Chapter Text
“In a most tragic turn of events the late Earl and Countess Briar have perished in a carriage accident not far from their country estate.
They are survived by their children, Lord Yuri Briar, Earl of Ostanishire and his elder sister, Lady Yor Briar.”
- an excerpt from The Berlint Society Pages 1804
Yor had suffered through four seasons stuck to the back wall of ballrooms like a shadow. Now twenty years of age many of her peers had begun to look upon her with pity only worthy of those entirely helpless, and she was beginning to believe she deserved it. The girls she had made her debut alongside had all long been married. Only Yor was left to occupy herself by observing the flirtations of others, while she shamefully possessed an empty dance card every single ball. The embarrassment took root deep inside her, not only on her behalf but on the behalf of her brother and sponsor. Poor Yuri, an Earl at only thirteen, would surely suffer from her reputation as a repulsive wallflower. The Dowager Marchioness Sherwood, who had graciously taken Yor under her wing in lieu of her late mother, would be saddled with her reputation as well. She had tutored Yor herself and made it her mission to successfully debut her in society, but Yor proved unteachable.
At first, men had approached her, attracted by her title and sizable dowry no doubt, but once they invited her to dance, or tried to engage in conversation with her they were instantly repulsed. Yor had persistent bouts of anxiety while speaking to suitors, she stammered and stepped on countless toes in her first season, and since then she had not received one gentleman caller.
Tonight was no different from all those nights in the years prior. Marchioness Sherwood had secured for her an invitation to a ball hosted by newlyweds Viscount Dominic and Viscountess Camilla, all thanks to her good standing in society, which Yor could not match. Before entering the ballroom the Marchioness had pulled her aside.
“Yor darling, I promise tonight is the night.”
“Oh Sylvia,” the two had become increasingly familiar over the years, “your trust in me never fails and I am incredibly thankful, but I cannot stop the doubt the past four years has planted in my mind.”
“My girl please, when have I ever lied to you.” The older woman teased, “I have on good authority that more honorable men will be in attendance.” She looked over her shoulder before lowering her tone to a whisper, “Men of better manners than Berlint’s usual sorry lot.”
“Marchioness!” Yor was taken aback, but she conceded. “Alright, I will do my best if any such man approaches me, but I do not know if I will have such luck.”
“You will see my dear, now rush along, I have urgent business to discuss with an acquaintance.”
As much faith as she had in her mentor nothing of note had happened in the hour she had been loitering around Viscountess Camilla’s estate. Yor had idly sipped her punch at the fringe of groups of chattering ladies, feigned interest in the art or architecture when she was yet again not invited to dance, and listened dutifully to the lectures of older gentlemen who judged her an easy target to trap into boring lectures. Desperate for escape she took a turn around the ballroom in search of Marchioness Sherwood. When she could not spot her, Yor turned her attention to the hosts. Once again they eluded her gaze, further pushing back her return home, to a much more comfortable environment. Social events drained her, all she wished to do was see Yuri and relax in bed after a brief talk. Surely after an hour of simply being present, she had been courteous enough to the hosts and could now leave, as was her usual routine.
Suddenly the orchestra ceased playing. Yor nearly jumped out of her skin when a booming voice cut through the throngs of partygoers.
“Now introducing His Grace—”
She spared the intrusion no mind now that she knew it was not an urgent matter. With everyone’s attention captured by the announcement, Yor took one last cursory glance around the ballroom before slipping through a door. The only asset being a wallflower allowed her was the ability to slip away undetected at moments like these. No one was waiting on her for a dance or pining after her attentions.
Four seasons worth of experience aided her well, she navigated The Viscountess' estate with the same ease she traversed her own home. Soon Yor found herself near the entranceway, concealed in shadows behind a carved column to avoid any unwanted notice from various footmen and servants loitering near the carriages. Marchioness Sherwood’s impeccable manners and early timing only served to make her plan more complicated; their carriage was located at the very end of the procession. The journey to the carriage would not be one Yor could easily make undetected. In fact some guests were still arriving, and boldly walking by to sit unchaperoned in a stationary vehicle would cause the ton to gossip about her more viciously than they already did. Still vying for a solution Yor took notice of the servants' behavior, they all seemed to be trickling back to their respective carriages and away from the mansion's entranceway. Whatever announcement she had escaped during was most definitely of note if even the non-aristocratic were taking notice.
Absent-mindedly she picked at her nails, a habit the Marchioness had tried desperately to rid her of. If the previous declaration really had been so important Sylvia would surely be coming to find her to gossip. If someone was trying to find her, for once, it meant she wouldn’t be able to orchestrate her escape. Yor shrank back further behind the column hiding her from view as two footmen walked past, enraptured in jovial conversation. They were surely discussing the recent events and she would be remiss if she did not eavesdrop.
Yor kept her feet planted but began to lean towards the two, still failing to catch their conversation. Yor was desperate enough to strike out past her hiding spot before something grasped her hand and gently tugged her back.
“My apologies Miss, but you will reveal yourself if you lean out much further and I am sure that was not your aim.”
The deep tone of his voice scared Yor more than his touch had. She was not expecting a man, not out here, and especially not one with a voice she didn’t recognize. Yor took a beat to collect her raging heart before turning to face whoever had interrupted her plans.
The implication of his words contained some humor, but the expression she was met with was stone-cold. He looked down at her with unfeeling eyes and his mouth rested in a thin line, the furthest thing from a grin. Not one blond hair on his head was out of place, and his chin was clean-shaven. Yor could only muster the courage to meet his gaze for a moment before she felt heat rise in her cheeks. He was obviously a gentleman and a wealthy one at that. Her eyes flitted to his chest rather than continue to look into his frigid visage. His suit was simple, but even without touching the fabric she could sense its quality. His collar was impeccably starched and his cufflinks appeared to be precious metal. Despite his clear status, she couldn't recognize him at all.
God, she felt like a fool.
“I offer my sincerest apologies for interrupting your night sir, please do not pay me any mind and return to the festivities.” Considering her multiplying insecurities it was a great feat that Yor managed to stammer out a few words. Still afraid to make eye contact Yor observed him shift slightly, relaxing his shoulders and placing weight on one leg.
“No it is I that should apologize, I have disturbed your evening and by the looks of it given you a fright.”
The blush on Yor’s cheeks grew with a vengeance, spreading to the neck and chest. She wanted desperately to deny his claim, but for some reason in front of this stranger, she did not wish to lie. Yor opted for silence.
He did not allow her even a second to collect her thoughts. “Might I ask what you are doing so far from the fete miss—?”
His pause caused her confusion. Yor finally managed to sneak a glance at his face, where she saw him looking down at her expectantly. Eventually understanding the reason for his silence, any courage she had ran away from her and her eyes returned to the ground.
“Briar,” she managed to choke out.
“Well Miss Briar I do not wish to disturb you any further or cause you scandal through my unchaperoned presence. I bid you goodnight.” His matter-of-fact tone took on just a hint of warmth as he turned to leave.
Yor felt deeply ashamed of her rude behavior, but she was frozen in place. After only a moment’s hesitation, the stranger began to retreat to the mansion’s side door.
“Wait, sir, you have not introduced yourself!” Her sudden outburst sounded foreign in her ears, it took Yor a moment to even realize it was her that so rashly called out.
“Do not fret I will be sure to make a formal introduction later, assuming you will reenter the ballroom?”
Yor nodded in assent without giving it a second thought. With one small action her plans for the night were thrown out the window. The mystery gentleman gave her a curt nod of his own and turned back toward the way he had come. Now that she had promised him that she would return she had no choice but to keep her word. There went her plans of escape, but even rejoining the nest of vipers had begun to seem less harmful. After all, she had Marchioness Sherwood to find and discuss the announcement she had missed.
Unafraid of him now that his back was turned, Yor watched the man retreat through the doorway. She stood there, feet planted and gaze locked onto the area of his disappearance for an appropriate amount of time before starting back herself. She couldn't allow any scandal to tarnish her already failing reputation. As she rejoined the myriad of partygoers she instinctively sought out this mystery gentleman. If she could just recognize the men he surrounded himself with maybe that would clue her in on just exactly who he was. Before Yor could locate her target Marchioness Sherwood found her and grasped her hand firmly.
“Yor where have you been? You missed the main event of the evening!”
Yor could hardly hear Sylvia over the noise rattling in her brain, every cog turning trying to catch a glimpse of the man who had bid her adieu just minutes before. Yor didn’t know what she would achieve by seeing him, in no world was she bold enough to approach him herself. She knew it was a futile search, he most likely had only asked her to confirm her return out of politeness, yet she couldn't stop herself.
“Hello? Lady Briar?” The Marchioness gripped her hand harder and furrowed her brow. “I know you have grown to hate these events, but I just have one small request to ask of you before we leave.” Yor’s exhaustion must have shown because Marchioness Sherwood felt it was necessary to add, “I promise, then we will return home.”
The affection she held for the older woman would never change, no matter how tired she grew, so Yor bit her tongue and offered her mentor a soft smile. “Alright, I will wait by the refreshment, but I would like to see Yuri off to bed, please promise it will actually be a quick task.”
In response to this Sylvia just smiled before she scurried off into the crowd.
The Marchioness’ absence allowed Yor to take another look about the room. From over the lip of her glass, Yor studied each and every gentleman’s face, only to be met with disappointment after disappointment. She turned to her drink upon the continual failure to spot the only man she had ever searched a ballroom for. All of a sudden Yor became painfully aware of her loneliness. The orchestra was playing a slow number and couples were joining hand in hand to undoubtedly engage in another romantic dance. To think some women would dance multiple times a night, with different suitors, and she had been cursed to never be asked to dance. Not even once.
The sadness weighed heavily on her shoulders. Yuri should never have to feel as lonely as she, but her wallflower status would forever taint him. If only she knew how to improve her name, for his sake alone. Imagining her younger brother facing the same amount of rejection brought a grimace to her face. She was so hopeless she had no idea where to begin. There was nothing left to try that she had not already been trying for four seasons.
In tandem with the end of the waltz, Yor felt Marchioness Sherwood’s familiar tapping on her shoulder. Whatever task she had for her, Yor was in no mood for it now. She allowed herself a second to collect her expression, to plaster on yet another mask over her loneliness, before facing her mentor.
For the second time within the hour, Yor turned around only to be absolutely shocked at the sight waiting for her.
The same man who she had spoken to around the side of the mansion was currently hovering over Marchioness Sherwood’s shoulder. Now facing him in the warm lighting of the ballroom the sharpness of his features seemed to melt in a way. He looked at her with a gleam in his eye, like he was holding back a shared secret, and in a way he was. Sylvia herself was wearing a grin of the likes Yor had never seen on her before. Something burned behind the older woman’s eyes as she indicated with a tilt of her head for Yor to remember her manners.
Yor closed her open mouth and offered him a deep nod. Shakily she extended her hand, a gesture she had not practiced in years, and he accepted it on his own. The man slowly leaned over and brought his lips to the back of her glove. Yor could not hold back the small gasp that escaped her lips, but if he heard he made no indication. He looked at her over her hand with such mischief, but sweetness all the same. The moment his lips made contact with the cloth felt like an eternity, though it lasted less than a blink of an eye.
“I would like to introduce you to Lady Briar, elder sister of Lord Yuri Briar, Earl of Ostanishire.” The Marchioness tore Yor from her fantasy and grounded her back to reality. “This is His Grace Loid—”
“Loid Forger, Duke of Westalis. Lady Briar I am charmed to make your acquaintance.” Seamlessly he interrupted the Marchioness as if he had no care for manners extending beyond interacting with her. Suddenly far too aware of her own body, Yor shifted uncomfortably. She realized her hand was still clasped in his, though now hanging between them rather than at his lips.
Yor pulled away, “It is wonderful to make your acquaintance as well Your Grace.” She could not help the familiar heat from creeping up her spine and laying over her neck.
“I do not wish to cut our interaction short, but I have found my manners lacking. A guest should greet their host first, which embarrassingly I have failed to do until the present. Marchioness Sherwood.” He turned to the older woman and gave her a nod.
“Lady Briar.” He was facing her once again. Eyes, that she now knew to be blue, boring into her. The face she had thought to be unyielding upon first impression now wore a soft smile. All directed towards her.
The Duke must have spotted the Viscount and Viscountess because he gave her a second curt nod and started in that direction.
“That boy is just as rude as I remember.” Sylvia did not spare a single moment before launching into a tirade. “He may have the title, but he is lacking in reverence for his elders.” The Marchioness fumed for a second before catching Yor’s expression.
Upon making eye contact with her mentor Yor’s blush only deepened. In a futile attempt to keep the redness at bay, she brought a hand to her face and began frantically fanning. The same hand that he had kissed not long ago. The realization only served to increase the heat rising on her cheeks.
Sylvia’s eyes softened after observing Yor’s reaction. Her anger toward the duke long forgotten she sighed, “Yor I daresay there is hope for you yet.”