forum Of Quills and Hearts (OxO) {Closed}
Started by @ScotchTapeWorm group
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@ScotchTapeWorm group

Did I already make one rp today? Yes. Is that going to stop me from making another? Absolutely not! So, some preliminary information: I need practice writing letters in a vaguely antiquated style(long story), but I find actually writing fake letters to be really boring. So, obviously, the next best thing to do is make a rp. I thought it would make for a fun back and forth and shake up my usual style a little bit!

The premise is this: Delilah Carmine is the only daughter of an extremely wealthy and affluent duke. She's delayed being married off for her fathers political machinations through luck, wit, and sheer desperation. She's essentially locked in her own house, not being able to leave the grounds until she agrees to start seeing suitors, which she has, up to this point, staunchly refused to do. So Delilah is bored, and lonely, but mostly bored. So she starts sending out random letters, a couple dozen randomly sent out through various means, where she essentially asks for a pen pal, someone to write to her and keep her company through ink. She receives only one positive response from someone. Whoever joins essentially.

I wanted to mix roleplaying with letter writing, because why not? It will involve some traditional rp, as I love to describe reactions and side plots, but mostly letters. It might be a high bar, but I want to push myself, really write lengthy letters that would at least partially mimic a real one. If no one decides to join, I'll probably just continue this by myself, because I really do need the practice. I would like this to eventually become a romance, but I am so bad at writing anything that is not an incredibly slow burn. I understand its not an orthodox prompt, but I think it could be fun. I won't veto magic or more out there settings if it so desired, but please let me know if that's what you want before we start!

Of course:
-Andrew's rules apply.
-Anything too intimate is a fade to black.
-Writing samples would be highly welcome!
-I'm going to need long form responses, and I'll try to give you the same in return!
-Ask me ALL the questions, I love questions and will be willing to answer them!

My dearest reader,

I hope that this letter finds you well and in adequately moderate condition! This has most likely reached you through the oddest of circumstances and I do hope that I will be forgiven for such a breach in etiquette. For, one must understand the direness of my situation. I have no knowledge of you, whoever you may be, but I would wager my life that you have at the very least heard of me. Be not alarmed, sir or madam, on receiving this letter, for you were likely chosen by the whims of fate or the twisting and ever changing hands of a god. It is entirely possible that you may have surmised my identity through the name on the envelope, and I assure you that it is accurate. And if you can not read the name on the envelope, I gather that this letter will be quite worthless to you and you of even less value to me. My name is Delilah Carmine, and after much rumination and dwelling on my wishes, I have come to the conclusion that my circle in society has been narrowed down quite unfairly.

My father, his lordship the Duke, in his infinite wisdom and impatience, has decided that my not being wed, with the ever approaching eve of my nineteenth birthday has been an act of willful and liberal disobedience on my part. I assure you that these rumors are only.. Perhaps partially true. So until I agree to entertain suitors once more, I have been apprehensive in doing so I’m afraid, I have been confined to only the eastern wing of my fathers estate, and have been forbidden from leaving under any circumstances. Further apology to my father the Duke would be absurd on my part, and seeing how I have been shunned from welcoming guests of any sort other than eligible men, I have taken the initiative to reach out through unconventional means.

Reduced to spending my evenings and mornings spent in idleness, cut off from friends and society that befits a young woman such as myself, the next option was to find correspondence with people that my father could not possibly object to, seeing how he has no earthly notion that I am doing this. I have taken the liberty of making 4 and 20 copies of this exact letter that you now hold in your hand. Painstakingly made to be uniform and neat, with only the most minor of variations between. Much time was spent making certain each stroke of the pen was precise and that these letters were sent out to different potential correspondence by varying means. I think it only fair that in return, I would be sent a letter back, using the appropriate labeling as shown on the back of the envelope.

I am more than starved for entertainment, so making a mutual exchange of letters would be beneficial for you and myself. If need be, I will provide you with payment or pleasantries as required to continue conversation. If someone is reading this letter aloud to you, please do not trifle yourself with responding, let the one doing the reading do so, or at the very least to dictate what you speak back to me. I sincerely hope that I receive a reply and I am shortly resolved to send out more letters should I be greeted with silence. In a responding letter, perhaps include a name, status, and preferably some amiable subject for conversation. Just as a few minor suggestions.

Yours truly,
Delilah Carmine, daughter of his lordship the Duke and late Duchess.

P.S. Do reply soon, I have been quite put out with the unfortunate turnout. I cannot fathom why persons have not responded.

@ScotchTapeWorm group

(Ah, the only place in the world where long form letters sound fun. But I wouldn't mind having you at all! I think your style would very nicely suite the tone I'm going for! Any questions or suggestions you'd like to put forth first?)

@ScotchTapeWorm group

(No problem! Thanks for wanting to do it! I'm currently working on that starting letter, but I think it'll take me quite some time, I still need to nail down the wording and tone I want. Question? Would you prefer magic or no? I'm fine with whatever character you pull out of the ether haha)

@ScotchTapeWorm group

(Put the letter up on the starter post, it'll do for now, not happy with its length, but it feels sufficiently Jane Austen adjacent. As a note, not all the letters will be like this, this one specifically is over the top with formality and pomp, as currently, Delilah hasn't a clue what she's doing or how to attract pen pals.)

@EldritchHorror-Davadio health_and_safety emoji_events

Franklyn was waiting patiently at his desk. He could see the street winding up to the front gate of the estate, and the mail carrier had not come today.
Franklyn waited every day for the mailman, knowing it was a chance to get outside in the sunlight without scrutiny. His parents were always asking questions otherwise, and it was nice to have a chance to walk outside without someone looking over his shoulder.
The desk he sat at was a gorgeous mahogany piece, inlaid with bright brass and gleaming copper bars and slides. It had been a birthday present from his father on his tenth birthday, when his parents had decided he would need to begin learning how to run the estate's bookkeeping side. It had been huge then, but he'd grown a bit, and now, it was comfortable.
He was looking down at the top of it, thinking how many things he'd done there, when a motion caught his attention out on the street. He looked up excitedly, and was rewarded with the sight of Jameson the mail carrier walking up towards their gates. Franklyn scrambled out of his seat and room, down the stairs, and out of the front door of the house. "Getting the mail!" he called over his shoulder.
He stepped out into the sunlight, felt it warm his fae and ease his soul. He walked slowly down to the gate, enjoying his moment.
Jameson smiled and handed him a stack of letters through the gate when he arrived. "Good afternoon, Franklyn."
Franklyn smiled warmly at him. "Hello, Jameson. Anything special today?" The mail carrier was one of his only friends, and made sure to stop by whether or not the Bergs got any mail, just to give Franklyn the chance to come say hello.
The mail carrier quirked an eyebrow. "Yes, actually. It's mixed in there with the bills and stuff. I had several that were similar today."
Franklyn dug through the small pile till he found the obvious letter. It was in a different envelope from the average, handwritten and addressed to 'Every 5th house.'
"Who is it for?" asked, confused by the odd address.
Jameson shrugged. "I've been delivering them to every fifth house, and this is my last one. It doesn't say it's to your father, so maybe your mother? It's from a Lady Carmine."
Frankyln turned it over, and saw the return address was indeed a Lady Carmine. His mother didn't know anyone like that… "I'll ask."
Jameson smiled at him. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. I gotta get going." He waved as he walked off. "I'll see you tomorrow!"
Franklyn waved at him, before looking back down at the odd letter. He thought quickly, before folding the mysterious envelope and putting it in his pocket. He walked back up the lane slowly and into the house, leaving the rest of the mail where his family would expect it, and headed up to his room.

He sat back down at his desk and pulled out the letter, contemplating it. Lovely handwriting, odd address, multiple of the same, sent from a noble- his interest was too much.
He tore open the envelope and unfolded the nice stationery. He was a quick reader and had read through the odd plea for help in under a minute.
The postscript made him laugh, and he found himself thinking Perhaps if you spoke less like a noble, and more like a normal person, normal people would respond.
However, he read the section describing the lady's isolation again, and his heart went out to her. He identified with that struggle, and as he read her name again, he made a decision that would change everything.

He pulled out a shet of clean paper, dipped a fresh quill in ink, and began to write back.

@EldritchHorror-Davadio health_and_safety emoji_events

Franklyn, 1500 Berg Lane

My dearest writer,

Your letter did indeed find me in moderate condition. You are forgiven for your breach in etiquette, as your letter and its means of delivery has provided an entertaining afternoon. My dear mail carrier was most amused by your persistence in sending out the multiple copies. He saved the last for me, knowing I would enjoy the mystery and intrigue that came with it.

I must ask your forgiveness in return, for I have no knowledge of who you are. Your name, though it rolls off the tongue quite nicely, is not familiar to me. I am indeed able to read, and as you will shortly see, I am able to write as well, a marvelous combination, I assure you. Though my ability may soon be in question, if I am unable to complete this and sent it out by the evening post. I shall endeavor to have a response to you shortly, if you should ever write to me again.

I am unfamiliar with a Lord Carmine; perhaps you could give his full title, Duke of __. My family is familiar with most of the other nobles around us, but my position does not allow for me to know the names as well as I should like.

The treatment of you does sound very unfair, and unlike the sort of discipline one would employ against an adult child. However, I am not incredulous in reading it, because my parents are of much the same mind. I am 17 years of age, going on 18 in less than a month, set to inherit much of my father's lands. I have not been confined to my house, but my every move is tracked and questioned, such that I have no privacy in any aspect of my life. In fact, it will be only through great pains that I am able to send this letter at all, without having it questioned and confiscated. I will endeavor to do so, largely because your quest for entertainment and connection much mirrors my own. Perhaps we can find some solace in our mutual isolation. Or perhaps I may simply provide a source of humor to you in my fumblings.

My name is Franklyn. Amiable topics of conversation often fail me in the moment, so I shall do my best to keep a running list of them through my day. Currently, I am possessed of one question which I hope will spark some interest: What are you writing on? I am writing this letter from the mahogany desk my parents gifted me for my tenth birthday. It is massive, and I often wish I had more use for it. Thank you for giving me a chance to use it for its intended purpose.

I do hope you find my handwriting legible. It has been a plague my entire life, and I fear I may put you off responding by sending an illegible letter. Although, if you have gotten this far, perhaps you will send something back just to tell me to write it all again. I shall dictate if that is the case, because I would indeed enjoy a correspondence with you.

Sincerely,

Franklyn.

P.S. Persons may not have responded due to intimidation by your writing style. Perhaps try more colloquialisms? You write like some of my father's friends, stuffy men with no life. I trust you are not one of those in disguise.

@ScotchTapeWorm group

Delilah sat at her window, as was her want to do.
She liked to imagine it made her look like one of those princesses trapped in a tower, from the fairy tales she'd read as a child. Hair that came down to her waist, tied up in intricate braids, staring wistfully out of a window with no glass. She still read a few of those books actually, some of them were still stuffed carefully underneath one of her spare mattresses that the maids never bothered to move or clean, having sat there for as long as anyone could remember.
Delilah wasn't really trapped in a tower however, nothing so romantic, her fathers estate liked to spread outwards, rather than upwards, like in some of the cities. Land was valuable, so showing off how much one could fill the land with architecture and carefully manicured gardens was his way of showing off. Still, she could dream. Sighing melodramatically, the young girl placed her hand against the glass, mimicking a picture she'd once seen on the cover of a romance book.

Her keen ears picked up quickly on the giggling behind her. Delilah turned her head slowly, a lady must never rush in anything, she shot an arch look at her two handmaidens. Kit and Alya were both young girls, scarcely a year younger than the mistress that they served. All three of the girls had practically grown up together, daughters of some other servants that had served the Carmines for generations. Currently the two of them were peeking around a pillar, dissolving further into giggles once they had realized they'd been spotted.

Delilah huffed, waving her friends over, her cross face undercut by the playfulness in her eyes. "You two are horrible. What are you playing at, making fun of me?" She even crossed her arms to prove her point, but her smile could not be contained, she was struggling enough as is not to join her friends in their laughing. Perhaps she hadn't looked quite so sensible as she'd been imagining.

Kit tried to take a breath, but couldn't bring herself to quiet her giggles, the girl frequently got into fits like these and wouldn't stop until she had hiccups, and would need a glass of water to calm herself again. Alya was a bit more in control of herself, the most mature of their little trinity, she even looked the oldest, with her jet black hair held away from her face with a cloth, framing her delicate face quite handsomely.
"Terribly sorry my lady, it's just that-" Alya began, quickly to be cut off by Kit, who had recovered briefly enough to interject into the conversation. "Y-You looked so serious!"

The girl flushed slightly, looking mildly embarrassed. She was lucky enough that she was practicing poses in a hallway that few maids ever came down, otherwise Delilah really would never hear the end of it. Alya smiled fondly at both of them, as Kit began imitating the pose that Delilah had made, dramatically serenading some distant figure none of them could see.

"Kit! Now you're just being rude! We all know our dear Delilah wants nothing less than to be swept away by her fairytale prince." Alya always spoke sternly, but her eyes had a delightful sparkle to them that always gave the young handmaiden an air of teasing, even when her words were serious.

"I do not! And after all this trouble I've gone through not to get married, honestly Alya!" Delilah said hotly, she may enjoy the fables, but she certainly did not need another random man coming to her window and asking for her hand, like in the stories. Despite the punishment, the young lady still found herself lucky, not many girls her age had the luxury of being afforded rebellion. Her father thought the idea of her not being available would only 'increase her price' among any potential suitors, as all men want what they can't have. Or so her father said.
Kit suddenly perked up, finally gathering her breath long enough to string more than a few words together. She carefully removed an envelope from her apron, holding it between two fingers with a massive grin on her face.
"Oh! Oh, dearest, you will be so excited to hear- You've received a response!" Kit handed the letter to her mistress, who took it with both hands almost reverently. She turned it over a few times in her hands, then grinned, rushing with her friends to her bedroom. The situation called for more appropriate seating than the middle of a dusty hallway! Her first letter! A response to something she'd sent out of her own initiative!

All three girls sat on the very end of Delilah's bed, practically piled on top of each other to all get a good look at the fabled letter. All three squealed, shaking each other, more for Delilah's benefit than for theirs, the two girls knew how anxiously their mistress had been awaiting a response. She'd been pestering both of them about it nonstop for the past week.
Opening it swiftly, silence quickly swallowed the room as three pairs of eyes tried to devour every word on the page as quickly as possible.

Delilah was at first struck by the handwriting, it certainly was not the best she'd seen, but not the worst, and if one squinted a bit it almost looked like cursive. The wording was far more elegant than the penmanship however, and her new friend seemed to be in possession of a sharp wit, making all the girls pause for a moment to re read a few of the passages, grinning at each other. Delilah was partially baffled by the confusion with her fathers name. There was only one Duke with the name Carmine and the Duke of Eastershire was well known, but then again, perhaps the stranger was unfamiliar with the area or foreign, though unlikely with their assertions of inheriting land, so at the very least well bred. She found the letter quite delightful, perhaps a kindred spirit in writing form.
Franklyns manners were perfectly affable, though a bit teasing, but that could be forgiven in a young man of good breeding.

Delilah surrendered the letter to her handmaidens, letting them pick apart each line as she herself flopped onto her bed. Thinking to herself. This was surely too good to be true! Perhaps her father was playing some cruel joke on her? But that seemed too outlandish for a man as boorish as the Duke… She sat up suddenly, a delightfully absurd idea sprung into her mind.

"Kit! If I sign my next letter on your back, do you think I would be allowed to say I write my letters on the backs of my maids? Would that be a wicked thing to say to a man I've just met?" Delilah grinned, Alya already thinking ahead and getting a fresh sheet of parchment and her favorite quill ready. The girl did have a favorite writing spot, there was a truly lovely desk in one of the drawing rooms that was positioned next to a large window that let in the light from just the right angle.

"No, do it, oh do it dearest. Imagine what his face would be like when he reads that, oh you must write that now!" Kit was delighted with the idea, clapping her hands, and trying to shoo her lady out of the room, the hastier she left the room, the sooner she could start on her letter! Delilah laughed lightly, letting herself be hurried, she herself wanted a quick response, she wouldn't want to keep her new friend waiting after all.

@ScotchTapeWorm group

(Working on doing long replies haha, I'll have a return letter up by tomorrow, for now, I must sleep! I adore Franklyn with my whole heart, I think these two will get along :D )

@ScotchTapeWorm group

My dearest reader,

I̶ ̶a̶m̶ ̶a̶b̶s̶o̶l̶u̶t̶e̶l̶y̶ ̶e̶c̶s̶t̶a̶t̶i̶c̶- The words here were hastily scribbled out, the hand writing, while still elegant, has lost most of the careful control the previous letter, the loops are larger, the letters more slanted, and there are little spots of ink that the writer forgot to wipe away, it seems as if whoever wrote was in a hurry I am more than relieved that your letter was given to you unharmed! I have never before posted anything, giving it to another to deliver was all quite novel for me! I wasn't certain every envelope would make it to their destinations, seeing from.. The silence I have received thus far. But I am greatly heartened that my letter would bring amusement to both the deliverer and the recipient, and I am even more glad that he took the initiative to give my letter to someone who would receive it well. Give your carrier my sincerest thanks, and my apologies for the odd task, I know it was unorthodox.

Your flattery, dear sir, for my name, while of course any such one would take kind words to heart, I am afraid I see right through your thin ploy. The compliments were simply meant to soften the blow that you haven't the faintest idea who I am, which, I must admit is quite refreshing, so no offense is taken on my end! I do hope you will extend the same geniality to me. My father is the Duke of Eastershire, though the title is mostly empty. He was a merchant first and a lord second, I assure you. He managed to weasel his way to peerage through several large favors promised to the crown, and as much as I admire you from our short correspondence, I think we'd both find it wise to leave that topic at that!

My father finds it most infuriating that I am his only child, though the rest of us can not fathom why he has not bothered to remarry and try to sire a male. Fortunately for me, he has not done so, but I still am unable to inherit the family fortune should my father most unexpectedly pass away, but my mothers fortune was more modest, but would allow me to live quite comfortably I believe. It is part of the reason I have had so many suitors over the year, my fathers money is the a very tempting prospect for those who hear of it. I think that may be part of the reason my father has so allowed me to delay my marriage, once it has passed and all the accounts settled, he would be vulnerable to assassination, his blood would be in the water so to speak.

Still, it pains me to hear of you so stifled! I would have imagined you would be afforded more freedom than I, at the very least being free to send letters to whom you please. (I am aware that us sending letters freely would be considered by some to be scandalous, as we are not engaged, but I beg you to pay no mind to that. Please.) I was fortunate enough to have two loyal handmaidens who were more than willing to post my letters, you must tell me how you managed to smuggle your written contraband out! I appreciate your words more than you know, and it warms my heart greatly to know that there is a kindred soul out there, even distantly. Perhaps I should be a proper lady and do the right thing of assuring you that your words and anecdotes are most charming and gallant, rather than fumbling as you have described. However, I have a reputation to uphold, so I'm afraid I will have to laugh at any mistakes you make, otherwise who will believe that I am truly as wild as rumored?

I thought long and hard about your offered question, and I have come to two conclusions. One sensible and the other delightfully absurd. For most of my letters, I write on the beautiful little table that I am quite in raptures with, it is perfectly sized for me and was a gift from the late Duchess when I was young. It's placed in my favorite drawing room just so to let the light in perfectly, and is so covered by stains from ink over the years that I'm afraid it looks like it had contracted pox and never fully recovered! Yet, I love it, and it is mine, so that is quite enough for me. Perhaps you feel similarly with your own mahogany beast? The way you describe it does make it sound rather grand. It is probably much better to write on than a rickety desk of many years, but you are fully entitled to what you believe, and I stand firmly in the corner of my own.

For the other answer, I have taken in the habit of signing my letters on the back of my maids. My dear friend Kit, insists that it brings good luck. Perhaps its an old wives tale, but she still demands that I do it occasionally, and she was in an absolute fit for me to mention it to you. I hope you don't mind that your letter was shared, I dare say my two attendants enjoyed it more than I from the way they reacted! You've most assuredly succeeded in amusing us, if that was your intention, I only hope that, while I do not possess your same wit, that you will accept my letter in return and that it brings you a measure of solace that only two lonely souls can bring one another.

Your handwriting, while atrocious, was legible after a bit of deliberation. You are beyond reproach in this matter though, as I daresay it was the mahogany desks fault, unused as it is to being written on often. Now that I have given you an excuse that you and I both will no doubt find ridiculous. I will not press you on the matter, you are free from any mocking I could put together, but don't tell anyone. Like I said, I have a reputation to uphold!. Do not bother yourself with dictating to some other person, perhaps like my desk your writing is perfect not in spite of its imperfections, but because of them. Do write back soon, your current letter will only keep my handmaids entertained for so long, and the bloodhounds are very persistent about getting a response. In your next letter I'm sure we can think of things to talk about, even if it only ends up being commiserating!

Your grateful new friend,

Delilah

P.S. I'm afraid you've found me out. My secret identity, I fear! I can assure you while I am not an old man, and likely not a friend of your fathers, I am quite stuffy. I've spoken like this from the womb, and will till I am dead. Maybe I'll grow on you!

P.P.S. My maids, Kit and Alya send their regards, you'll have to be careful with how charming you make yourself appear in print, Kit has a weak heart, and I'm no sure she could take much more! She's been swooning all afternoon. For the furniture's sake, try not to make her fall in love with you?

The paper itself is scented lightly with perfume, and the envelope is lightly embossed. It was either arrogantly over the top, or whoever made it had far too much time on their hands. The wax seal is the only simple thing, not even colored, and seemingly pressed down with a book, rather than a stamp. Giving it an odd shape.

@EldritchHorror-Davadio health_and_safety emoji_events

Franklyn was bored out of his mind this morning. He was sitting in a meeting with his father and a potential client. Franklyn had shown a flair for numbers in his youth, and his father had immediately farmed him out to do accounting and bookkeeping for people, hoping to monopolize on the boy's skill.
Mr. Berg was a merchant, a businessman, and terrible at his job. On his own, he would likely have been a pauper. However, his wife was brilliant and wealthy before he married her, and so he married into money and brains. It was the only reason the Bergs were well off.
Franklyn had been born with his mother's business acumen, but his father's frail health. The man was sick 2 weeks out of every month, at a minimum, and Franklyn had struggled very hard not to follow that pattern. He was still sick often, and had the soft look of a boy who couldn't handle much exertion.
He had also inherited his father's magic.
But in a meeting with a client, none of that particularly mattered. Nothing mattered, in fact, because he was so incredibly bored.
His father signed off on the deal, agreeing for Franklyn to run the books for this noble's young son. Franklyn shook the man's hand, and trudged up to his room, where he slumped at the desk.

Just in time to see Jameson waving at him with an envelope.

~~~~
He read the letter with a tad bit of awe. He knew of the Duke of Eastershire, his father greatly admired the man for doing exactly what Mr. Berg had been trying to do for years. Franklyn hadn't realized his name was Carmine, or that he had a daughter.
The letter smelled lovely, the wax seal made him smile, and the antics of the three ladies involved had him chuckling to himself.
He started to write back, before scrapping the first draft. He began to write a second, before scrapping that as well.
He was frustrated that he didn't have more to offer her for entertainment. His life was so… so meh that he didn't feel he could match her energy.
A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. His mother was there, checking on him, and delivering a small black book.
"Your father says to tell you this is the journal and spending account of your new client. He's young, so he tracks his money by journaling it, which is why his father needs a bookkeeper, to make sense of the spending."
Franklyn had gathered that. "Thanks, Mother."
She smiled and left him to it.

He sat down at his desk and set the journal on it, sighing as he went back to thinking about the problem of his life. If only his life were as interesting as some of his clients' lives, he'd have more to share-
Franklyn's eyes widened as he glanced at the letter, open on his desk, and then back at the journal, also open on his desk, and an idea entered his mind.

He pulled out a new sheet of paper, started reading, and began taking notes.

@EldritchHorror-Davadio health_and_safety emoji_events

My dearest writer (and esteemed friends),

I am glad that my letter has so relieved your boredom. May future letters continue to be a source of laughter to you all!

I can assure you that our postal service is quite efficient in my area. I do, of course, have a personal courier that managed to procure your letters and get one to me. It seems we are both indebted to him. His name is Jameson, and he is a dear friend and advisor. He requires no apology, but I shall convey your thanks. I am also sorry to hear that you have received only this answer to your letters. I can only hope that my responses shall make up for the entertainment you have missed from others.

I shall take your advice and leave the topic of your father and his title where you have placed it, but thank you for clarifying. Your sight must be incredible to have seen through the smoke and mirrors I placed in my last letter to conceal my confusion, and I applaud you on your astute assertation. I indeed had no clue who you were.

But, my Lady, I am most pleased to have made your acquaintance at last.

I should clarify my own personage to you. My name is Franklyn Ottoman, and I am the son of Thibodeaux Ottoman, Earl of Leicesterton. I am his eldest son, and in line to inherit the Earldom when my father passes, may he live long. I also am an only child, alone in my father's affections. I do not share the unenviable malady of being female, and so cannot hope to comment on your situation. I can only offer my condolences that your existence seems to not be enough to satisfy the Duke.
It sounds as if you are in quite the conundrum, in reference to your suitor situation. If you do not marry, you are confined to a life of solitude, although I am gladdened by the presence of two such delightful maids in your vicinity (Hello to Kit and Alya, by the way.), but that is not a life I would wish on anyone. However, your option to free yourself is to immediately tie yourself down to another man, for whom you may have no love or affection, and who may ostensibly care for you, but only the part of you that is rich! Furthermore, the irony of your father pushing you to marry by jailing you in your house, and simultaneously seeking o preserve his own life by keeping you single… Madame, my heart is with you, to offer whatever comfort I can in such a trial. May you find whatever solace you can in that thought.
As for my own stifling life, it is not so terribly in the particularities, just in the lack of privacy. There is nothing I can do without being forced to give a full acount of every detail, a moment by moment run through of my activities, to enure I have not besmirched the family reputation. I have indeed been cognizant of the fact that we are engaging in scandalous behavior of such a degree as to make the maids giggle, and have thus endeavored to keep my last letter a secret. My maids, not as collected as your two lovely ladies, would not have been able to handle the strain of keeping such a secret, and so I was forced to smuggle my letter out personally. A word to my courier was enough, as Jameson is a most trustworthy man. I am afraid that may not be the tale of smuggler's derring-do that you were looking for, but your own escapades are appreciated.
Your reassurances about my fumbling would be very kind, and also unbelievable. I know who is writing this letter, and I know that his fumbling is just what it claims to be: fumbling. So please, grow your 'wild' reputation at my expense, as I will be laughing along with you.
I could not have hoped for a more interesting answer to my simple question. My desk and your table seem to have much in common; my desk and your maid, less so. My mahogany beast is a signal of my father's desire for opulence, and is much more grand than I shall ever need. Indeed, the grandest thing I have written upon it up to this point, is this series of letters we are engaged in.
Your maid is quite right about her superstitions; I could feel the luck rolling off the envelope as soon as I received it.
And to clarify, I am not in the least bit bothered by you sharing. In fact, it delights me to know that my awful handwriting can be read by three people. I have tripled my hoped-for outcome. I do appreciate your restraint in mocking my handwriting. Too much abuse and my hand will begin to shake, which will only serve to make things worse. That could be a vicious cycle we find ourselves in, and you have taken the first step to avoid it. Well Done!
I will give you a tale to keep the bloodhounds entertained. Today, I was able to take a long ride on a horse I recently purchased. He is a fiery sort, from the southwest deserts, and has only recently been tamed. When I say fiery, I do mean exactly what I say. The desert horses are known to burst into flames at high speeds, their manes and hooves in particular being susceptible to such a reaction. It makes for a very interesting excursion, when the worry of being burned is thrown in with the exhilaration that comes from high speed.
I rode along the Blue Marches, the rolling hills of tandygrass crunching beneath us. It has been a beautiful day, with the sun hidden behind fluffy clouds at regular intervals, and I most enjoyed the chance for some wind in my hair.
I have named the horse Tabor, and have hopes of acquiring a whole herd of such horses, so that he will not feel the loneliness you and I suffer from. I have never visited the southwest deserts. The trip is on my list for later in life, when I have my fullest measure of freedom.
Where would you go, given the chance? And have you any pets, or animal friends, as I prefer to call them?
I await your response with bated breath.

Sincerely,
Franklyn

P.S. Your personality may grow on me, but I will keep my manner of speaking till the last. I shall likely become one of those stuffy old men if I'm not careful.

P.P.S. My regards to Kit and Alya, once again, and my sincerest apologies that my charm has caused such duress! I shall endeavor to be more of a brute in the future.

The letter was written much clearer, and by the way the ink appeared to have dried, he'd taken his time in order to write clearly. It carried no wax seal, merely a drop of resin on the envelope's edge, and was adorned only with a simple drawing of a rose under the address.

@ScotchTapeWorm group

Delilah had always been considered by most to be uncommonly pretty.
Her face was symmetrical as far as a human face could be, with almond shaped blue eyes and golden hair. She looked quite a lot like a porcelain doll, almost scarily thin, like the slightest nudge would shatter her into a million pieces, and pale as milk. A face more in the Grecian style, with a strong nose, but soft jawline. Her long hair was always put up in ringlets each morning, and then allowed to relax into soft waves afterwards, unless some new style was devised by her attendants, in which case she was dressed up, really with no say in the matter.

Her dresses were chosen ahead of time for her, a closet she never got to see was filled with her clothes and Delilah was dressed each morning with something flattering. Colors varied by the day, and the girl couldn’t quite put a finger on whether she’d seen what she wore before, or if she was given a new dress. And yet, could she really complain? She was dressed, fed, and taken care of. A bit of freedom wasn’t really that much of a price for luxury was it?

The late Duchess of Eastershire had passed when Delilah was eight years old. Taken by some unknown disease that lasted two years. No one had seen her in that time, only her husband and one doctor well trusted by the family and sworn to secrecy. It was simply ruled ‘death by disease’ by the coroner, though rumor was he’d never been allowed near the body.

Of her father, his lordship the Duke of Eastershire, he’d only married once, and by all accounts was a man of money. His sharp business sense and cunning had advanced him far in the world. Yet, that was where praise of the man usually ended. He was completely devoid of manners and was rarely seen outside of his estate, and any guests that stayed usually left with haste. The family was not known to have magic in them, the trait assumed to have been bred out of the Carmine line some five generations back, with the spell purge.

Delilah knew little of both her parents, not having the time to know her mother well enough and her father taking little interest in his daughter except for shallow visits and appearances. The young lady looked remarkably similar to her father, with softened features and her mothers eyes. Yet, when it came down to it, both had dangerous gazes, sharp and cutting. It was just that one had a much friendlier disposition and years of stifling emotions, shoving them into the farthest corners of her heart. Wrath was not an emotion a lady should feel, anger was frowned upon, and rage unthinkable.

~~~

At current, Delilah sat in one of the dining rooms, taking an early lunch. Today her father had guests, so all in the house of consequence were obliged to eat together. Her plate held a bird's portion of food, so the girl ate slowly, taking tiny bites to make what she had last longer. And while she ate, she could not be politely engaged in conversation. Delilah had always struggled to have a healthy appetite, food on most days seemed unappealing and bland, not having the same vibrant tastes so many raved about. Eating gave her little pleasure, but she ate what she could to keep Alya from worrying, though a year younger, the maid liked to mother her mistress, the three girls were close after all.
Their current guests were uncomfortable with the silence, the only sound in the great dining hall was the sound of chewing and silverware scraping against plates and teeth. Delilah knew she, as a gracious host, should have stirred up some semblance of conversation, but she quite liked watching the three men squirm under her fathers imperious gaze, none of them quite brave enough to speak before they were engaged first. It gave her a tiny sliver of satisfaction, wicked though it was.
Finishing the last bite on her plate, for once in her life the girl looked about wistfully for more. Anything to keep her busy. In fact, the moment her fork went down, one of the men pounced on the opportunity to speak, urgent to break the silence.

"Lady Carmine! You must give my compliments to whoever cooked this fine meal, it was quite extraordinary!" The man spoke with such a suave tone that was clearly forced, his words didn't come to him naturally and the only part of the meal he'd received with great satisfaction was his cup of wine. She offered him a tight lipped smile, raising a hand in mild assent. Out of the corner of her eye, Delilah could see Alya slip into the dining room holding a jug of water. She approached the table slowly, refilling cups until she came to her mistress, who as she leaned forwards, her breath ruffling her hair, whispered to her:

"My lady, we've received another letter." Alya straightened and hurried out of the room, making eye contact with Delilah once more before she left, the girls eyes seemed to smile at her.

"You know. I will tell the cooks what you thought of the meal. I'm sure they are simply dying to know. I'll attend to it at once." Delilah stood up as abruptly as she could, which was gently pushing back her chair and standing. Her father finally looked up, frowning slightly, but made no motion to stop her. Scarcely, before someone could breath another word to her, the young lady hurried out of the room, her face flushed with excitement and her swift pace. The images of the men's shocked faces made her smile widely, and she mentally thanked the dullard for giving her the slimmest chance to wiggle free.

Delilah practically ran down the hall, her skirts rippling around her in a flurry of cloth, her carefully prepared hair falling free from its braids and pins. She practically left a trail of hair equipment behind her, the tiny pings as they hit the floor urging Delilah to move faster. She arrived at her room, spinning around the door frame with a beaming grin on her face, and breathing heavily. She didn't get much opportunity to run, and the dress wasn't exactly accommodating, so she tried to calm herself, taking tiny swallows of air. Kit looked up at her mistress in shock, Alya not yet returning from delivering her message. The young handmaiden made a squeaking noise, rushing forwards to fuss over her ladies lack of decorum.

"What are you doing? You look frightful my dear! Did you run all the way?" Delilah brushed Kit off of her, a breathy laugh bubbling to her chest, the girl felt more alive than she had in weeks, the feeling suited her.

"Kit, dearest one, I'm fine! More than fine really. Alya said we received another letter and I could not wait another moment in that dreadful room! Quickly, where is it?" Kit hesitated, but her mistresses excitement was infectious, the girl bounced over to one of the wardrobes in the room, looking underneath piles of clothes for a concealed box.

"It is good to see you smile so, my lady. From the envelope it's from the same address that responded before. Oh! Do you think he'll mention me? You did say that Alya and I sent our regards? I'll never forgive you if you haven't!" Kit had short brown hair and a very round face, she handed her lady the letter carefully. Then positioned herself behind Delilah to begin fixing her hair, grabbing a handful of pins, holding a few in her mouth, her speech became mumbled and harder to understand, but was telling her some new gossip, about who did what in court, some maid in love with one of the stable boys, the like.

Delilah looked at the letter, smiling at its simplicity. She ran a finger along the drawing of the rose, her smile deepening. She finally opened the letter, her eyes quickly scanning the lines. Her first reaction was a bit of indignation that he was mocking her, in the third paragraph, but the tone of it sounded teasing. Oh how awful it was that one had to assume tone and mood from words and ink alone, rather than the sound of a voice. Reading on, Delilah paused. Ottoman? Leicesterton? The young lady wracked her brain, the names sounded familiar, just on the tip of her tongue. The land was easy enough to identify, but the name was jut eluding her. The frustrating feeling soon passed when she finally remembered. An old suitor of hers, Jeremiah, he had been one of the more tolerable ones. More interested in horses and hunting than actually courting her. The young noble had been far too much of a firebrand to deal with his own accounts, so he'd had some other person do it. He'd mentioned it once or twice what a relief it was that he could hire someone.. Named Franklyn to do it, the evidence seemed to suggest her Franklyn and this one were one and the same. The girl smiled faintly at the memory, vaguely wondering how the boy was doing. Probably still off hunting and racing horses, he never had changed much over the years.

The rest of the letter was similarly delightful, Kit who had long since abandoned fixing her ladies hair, had taken to leaning over her shoulder to read, pointing out every time she was mentioned on the paper so loudly that Delilah winced once or twice. Kit had more energy in a day than the blonde lady had in a year, sometimes she envied her maid, and other times she just noticed she was loud. Kit breathed out in awe, re-reading the bits about the desert horses with wide eyes, hand raised to her lips in shock.

"Oh.. My Lady.. He's perfect. A proper gentleman, smart, kind, I'll withhold judgement for now on handsomeness, but- I can just feel that he is. And he's brave? Horses that alight with fire! I dare say I'd faint at the very sight!" Kit's eyes sparkled with stars, the young maid off in her own world, imagining whatever it was that ran through her head. Delilah for her part, didn't quite know what to think. She was caught the tiniest bit off guard, everything in the letters had made her assume she was writing to a mild-mannered gentleman, perhaps one who enjoyed a book and a game of cards more than dangerous sports. She didn't know how to feel now that she was wrong. It was definitely exciting, and the thrill Delilah got from reading it was undeniable, but.. She shook off the feeling, allowing herself to smile again. She rolled over onto her stomach, looking at Kit with her face in her hands just like when they were children. The two girls began to pour over the letter again, giggling to each other and trying to imagine what the writer looked like.

When Alya came in, the two were still engrossed in their most amusing game, but as soon as she was spotted she was practically dragged forwards to read the letter. Having been so pounced on, she obliged, smiling fondly. Once she was done, her more sensible opinion was requested on the matter. The whole evening passed this way, until the girls convinced Delilah to write a response, peppering her with things to add and say.

"Girls! At this point write him your own letters! I would scarcely have any space left for my own words at this rate!" Delilah laughed, tapping her quill gently against it glass container. She was resolved to have better penmanship this time, since her friend had been kind enough to take care. Now.. What to write?