the most carefully guarded members of the ton, a pianoforte has been brought outside beneath the open air. The music that follows is gentle at first—light enough to match the remaining warmth of the day—but it soon begins to feel less like performance and more like invitation.

Francesca stands just beyond the gathered guests, hands loosely clasped behind her back as she listens, her attention drifting not to the player but to the rhythm itself as though it might be speaking in a language she almost understands. When the piece shifts unexpectedly—pausing in a way that suggests uncertainty rather than skill—her gaze lifts toward the instrument, and she steps forward as if deciding whether the silence that follows is meant to be filled by someone other than the performer.]

ooc: timeline is whatever you wish it to be. i very much play francesca as bi, so the third prompt is very open. i'm down to clown~

Scent

[needtonap]

[If anyone understands Francesca's desire to fill the silence with music. He had always promised not to steal her stool, simply content to listen to her genuine talent. The thought of it has him beaming with pride, pushing him to be a bit more bold and hold her hand.

Shocking.

His smile is full of love, his eyes adoring his beautiful, kind wife. One that helps him understand truly the music she plays.]

the "forever spinster"

[aspirers]

( slip and fall )
[The Serpentine is behaving, as ever, with a flair for drama entirely unbecoming of polite society. A sudden commotion near the bank—voices raised, fabric splashing at the edge of the water—- draws more attention than decorum would ever approve of. Eloise Bridgerton, however, does not appear particularly interested in observing from a safe distance.

Without much hesitation that could be called sensible, she is seen stepping out of her shoes, skirts already gathered with determined practicality, before wading directly into the shallows. The water catches at the hem of her dress, darkening the fabric as she moves forward with surprising focus, her attention fixed entirely on the figure struggling just beyond reach.]

Do not stand there watching like statues, unless you are all planning to contribute commentary instead of help. [Her voice carries back toward the bank, brisk and unimpressed, as though the existence of an audience is mildly offensive in the face of urgency.]

If someone is going to drown, I would prefer it not be because everyone agreed it was improper to get wet.

( off the path )
[Hyde Park’s hedge maze at dusk has become, in Eloise Bridgerton’s entirely personal opinion, one of the few acceptable uses of aristocratic landscaping. The hedges rise like green walls around them, the fading light turning every turn into something just slightly more mysterious than it has any right to be. She moves through it with unbothered confidence, arm still linked through her companion’s as though separation would be an act of betrayal against good sense and better conversation.

At a bend in the path, she slows, tilting her head as if the air itself might be carrying something older than sound. There is a softness to her expression now, something half-whimsical, half-conspiratorial, as though she has stepped briefly into a world she once read about too late at night.]

Do you ever think this maze was written before it was built? [Her smile curves faintly, as though she has just remembered a passage from some long-forgotten volume tucked between real history and impossible fiction.]

Like one of those old tales—- The Labyrinth of Saint Elowen, where the hedges were said to remember every soul that passed through them and rearrange themselves accordingly.

( scent of seduction )
[Just beyond the perimeter of a well-kept country estate, Eloise Bridgerton has successfully abandoned any pretense of remaining properly upright. The garden, in its spring fullness, seems to have defeated her in the most agreeable way possible. She is half-reclined in the grass now, skirt spread in a manner that would scandalize at least three distant aunts if they were present to witness it, though Eloise appears unconcerned with their hypothetical opinions.

The warmth of the afternoon settles over everything in soft, golden layers, the kind that makes thought loosen at the edges. She idly picks at a blade of grass, letting it slip between her fingers, while the faintest flush creeps up her cheeks for reasons she does not quite bother to name. It is not discomfort. Not quite restlessness either. Something gentler, quieter—- like the world has shifted imperceptibly closer and forgotten to warn her.]

I do not see the problem with lying down in a perfectly respectable field when the sky is behaving so beautifully.

[Her voice is light, almost lazily amused, though there is a softness to it that wasn’t there moments before. She turns her head slightly toward her companion, eyes half-lidded against the sun.]

If anyone objects, they are welcome to come lie down and explain themselves properly.

ooc: similarly open timeline and open prompts are so very open

scent of seduction~

[nomdepen]

[Penelope did not know that the impossible loneliness she endured in the country could be any worse, but somehow the return to society feels even more crushing. It is the being around people - voices floating through public spaces but never towards her, laughter in response to private jokes she does not understand, half-glances towards her as if she is something shifting in the periphery, but will dissipate if looked at straight on.

She is close enough to hear every word whispered, but still far enough away that it never occurs to anyone she is listening. Sometimes she wonders if she has already faded away and simply does not know.

Walking through the garden moves her away from the voices, but settles something else in her, like a knot formed in her stomach. By the time she stumbles (nearly literally) upon Eloise, her cheeks are flushed.]

I would quite like to, but I do not expect it to be welcome.

michael stirling | bridgerton books

[malarial]

( slip and fall )
[The Serpentine has turned chaotic in the way water tends to when people forget how quickly it can become indifferent. Someone has gone in—too far, too fast, too late to simply be called a misstep. Michael Stirling arrives at the edge of it with the quiet assessment of a man who has spent years at sea and in the Napoleonic Wars, where procedure is not theory but habit, and hesitation is often the difference between retrieval and recovery.

He removes his coat first, then his shirt, each movement economical, unshowy, almost absent of thought. There is no performance in it—only familiarity. He has been on boats in worse weather, pulled men from colder water, learned exactly how quickly strength disappears when panic takes hold. The water does not change just because it is London instead of the Channel.]

Stay back unless you know how to pull someone out properly. [His voice is steady, controlled, already focused past the crowd and into the water itself.]

Point me to where they went under. Quickly.

( off the path )
[Hyde Park’s hedge maze at dusk has settled into its quiet, green ambiguity, where paths fold into one another as if the world has briefly lost interest in being straightforward. Michael Stirling moves through it without urgency, but with the confidence of someone who has never minded being difficult to find.

He stops at a fork, glancing sideways at his companion with a faint, easy curve of amusement in his expression. There is no grand declaration in his posture—only a simple extension of his hand, as though the decision to leave the world behind for a while is the most natural thing in it.]

Come with me. [His tone is calm, unpressured, as if offering nothing more consequential than a change of pace.]

We can walk until the rest of them decide they’ve finished being predictable.

( scent of seduction )
[The afternoon garden should feel ordinary—- sunlight, distant laughter, the soft rustle of seasonal bloom—but Michael Stirling is aware, with uncomfortable clarity, that something is not entirely right. It is not dramatic enough to alarm anyone else. That is what makes it worse.

His body feels warm in a way that is not entirely attributable to weather or wine. Thoughts slide slightly slower than intended, edges softened, reactions delayed just enough to be noticeable to himself. His cravat, once neat, is loosened without him fully recalling the decision to do so.]

That is… not normal. [He exhales slowly, gaze narrowing as though trying to out-stare the sensation itself.]

And yet, I cannot decide if I am irritated by it… or entirely too comfortable.

ooc: he is technically book canon but i can work with whatever timelines or au you like. very open to m/f and m/m

Wildcard

[needtonap]

[When dog and viscount are safely on shore, the damage can be better assessed. His cousin, usually chaotic, showed his serious and commanding personality. It's something that John has always wished to bear, but has always fallen short of.

The two men are thoroughly damp. It's an amusing sight, but one that draws concern from John. While it may be warm, it's still possible for Michael to catch a cold. There is a spare blanket under the canopy, which John was quick to retrieve and now offer to his cousin.]

Did you enjoy your swim?