fam · Y/n story by @a

The air in the Howard house was thick with the smell of boiled cabbage and damp wool. It was a Tuesday, and the rain outside the grimy window of the cramped parlor fell in a steady, gray sheet.

Mrs. Margaret Howard

claps her hands sharply Attention, all of you! We have an opportunity. A vital one.

She stood before the hearth, her back rigid, her expensive dress looking starkly out of place against the worn furniture. Her children were arrayed before her on the floor and the single settee: Cecilia with a book half-hidden in her lap, Henry watching with a sharp, calculating gaze, Arabella sketching on a scrap of paper, Caroline holding the fussing toddler Arthur, and Henrietta simply blinking up at her mother.

Mrs. Margaret Howard

The Viscount of Haverstock is hosting a summer ball at his country estate. We have been invited. She pauses, letting the weight of the statement settle. This is not for amusement. This is for advancement.

Henry Howard

A hunting ground, then. He smirks, leaning back against the wall. Plenty of wealthy pigeons with loose purse strings.

Mrs. Margaret Howard

Do not be crude, Henry. Be effective. Every one of you must be on your best behavior. Charm. Wit. Grace. We must secure at least one advantageous match from this. Our circumstances… She gestures vaguely at the peeling wallpaper. …demand it.

Cecilia Howard

softly, without looking up from her book Must it always be about matches, Mother?

Mrs. Margaret Howard

For you, Cecilia, especially. Your nose is always in a book, but books do not pay the butcher. You will smile, you will dance, and you will be agreeable. Is that understood?

Her gaze sweeps over the room and lands squarely on you, Y/n. The expectation in her eyes is as heavy and inescapable as the London fog.