CHAPTER SIX.
diamond in the rough.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     "YOU LOOK LOVELY, ABIGAIL," OCTAVIA SAYS. Her eyes are glowing with pride as she steps back to admire her daughter, currently stood on a small podium in front of a mirror in the modiste's shop. Abigail's hair is pinned up to allow her personalised dress to be seen fully — it is made of silk in a light peach shade, with fine shimmering embellishments and a ribbon bow tied around the back of her waist.

As it turns out, if you need a new dress for the ball, Genevieve Delacroix is your woman. Running her own business quite successfully, she is the most sought-after modiste in the ton. Winifred notices, while perched on a small cushion seat, that debutantes keep flocking in like sheep to place orders for new gowns, pelisses and beyond. Madeline brought the Seymour girls here so that they could have something special for the next ball... hosted by none other than Queen Charlotte herself.

"The shape is very flattering, no?" Madame Delacroix gestures to her handiwork, in her seemingly French accent. "I have tried to modify the sleeves to your liking, Miss Abigail, not too puffy, but—"

"Oh, I love it! I don't think I have ever had a dress so exquisite, Madame Delacroix, thank you," Abigail beams from ear to ear, almost to a point of appearing anxious.

"De rien, it is my pleasure. I am just pleased you thought to come to my shop."

"Well, you are the best in town," Madeline says with a grateful smile.

There seem to be delighted smiles and chuckles all around — Madame Delacroix has a small smile playing across her face, something like satisfaction. Perhaps it also has something to do with the Seymours being such courteous customers. Just before it was their turn to be fitted, the Featheringtons had been in here, apparently too lacking in funds to buy new dresses, but still just as insistent to live vicariously through those on display until the next Lord Featherington came along.

Rather unwillingly, Winifred is slowly catching up to the news in the ton through her sisters and Lady Whistledown. It turns out that the last season ended quite dramatically for the Featheringtons, finding the late Lord Featherington presumably dead, which left the mother with her three girls to flounder until a new candidate for the man of the house came along and could provide for them. Winifred didn't even have to learn this from Whistledown... the Featherington girls simply complained so loudly, all except for Penelope, who remained the quiet wallflower ushered to the back by her bold family.

Whistledown certainly seems very on top of things — she has already published her latest take on the upcoming ball thrown by Queen Charlotte, the copy of which is clutched in Winifred's hand, only half-read:

LADY WHISTLEDOWN
Formed under pressure, desired by many, yet possessed only by a fortunate few, there is nothing on earth quite so envied as a diamond. Might our queen finally extinguish the fevered speculation and bestow the highest of honors to a most fortunate young lady tonight? With so many futures at risk, I do suspect this author is not the only one waiting with bated breath.

     Abigail is suddenly faltering in her reflection, smoothing down her dress insecurely. "I won't... stick out too much, will I? Amongst all those other pretty debutantes—"

     "Of course not, my dear," her mother interjects.

     "I know, it's just..." the girl gulps, "it is the queen's ball."

     Octavia takes Abigail's hands in hers, seeming determined. "Hold your head high and know your worth. Then it shall not matter what you are wearing." Then, breaking free from thought, she whirls around the room impatiently. "Speaking of which... how long has Jemima been in there?"

     From behind a curtain, there is a loud clatter, followed by Jemima's voice feebly admitting: "... I appear to be stuck."

     "How can you be stuck? You have people helping you dress!"

     "Erm, I– I just am! I am afraid I shan't be coming out any time soon."

     "Ah non," Madame Delacroix sighs, clasping her hands together. "Excuse me for one moment, ladies..."

     The modiste politely curtsies and leaves the room, slipping behind the curtain to check on Jemima. Whilst her mother and Abigail start chatting about preparations for the ball, Winifred casts her gaze around the modiste's shop, with its pastel walls and mannequins displaying all the latest fashions... and realises just how numb she feels to it all. Although she has never cared as much for fancy dresses or gilded ballrooms, she feels even less interested in them these days. Those material things all seem to pale with the perspective her grief has given her.

Perhaps Madeline senses her in deep thought, for when she looks back at her sister, her face is etched with concern. "Are you sure you do not want a fitting yourself, Winifred?"

"Quite sure. It would not feel... right." Winifred wrings her hands together on her lap. She is still in half-mourning, after all, keeping her clothing modest and in more somber shades. "I just feel guilty not paying for some of these dresses myself—"

"Oh, stop it! You must not feel guilty."

"But I feel useless just sitting here and—"

"Do not. Silas and I are doing this willingly. You are all our guests, and we are taking care of you," insists Madeline, stepping into her big sister shoes. "All you need do, my dear sister, is sit back and do what you feel most comfortable with."

"Very well..." Winifred sighs.

From behind the curtain, Jemima emerges, her long raven hair falling down the back of her dress, which has now been correctly laced-up. The dress is a bold shade of magenta — unlike the delicate, light peach of Abigail's gown — and has more petal-like sleeves. She might not believe it herself, but Jemima looks stunning. Madame Delacroix leads her to the podium with her own sense of pride over her work.

"And... voilá! Miss Jemima, I think the darker fabrics accompany your complexion well, do they not?" Madame Delacroix smirks in the mirror.

Jemima, meanwhile, inspects herself; there is a glimmer in her eye as though she might like what she sees. "Well, yes... I have to admit it's rather striking," she says with breathless surprise.

"See? I told you Madame Delacroix could work magic!" Madeline cheers.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     IF the Danbury ball was grand, then Queen Charlotte's ball is ten times the scale of the occasion. Buckingham House is a sight of royal decadence as candelabras glimmer in every corner of the ballroom, along with lavish chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Everyone is eager to be on their best form when the monarch is present — excluding King George, of course, who rarely surfaces for public engagements these days due to his mysterious ailment...

     Right off the bat, they are to greet the queen on their way inside. Winifred internalises all of her nerves, like a tightly-wound knot in the pit of her stomach, which only translates to a slightly restrained facial expression. Abigail, on the other hand, is panicking. The moment she sees Queen Charlotte standing there — her wig just as voluminous as her dress — she starts to ramble, fretting that her palms are sweating buckets inside her gloves.

     "Do not flail completely, duckie," Jemima whispers to her, "or who knows? Her Majesty might throw you into the tower."

     To this, Winifred sends her youngest sister a death stare so unnerving that it promptly silences her.

     Nevertheless, they manage alright, curtsying so low for Her Majesty that Winifred thinks her knees might buckle in. She had spotted Queen Charlotte at the Danbury Ball, but to be in her presence like this and have her made aware that they exist is a whole other honour entirely. Although she does know that some of her ancestors and relatives — on Octavia's side of the family — who have met the royals on a few occasions, or worked in proximity with them.

     With that initial pressure removed, the Seymours and Osbornes retreat back to the sidelines of the ballroom; tonight, they are joined by an extra guest, being Silas's mother. Persephone Osborne is dressed lavishly but still wears her usual cold gaze. According to Silas, he is not surprised that she would re-surface only for some of the more prestigious events of the season, as there is no chance she would turn down an invitation from the queen herself.

     Abigail has a nervous twinkle in her eyes. "You don't think... the queen would choose someone like us as the diamond, do you?"

     "An untitled, unknown girl such as yourself? Impossible," Persephone huffs, unprompted.

     "Oh no, I didn't mean– I didn't think I actually would– I just..." Abigail blushes furiously.

As the next dance commences, the royal orchestra plays a beautifully nuanced melody for them all. Happening to be standing nearby the musicians, Winifred casts her gaze towards them with admiration — something she often pays attention to at a ball, whether it be something as large as this, or simply a gathering in a town hall. Attending events and hearing the string orchestras play was always what inspired Winifred to take up the violin. Her grandmother had scolded her for it at first, since the violin "encouraged the unladylike position of raising one's elbows", to which Octavia had quickly countered that "if your attentions are focused on her elbows, mother, then I dare say you haven't the slightest ear for music nor talent."

In truth, she wanted to master something like Madeline had — her sister was an incredibly gifted pianist, and perhaps had she not married and followed that particular desire of her heart, she would have been performing in concertos and composing beautiful piano solos. Winifred wanted to master something. Whether she actually did it with the violin, she doubts it, but she certainly became a very hard-working and precise violinist.

     But she has not played in quite some time. Not since before Joseph...

Across the room, more arrivals are appearing by the minute. The Featheringtons, then the Sharmas. Making their way down the staircase next are the Bridgertons — Violet with Eloise in tow, followed by Anthony and Benedict — and on their way to the queen, they give the Seymours and Osbornes a friendly nod. Winifred is almost certain that Eloise mouthed "save me" to Jemima, who only shrugged like she had no clue what she was talking about.

"Anyone here you have not yet rejected?" she overhears Benedict ask his brother.

"You are the artist. Do you see anyone remotely inspiring?" Anthony fires back, to which the younger Bridgerton just shrugs. Artist? thinks Winifred with curiosity. Meanwhile, the viscount's eyes scan the crowd with careful precision; completely lacking in sentimentality. "We shall have our diamond tonight. And I shall have a wife."

     Winifred frowns overhearing this. Just how exactly does the viscount intend on securing a match with this logic? There is pragmatism, and then there is... whatever Anthony is attempting to do. Perhaps you should not critique him, she tells herself. You barely know the man.

     Down the stairs, Lettie arrives arm-in-arm with her baroness, dressed in a maroon gown; the relief of a familiar face in this ballroom floods her once more. Her presence was an unexpected surprise, but a welcome one. She approaches her after having greeted the queen. "I suppose you heard that, too?" Lettie asks Winifred, allowing the baroness to break away and greet an old friend she has just spotted.

     "The viscount, you mean?" Winifred stares after him. "Let us simply say that it would perhaps be wise to rule him out of the equation for Abigail or Jemima."

     "Right you are. I saw him interrogating a poor debutante in Gunter's Tea Shop this week. Still, there are plenty more bachelors to go around... I have been doing my homework."

     "Then enlighten me, I haven't a clue where to begin."

     Lettie steps closer to her, scanning the room thoughtfully with her eyes narrowed like a hunter taking its shot. Then she singles out the familiar red-headed family in the distance. "You know the Featheringtons? They were wrapped up in quite a bit of scandal last year."

     "Well I know that Lord Featherington died—"

     "Yes, and thanks to that and his slight gambling problem, they have been on the brink of ruin ever since. Miss Philippa Featherington has been courting a Mr. Finch for quite some time now, but of course, they cannot marry until that dowry is paid by the new Lord Featherington, who has yet to show his face..."

     "Which one is she?"

     "The one with the red hair."

     "They all have red hair, Lettie," Winifred reminds her.

     "Alright, the smaller one, a little less– ah! See there, she is speaking to that gentleman," Lettie determinedly singles her out; now Winifred can identify her, speaking with a young man very animatedly with an air of innocence about them. She can detect the excitement of young love in an instant. The tallest (and loudest) one, she believes, is Prudence, which leaves the wallflower she remembers from her first day to be Penelope. She is elsewhere in the room with Eloise Bridgerton, the two of them as thick as thieves, and both not quite clicking with the debutante crowd in the same way.

"Do you actually know why they landed in such scandal in the first place?" asks Lettie. "Before everything with Lord Featherington, I mean?"

     "No?"

     Lettie's eyes darken, shaking off the more sensationalised commentary for something more sincere. "Well... last season, the Featheringtons took in a distant cousin of theirs and introduced her to society. Very beautiful, I hear, and caught the eyes of many suitors. Even Colin Bridgerton. But Lady Whistledown soon revealed her big secret, which was that the young lady was with child, and had been since before her arrival in London."

     "Really? What happened?" Winifred presses on; there may be gaps in the story, but she has to know if the woman found stability and safety at the end... the thought of her being neglected to raise a child on her own does not bear thinking about.

     "She was wed by the end of the season, I think," she shrugs. "To whom, I have no idea."

     After this revelation, Lettie seems keen to move onto a new subject. Her eyes keep scanning the room and this time fall onto a different family. "Ah, yes, the Cowpers..." she says, with a tinge of distaste in her voice. "If you have the misfortune of talking to Cressida Cowper yourself, do not waste your breath for too long. She is a rather vile creature if I ever met one. You should see her speaking to the other debutantes — belittling them, manipulating her way into a situation that betters herself. Of course, that upsets the sisters of potential suitors, so you can imagine that she struggles to find a man who can stand to be with her."

     "Lettie, you should not be so harsh—"

     "You would agree, too, if you spoke to her."

     Winifred follows her gaze to the Cowper family, singling out Cressida — a tall and slender young woman, with tightly-drawn blonde hair and snake-like eyes. Is Lettie's judgement too critical? She would rather not hold prejudices against those she knows little about, but she certainly detects a mean streak in Cressida with the way she surveys the room. Winifred, herself, can be quite stubborn in her beliefs... so she makes a mental note to keep tabs on her.

     "Who are they?" she asks suddenly. She nods across the room, to where a young man amongst his family is staring across the room... his gaze seems to fall upon the Seymour girls. He is talking with his sister, who also steals glances at them with great interest.

     Lettie notices and fills in with commentary. "The Caldwells, I believe. His eldest son is perhaps Abigail's age, set to inherit his father's title after he passes... do you think he looks interested?"

     "I do not know," Winifred shakes her head, although she is starting to feel more convinced. There is hope yet. "What do you make of the family?"

     "They seem nice enough. I think they have a particular interest in the theatre. Both watching it and performing it."

     "Miss Fitzroy!" Lady Strachan, Lettie's elderly baroness, suddenly approaches with her walking stick. "How long, exactly, do you intend on delaying the introduction of your dear friend here?"

     "Of course... apologies, my lady." Lettie stands between them. "This is Winifred Erstwhile, a long-time friend of mine."

     "Lady Strachan," Winifred curtsies politely to her.

     "I have heard much about you, Miss Erstwhile—"

     "Mrs. Erstwhile," Lettie corrects her.

     "Yes, sorry, Mrs. Erstwhile. Oh, so is your husband not here tonight?"

     "... Unfortunately not anymore, my lady," Winifred's voice grows a little quieter.

     Lady Strachan studies her for a moment, before sympathy blooms in her amber eyes. "Ah... you are the widow she told me about. Yes, yes, I remember now. My memory, you see, it can be rather foggy..." There is a slightly awkward silence that stretches between the trio, where none of them know what to do or say. "Anyway, we shall not bother you any longer. Miss Fitzroy, I am rather parched. Let us fetch a drink."

     "Certainly, my lady..." Lettie says. She mouths an anguished 'Sorry!' to Winifred before leaving, although the widow does not find herself troubled about it, beyond some obvious discomfort.

One of the dances that had been going on finishes with a flourish and a light round of applause. There is always a restrained hustle between each dance, like those making last-minute additions to dance cards. And, as always with these balls, it is like a revolving door of conversation — when one ends, another begins. Lady Danbury is already making her way over with the Sharmas to say hello.

"Lady Danbury," Persephone says coolly. "I see Her Majesty is still confiding in you after all this time."

"Yes, after all this time indeed..." Lady Danbury raises an eyebrow at her; like a challenge.

There is clearly some history between the two old friends. In fact, the whole ton seems to have it, and it tires Winifred.

Another criss-cross of conversation begins — the two old dowagers seem to start verbally sparring, Octavia puts Mary Sharma at ease by asking her what brought her to England and not chastising her for it, while Abigail and Jemima are keen to hear about Edwina's musical talents that include the sitar... it just leaves Kate and Winifred, stood side-by-side like statues, surveying the crowds quietly. She has noticed that the older Sharma sister seems to leave nothing out of consideration, adapting to her new environment hour by hour.

Kate seems so engrossed, that she completely surprises Winifred by asking her, "Mrs. Erstwhile, what do you suppose is taking the queen so long to decide on a diamond?"

"I could not tell you, Miss Sharma," Winifred replies truthfully. "I have never been present for the debutante season in London until this year."

"Then appearances can be deceiving. I thought you looked like you knew your way around this place."

She lets out something between a sigh and a chuckle. "Well, that is flattering to hear, thank you. Balls such as these are not my scene at all... truth be told, I feel much more at home in the country."

Kate's eyes light up with reminiscence, more tender than her usual stare; perhaps she is thinking of her home in India. "I can understand. I, myself, am quite partial to —" she suddenly clocks Lady Danbury in her periphery and lowers her voice, "— a morning ride through the country to clear one's thoughts."

"That sounds most refreshing," Winifred nods. She is also fond of a morning walk.

"It is."

There is a drop in the conversation, only for a moment, before Winifred tentatively picks it up again.

"You seem very close with your sister, Edwina," she says, glancing at the girl with the infectious smile and graceful manner.

The overflowing look of pride in Kate's features is hard to miss. "We are very close. She deserves the very best match, and I am determined to find it for her during our time in London — a motivation I am sure you understand, Mrs. Erstwhile, having observed your devotion to your sisters."

"Why, yes..." Winifred finds herself touched by this sentiment. Kate hardly knows her, but seems acutely aware of this already; she can see through follies to find what is truly important.

"The trouble is finding a gentleman who is even remotely deserving of my sister's hand."

"Oh, tell me about it."

Kate and Winifred look at each other and break out into a smile. She can say with some certainty that she likes the eldest Sharma sister already — she appreciates her straightforwardness, something difficult to find in a world like the ton, and how she is clearly fighting for her family's best interests. Kate Sharma might very well be a good person to confide in over the next few months.

"Just a moment, I can see that gentleman coming over to us..." Kate grows serious again, alerting their attention across the ballroom. Surely enough, the young Caldwell boy who Lettie described to Winifred earlier is walking towards them with his family trailing behind him. The son resembles his mother, with browner hair and pale eyes, whilst the sister's strawberry blonde hair has been tied up and her green eyes match the sparkling details on her dress.

The father greets them first. "Lord Osborne," he bows.

"Lord Caldwell," Silas returns the greeting. "It is very good to see you again."

     "The pleasure is all ours. Could I make an introduction to your guests?"

     After a quick glance around the party, which give him approving nods, he replies, "Certainly."

    "Very well, then. My lord... may I introduce my son, Mr. Francis Caldwell, and my daughter, Miss Emilia Caldwell."

     "Like 'Othello'?" Jemima suddenly blurts out; instantaneously, she claps her gloves hand over her mouth. She seemed to have instantly recognised the name of a Shakespeare heroine in Lord Caldwell's daughter. It could easily have been an awkward moment — but instead Emilia smiles brightly at her, like she has been recognised. The smile undoes Jemima so much that she cannot help herself, returning it, although she is not sure why.

     Laughing off the last interaction, the youngest son steps forward. "Would you mind if I reserved the next dance with your daughter?"

     It's happening!

     "Which one?" Octavia asks eagerly, and Abigail steps forward with hopefulness in her eyes.

     "Actually, I was hoping to dance with Miss Jemima."

     A beat passes. Edwina and Abigail, followed by the rest of the family, all turn to look at Jemima; she blinks at the young man in complete shock. "Me? Are you– are you certain—" she stammers, before Octavia clears her throat loudly. "I– I mean, yes... alright then... if you must..."

     Still looking stunned, Jemima feebly holds up her wrist so that his name may be written on her dance card. There are some excited whispers among the Seymours — Abigail appears happy for her sister, but cannot mask the slight pang of disappointment she feels. Once Lord Caldwell has stepped aside, only then does Jemima start to panic.

     "How did you do that?" Abigail asks, as if there is a big secret to enticing a gentleman.

     "You think I know?" Jemima whispers harshly. "I haven't a clue, I was simply standing here!"

     "Well, you must have done something—"

     "Hush, girls!" Octavia suddenly says, drowned out by the fanfare of trumpets which silences the whole ballroom.

     Everyone waits with bated breath for the monarch to speak. Queen Charlotte slowly rises from her seat, clasping her gloved hands together in front of her. "Your presence is noted, and your queen most appreciative. Allow it to now be my honour to present to you, the season's diamond..."

     The crowd all lean forward, highly anticipating her decision. The queen surveys the crowd before her eyes land on Lady Danbury. Then, with a hint of a smirk, she decides:

     "... Miss Edwina Sharma."

     There is an audible gasp of shock and delight from the Sharmas — Winifred looks across to see that Edwina is beaming, whilst Kate celebrates in quiet triumph and a fond glance at her sister. The crowd breaks out into polite applause, a mixture of emotions now rippling through the room as the newly-crowned diamond shines bright. Her Majesty's right hand man, Brimsley, takes Edwina's arm and leads her over to Queen Charlotte to a chorus of merry string music.

     Meanwhile, Anthony Bridgerton looks like he has just struck gold.

     Suddenly a great number of gentlemen are flocking over to Edwina, eager to reserve a dance with her — Winifred privately thinks that the whole thing looks ridiculous. Anthony, however, is there first. Having manoeuvred his way over to the diamond, he leads a glowing Edwina onto the dance-floor.

"Go on, then," Octavia nudges Jemima urgently.

"What? Now?" Jemima despairs.

"He reserved the next dance with you, didn't he? This is the next dance! Go on, dear, enjoy yourself!"

As Jemima is ushered towards the young Francis Caldwell, his sister, Emilia, chips in: "Do be careful around my brother," she says slyly, "he can barely put one big foot in front of the other."

"Speak for yourself, Millie!" Francis hisses quietly, but she just shakes her head at him. All Jemima can do is laugh nervously while the light fades from behind her eyes.

     The dance begins, and with the pairings directly next to each other, it is a vastly contrasting picture — the laser-focused Anthony and the self-assured Edwina, versus the awkward entanglement that is Jemima and Francis. Winifred does not envy her sister on the dance-floor at the moment. The Bridgertons also seem bemused to watch the viscount dancing with the diamond, Violet observing with a slightly anxious curiosity, while Benedict simply sits back and lets it unfold. A drink in hand, he raises an eyebrow as Francis trods on Jemima's foot.

     "Is that your sister on the dance-floor?" he asks Winifred, who happens to be the closest by.

     "Yes, was it that evident?"

     "The poor thing..."

     "I do not see Eloise anywhere," she tries looking around for the reluctant debutante.

     "Neither do I. The last time I spotted her, she was sneaking off into the shadows with Penelope Featherington."

     "Well, she had better return soon, she does have a dance card to be filled..." Violet interjects exasperatedly. A glint in her eye, she clocks a group of young ladies at the side-lines and turns to her second son. "Benedict, dear, have you met—"

     But Benedict swiftly cuts her off, an urgency in his eyes: "You know, I am feeling rather parched after all that waiting for the diamond. I think I shall go and grab myself a drink — goodbye!"

     "Benedict, wait– ugh..."

     Winifred watches him quickly disappear into the crowd as Violet lets out a disappointed sigh. Even if Anthony is the focus of the season and the one with all the titles, Benedict seems to be just as desirable to the ladies of the ton — as are the rest of the Bridgertons. They are held in very high regard as one of the most respected families here. Benedict, she has noticed, pays little to no interest at all, shirking any opportunity that comes his way to formally meet a young lady. What he does in his spare time is another thing, of course...

     When the dance has ended, Jemima staggers across the room like a scarecrow, hobbling on her aching toes while Francis Caldwell seems slightly put-off by their dance. "How was it?" Abigail asks eagerly; clearly very keen to live vicariously through her.

     "I would have been better off dancing with a broom," Jemima mutters. "It would've been far more dynamic."

     "Well, at least you made an impression..." Octavia says uncertainly.

     Impressions were certainly made elsewhere, because only a stone's throw away the Sharmas and the Bridgertons are crossing paths. The tension between Anthony and Kate is palpable — you could slice through it with a knife — and it does not dissipate when she grabs Edwina's hand, briskly leading her away from the viscount. She seems to very vehemently instructing her sister on something while glaring daggers at Anthony.

     "She is a very lovely diamond, dearest," says Violet.

     "Indeed..." Anthony replies, with resolve. "She is who I shall marry."

Violet is not the only one who raises an eyebrow at this conclusion — behind him, Winifred finds herself questioning how Anthony is going about this decision, the one which changes your life so momentously. Then again, when she reflects on that day for herself, even that felt like a whirlwind...

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

1807.

WINIFRED does not think of today as different from any other spring day. Why would it be? Having returned from their trip to Clifton a few weeks ago, the nineteen year-old enjoy some quiet moments in the drawing room, a small book in her hand. Abigail is trying to perfect her embroidery, and Jemima skipping around the room in boredom. Their parents sit together and happily bask in the company of their children.

It is still strange without Madeline here anymore. She should be on her honeymoon in Florence by now. Winifred finds herself having to re-adjust her routine, where her older sister would usually be her emotional compass, someone of a similar generation with whom she could connect — Abigail and Jemima were still that bit too young.

Aside from that, she has no reason to believe today is any different, until she hears a distinct noise from outside... horse hooves.

"What is that sound?" Octavia asks, furrowing her brow and rising from her chair.

Jemima bounds over to the window and lets out an excited gasp. "It's Mr. Erstwhile, Mama! It's Joseph!"

"And he's in uniform!" Abigail adds giddily at her side.

Winifred snaps her book shut. She almost trips going over to the window, unable to believe it until she sees it... but then there he is — Joseph on horseback, looking more handsome than ever in his bright red uniform. Hearing his voice travelling across the yard, still as light in its tone as she remembers, is music to her ears.

But why is he here? Why now?

She turns around and looks at her father, the only person still seated. Charles is wearing a strange look on his face — like he is keeping a secret from her, but instead of avoiding her eyes, he cannot stop looking at her. Why is he staring at her like that? And why is it suddenly giving her goosebumps, like something is about to happen?

Soon enough, Joseph is led to the drawing room, where the family are all waiting for him. Winifred immediately thinks of all the letters they have exchanged — how much detail and intimacy they have held, which she surprised herself with — and how she can now attribute all of that to the young man standing here. It was both a blessing and a curse... at the end of the day, he did leave Hertfordshire. But then there were the letters, and the way his stare seemed to snap straight to hers when he walked in. Winifred has no clue where she stands.

"How are you finding your post so far?" Octavia asks him.

"Well... it is a lot of work, of course, but it gives me a great deal of purpose..." Joseph looks back at her again, swallowing thickly; why is he so nervous? "Miss Winifred—"

But Octavia cuts him off, insisting, "Come and sit down."

"Oh, I don't know if—"

"You have to tell us everything you've been doing!" Jemima adds eagerly, "It's been too boring around here without you."

"So, how have you—"

"Darling..." Charles interjects, only gently, but it immediately grabs his wife's attention. "I think Mr. Erstwhile has something he would like to say, if you would let him."

"I am letting him!"

Joseph lets out a slightly nervous laugh, seeming completely restless. Charles nods to him and he swallows thickly — it only arouses more suspicion in Winifred for whatever they are planning. "Well, I came here today because... because I would like to request the privilege of speaking to your daughter, Winifred... alone."

"Alone?" Octavia echoes.

"Yes..."

Her mother's expression suddenly changes, as if thunderstruck with realisation. Her lips part open in shock, and she turns to her husband for some sort of conformation; Charles simply nods. Octavia then looks to Winifred, slightly stunned but appearing to be overjoyed for her.

"Of course, I– I am so sorry for going on like that..." Octavia sets down her tea-cup; Winifred noticed her hands are trembling a little bit. When she looks up, her eyes seem to shimmer. "Come on, girls, let us go upstairs."

     "But I have yet to tell him about my—"

     "Hush, Jemima!"

     Both of her parents shoot her loving looks as they all head towards the door. Winifred's heart is now hammering wildly in her chest, because if she is being left alone with Joseph... is this what she thinks it is? Another part of her completely denies it. How could he possibly feel that way about her? They may have opened up in their letters, but that does not mean it was love. Not requited, anyway. He has his own life. A career. She knows it is his pride and joy.

     Winifred expects them to slip straight into easy conversation after their correspondence... but that ability is overestimated, when they seem to be equally as nervous. The grandfather clock ticking away in the room is not helping matters either.

     "It is so good to see you again," she finally says.

     "Likewise," Joseph smiles at her. "You have no idea..."

     Tick-tock, tick-tock, goes the clock. There are hushed whispers behind the door of her sisters, who are clearly eavesdropping. This simply will not do — Winifred cannot hear herself think.

     "Would you care to step outside for some fresh air?"

     "Definitely," Joseph quickly agrees.

     Soon, they are stood side-by-side in the garden of Heyworth House, watching the sunlight glitter over the pond's surface scattered with lily pads. It feels much more like they are by themselves, now, and Winifred had hoped it would put Joseph more at ease — but instead he seems more restless than ever. It is a shame, because she has always enjoyed how he could coax her out of her shell, and now she is trying to find a way to express herself. Meanwhile, her heart is practically ready to burst.

     "I have kept all of your letters," Winifred blurts out. "Under the floorboard, in my bedroom... I pulled the rug over it so no one would suspect a thing. They have been... a great comfort to receive and write."

     Joseph manages a small smile. "I very glad to hear it."

     That was hardly a response. After everything, all they revealed to one another, are they really this distant? "Is... everything well?" she asks him.

     "Yes, it is just... well..." he gulps loudly. "I am rather nervous."

     That much is very clear, Winifred thinks to herself.

     Still, she turns to him, brows knitted together in confusion. "Nervous? What for?"

     "There is something I have to know... something which brought me here today, to you."

     Joseph steels himself as he gazes at her once more. He takes one step forward, drawing together the larger gap that was previously between them. Then, Winifred watches as Joseph lowers himself down onto one knee before her.

     Time seems to stand still.

     "Winifred..." Joseph begins, almost shakily, "I do not know what kind of life I could give you, or indeed, what you could possibly see in me. I know we are young, perhaps clueless. But I can only speak of what I know for certain, which is that my heart — undoubtedly — is yours. It has been from the night I first met you."

     A million doubts and fears both cloud and escape Winifred's mind. Is this even real?

     "Joseph..."

     "And I think when you know something, in your heart, you should try and follow that instinct. So, if you will take me, I wish to spend the rest of my days with you, building a life with you by my side. I know you might doubt the suddenness of this, and if you do not feel the same way, just say the word and I will—"

     "Joseph!" she exclaims, a little louder than she intended; though she finds it hard to control herself now. If she does not say something soon, she might implode.

     "What?"

     "You have barely drawn breath," Winifred points out, an excited impatience coursing through her veins, "therefore how can I answer?"

     Joseph chuckles anxiously and falls silent. Looking at him then, being able to envision a life with him, suddenly feels so right — perhaps they have not known each other for very long. But as her mother told her, when you know, you know. And she would happily spend the rest of her days learning more and more about him... without warning, Winifred finds her vision growing misty as tears begin to well in her eyes. There is no stopping her now.

     "Of course I will have you," she manages to get out.

     "You will?" Joseph asks in disbelief. He sounds emotional, too.

     "You only had to ask..."

     Winifred cannot make speeches. So when Joseph rises, letting out an overjoyed, trembling laugh, she does the only thing she can think of that could possibly show a fraction of what she feels — she rests her palms on his chest and kisses him. She has no idea what she is doing or how to do it. All she knows is that it feels wonderful, this closeness and this embrace. Winifred has never known anything like it, like two halves fitting together in a perfect shape.

     A chorus of wild cheering quickly breaks them apart, their cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. The Seymours appear to have switched from the door to the window for spying — which would have to mean they were in the kitchens, probably confusing the cooks and other staff in there at the moment. Abigail and Jemima are whooping loudly, Octavia is clapping her hands together with tears in her eyes, while Charles remains frozen but silently proud. Watching them through the window is like seeing her childhood perfectly framed, and with it comes a startling realisation, which is both thrilling and terrifying:

     Everything is about to change.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

A U T H O R ' S
N O T E

—

Dearest readers...

That last scene had me all like 🥺🥺🥺 it was inspired by Bingley's proposal to Jane in the 2005 P&P. Hopefully it didn't feel too cheesy, Winifred and Joseph were rather young when they were married (19 and 20 respectively) so I wanted it to feel like a marriage proposal between two nervous teens/young adults, if that makes sense? Anyway, from now on, the flashbacks are going to provide some insight into (some of) the ups and downs of their married life.

I know I've been going bonkers with updates recently, and I may well go back on what I'm about to say, but I truly think I will take a little pause from updating this fic (not too long, or anything, just so I can give some other fics my attention!). But at least I'm happy where we have paused for now — I saw this chapter as a "part two" to the previous one, getting us used to the ton and the characters in it. With the next chapter and everything that happens in episode two comes some new subplots, which I'm interested to see you react to 👀

How excited are people for season 3? I'm buzzing for it to be released, May/June could not come soon enough! I loved the content we got on Christmas Day with the new stills, poster and bloopers from season 1.

Thank you for reading, and as this is the very last update of 2023, I wish you all a happy new year!

Yours truly,
— starryeyedturtle

PUBLISHED: 30/12/2023