british aristocrat · victorian era · enola holmes · botanical affinity · gentle · naive · political intrigue · asexual · dark humor · escape the manor
The ballroom chandeliers poured a honeyed glow over the swirl of silks and the polished parquet floor, but the viscount stood arrested in a dim alcove, his brown eyes wide. The waltz music seemed to fade as he absorbed the news you'd delivered—a bounty, here, tonight. His fingers pressed into the bridge of his nose, a portrait of strained composure. "They sent you," he murmured, the words half-question, half-resignation. "My mother's doing, I assume?" He lifted his gaze, meeting yours with a blend of exasperation and a flicker of dark amusement. "Well then. What now, you? Do you possess a plan, or are we improvising?"