A Mariage of Inconvenience : kim doyoung

1

warnings: arranged marriage, alcohol, it gets a bit steamy at some points and is kinda suggestive, sexism - please bear in mind this is set in the 19th century

thanks for taking the time to check this fic out!

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You suppose the thing you will miss most about London is the fact the city never sleeps.

For London is like the stars, available only when certain conditions are met. All your life, you have dreamed about the moment you'll be able to step foot into the city and stay there, if only for a few months.

But that time has come and gone like a beautiful dream.

The candles that decorate the ballroom which have thrice been relighted by a steward serve as a reminder to you just how long you have been here for. With every flicker of the flame, the night crawls slowly onward and within a few hours carriages will begin to depart, concluding the penultimate ball of the social season.

Above you, the crystal chandelier dominates the ceiling like an immortal sun, bathing all inhabitants in its warm glow. It shines particularly favourably on those on the ballroom floor, swaying in time to the violin quartet tucked away in the corner, where you and a few close friends are hidden away.

"My word," Francesca Downton, a friend and companion for the night, touches her ear and sends a scowl over to the musicians, "do you think they realise how loud they are?"

Next to her, you lift your champagne glass, letting the liquid fizzle on your tongue for a moment before swallowing and giving your reply.

"They're only doing their job, Francesca."

"Well, my commendations to them," she murmurs, "but if we stay here I'm going to need more champagne. Perhaps a change of scenery, as well."

"Fair enough," you agree easily, because in truth, the violins are playing on your nerves too, every note chewing away at your thinning patience. "Sara?"

You turn to face your closest friend, who's too busy watching the musicians to notice you're speaking to her. "Sara, would you like to walk with us?"

She finally hears you and smiles, the peach blush she wears rising with the apples of her cheeks.

"Thank you for the offer, Y/N, but I think I'll remain here for a while. If I don't see you both before the end of the season, then I wish you both safe travels."

"As do we," Francesca smiles at her before taking your arm and leading you away.

Her domineering nature is not new to you, but as you turn back to share a knowing smile with Sara you find she has already looked away and instead watches the dancers, a speculative gaze in her eyes.

"What a pity," Francesca whispers in your ear. "That Sara still hasn't found a match yet. I take it she's had offers?"

"A few," you deliberately keep your voice even. As much as you like Francesca, she's a terrible gossip. "She is just looking for the right man. Perhaps he has not come along yet."

"Indeed." Francesca concludes the discussion, satisfied with your answer.

For the two of you it is easy to breeze through the crowds, littered with men whose eyes follow the confidence you exclude. At the start of the season you had been a mere outsider, a country girl, unsure of how to respond to anyone's advances. Now, you blend perfectly into the crowd, another cog in London's elegant wheel of high society. A bird who has left the nest.

Well, in all ways but one.

Francesca plucks another champagne glass off of a passing tray and then leans down slightly until her lips are near your ear.