✓ | ✩ louis partridge imagines ✩

the social season / v.t.

the rack of dresses and corsets was an eyesore, and the number of maids that were furiously running in and out of the room almost made your head spin. your mother simply sat in one of your house's many expensive chairs, a cup of tea in her hand as she judged the way that all the different dresses fit on you.

you hated the social  season. 

not only were you opposed to the misogynistic practice because it seemed to objectify women, but you just really hated corsets and skirts. a day spent lazing around in the drawing room with a good book was something that was much more to your liking, not long lessons on the pianoforte and learning all the different ball dances on dance cards. 

regardless, your father made it known to you that he would refuse to let his daughter spend more than three seasons as a debutante, but your mother also made it a point to prove to all the other housewives that her daughter was the prettiest. with it being your first season, it was like a competition that your parents were determined to win right away. 

you were just their pawn. 

it was unfortunate, really. but you didn't have the power to stop a decade long practice on your own, especially being nothing but a young woman. you just hoped that your future husband wasn't some creepy old man or an overly arrogant young bloke who's personality revolved around his wealth. 

"i need to make this tighter, child. don't make this difficult now," your lady-in-waiting, eunice, commanded. 

"i think it's just fine. should you think so, mama?" you sputtered, running out of air as she tightened the corset. 

eunice and your mother both gave you a warning look. you let out a defeated sigh, before sucking your stomach in as much as your body would physically let you. eunice let out a satisfied hum, tying the strings of the corset tightly as you felt your ribs constrict against it. 

"now, have you picked a dress my lady?" eunice gestured towards your mother, who was eyeing each dress on the rack.

"i think that light blue one will do her just fine."

"very well."

the seamstress that your family had hired approached the rack, gently retrieving the one your mother picked. you watched as she brought it up towards you, before she and eunice helped you pull it up and onto your frame. 

after all the little bits and bobs were put into place, eunice gently placed her hands on your shoulders and turned you towards the full length mirrors that surrounded the mini pedestal that you were stood on. regardless of how uncomfortable you felt, you couldn't deny that you looked like an actual princess.

the dress was an eye catcher, but you didn't expect anything less. your mother always had an eye for these things, a skill that you admired. you were almost scared to move, because the dress was not only made of a beautiful light blue silk, with velvet accent pieces that you were scared to stain or crease, but it was outrageously expensive. courtesy of your father, of course.

your hair was pinned up accordingly, as your h/c locks were tamed in a low bun, with certain pieces strategically pulled out to frame your face. you craned your neck in the mirror to get a better look at the little jewels and pearls that had made a home in your hair, alongside a single white feather. 

"absolutely beautiful, y/n," your mother commented. it was as if she was commenting the entirety of the new persona that the makeup and outfit gave you, instead of actually calling you beautiful. 

"i have to agree with you madam. you'll be a fine wife, lady y/n," eunice beamed, proud of her work.

you grimaced as they fawned over your dress, your hair, your makeup, and everything else that wasn't actually you.