Jean-Rhys sighs with contentment.
She’s just had her chassis cleaned and lubed and now she’s relaxing in her study with a generous dram of well-aged Scooch, some fine-rolled whipweed (now shockingly dear, what with the widespread blight), and a small rosewood pillbox filled with Macadamia snuff. The aroma of daffodils and clementines seeps gently from her exhaust vents.
The social pressures of the season have weighed heavily upon her of late, stirring desires she’d thought lost to her, and memories she’d rather forget. Such passions have faded in the current moment, however. Instead, she feels only a curious sense of expectation, as if she’s calmly, yet precariously, balanced on a precipice between the past and the future.
For unlike many of her peers, Jean-Rhys has been married once before, albeit briefly and imperfectly. On a whim, she pulls an old scrap book from a dusty shelf and begins leafing through it, indulging in faintly bittersweet reminiscence.
Despite being an arranged marriage in all but name, she’d found Lord Edward Rodchaser to be a pleasing match, and they’d shared a genuine affection. He was quick-witted and not unkind, and even though she didn’t quite love him, it didn’t hurt that he could reliably kill her in the nightly confines of their marital bed.
Those early days, especially, were a sort of grand adventure, imbued with a sense of freedom that her youthful mind found exhilarating. Thornfield Hall had proved to be enchanting in unexpected ways, and the grounds were simply magnificent in the Weatherbean spring. There was much to be thankful for.
But neither was life perfect. Edward had a taste for cards and drink (preferably both at the same time), much as any gentlesentient of his station would, and Jean-Rhys didn’t begrudge him his sport. But he also had a poor estimation of his skill and capacity at both, and he tended, with dismaying regularity, to drunkenly fall from his horse on the ride home from the club. Then he’d call her to come pick him up in the small gig carriage, as his vanity prevented him from summoning a member of the household staff in such circumstances. It was rather undignified and a bit off-putting, really.
And then that little priss, Jane Air, came along. That was the beginning of the end. That was when the fires started.
Her memories of that time are not always entirely clear, but she wouldn’t be surprised at all to learn that Jane had been somehow responsible for the mysterious blazes, including the mighty conflagration that razed Thornfield Hall, claimed Edward’s life, and ultimately lead Jean-Rhys to her current physical form.
It had been a staggeringly unlucky period in her life and it pained her to dwell upon it.
In the end, though, her injuries proved to be a gift from providence. Adapting to her new mechanical body had been a consciousness-expanding event. Her perceptions of the world around her – indeed, even the very instruments by which she apprehended its properties – had fundamentally changed, and her mind and heart could not help but follow. Jean-Rhys was a changed woman, and she felt certain that her old self would never have thrived here in Weatherby like her new self has.
Life is good, she realizes. It’s time to shed the pains of the past and look to the future, look to her legacy, even.
She recalls that first meeting with Mary Flowers at the Botanical Gardens. How, upon arriving, she’d spotted Mary first and watched her absentmindedly pluck a blossom and tuck it behind her ear, despite the impressive arrangement already present on her hat; how Mary had blushed at Jean’s approach when she realized she’d been observed unawares; and how smoothly she’d recovered her poise with naught but a brief sly look before taking up the appropriate conversational pleasantries.
That initial unguarded moment set the stage for all that followed, and Jean-Rhys, now utterly charmed, observed keenly everything else about her, from the strength of her wit when she spoke, to the grace of her gait when she strolled, to the elegant curl of her prehensile upper lip when she laughed.
She thinks of Mary and knows it’s more than just another pleasing match, more than just the fashion of the season or the season of their lives.
The outcome is by no means assured, but Jean-Rhys resolves to embrace that risk and begins planning her proposal in earnest. It will start at the Botanical Gardens and culminate in a quiet little eatery off the square of St. Marrowbone Cathedral, where they will one day, fortune willing, be wed.
Propose Mary Flowers
Venue 1 - A stately ceremony in St. Marrowbone Cathedral
Gift @gwwar 75 "Ornamental Bean Strain"
Gift @Wisconsin_Platt 100 "Vintage Abacus"
Gift @Nightflyer 100 "Flamethrower"
Wager Plasma Heart 76
For Duchess Gummibuns @gwwar, may I present a new strain of bean, bred to manifest a certain range of colors and patterns designed specifically to complement your lumps when placed in rough proximity to your person. Crossbred from heirloom varieties (some of which can only be found in the Weatherby U. Seed Library), they are of course fully viable, so you may cultivate them on your own estates if you care to do so.
To Hieronymoose Farnsworth, III @Wisconsin_Platt, I offer this vintage abacus, as well as best wishes to you and Lizzy. May you count many happy returns together.
And finally, my dear Eudaemonia @Nightflyer, I know you are too proper to even to contemplate such an eventuality, but in light of what I just read on the public ledger, I’ll leave this here just in case. You may rely upon my experience when I say to you: sometimes things just combust.