Chapter Text
London, England 1835
For better or worse, Sansa Hardyng nee Stark was in London with her family. Better, she supposed because she was with her family again after living in Paris for the past six years. Worse, because this was London during the Season and this meant she had to deal with the ton.
She knew that when it came to the ton, gossip was fast and hard and quick. Then they found something else to whisper about behind fans and playing cards and potted plants and what was the most fascinating gossip one minute was old news the next.
However, she knew that attending the ball that evening with her family would stir the pot and dredge up the past. In many ways, this was almost like her first coming out: the nervousness, the fear of not being accepted, and the exhilaration of knowing a new adventure awaited her.
Though at seven and twenty, and being a widow, she wasn’t looking for adventure. She was looking for some peace and quiet. Something the Starks were not in ready supply of. Her family was boisterous, and there was plenty of them. It was why she had been so happy to marry her now deceased husband. It had been a way out of the madness.
Now Sansa had a respect for the madness in a way she had not had before. Though she did prefer to live on her own in a townhouse not far from the Starks. For all of Harry’s faults, and there had been many, he did leave her with a considerable sum on which to live. It was quite a blessing that she had never managed to conceive a child so that she could live so comfortably. Besides, how would she have conceived when Harry preferred to spend most of his time in other women’s beds?
Sansa embraced being a widow. Being a wife had been difficult. Her sister, Arya, had the right of it: do not marry at all. If she’d had the chance to do it all over again, Sansa wouldn’t have settled on Harry. She wouldn’t have settled at all.
A scratch at the door drew Sansa out of her musings. “Come in,” she called out as she dabbed perfume behind her ears.
“Votre famille est arrivée,” her maid said.
“Merci,” Sansa replied. Her family had arrived to whisk her off to her first ball of the Season.
Sansa stood, heaved a deep breath as she looked at herself one last time in the mirror, and then off she went.
xxxxxxx
Jon Targaryen stood as deep into the corner of the Lannister ballroom as he could. He hated balls with a passion.
“You cannot hide out here all night, Jon,” his brother Aegon said as he came up beside Jon and handed him a glass of punch. Jon was thankful for it. Walking across the ballroom meant drawing attention to himself and that was the last thing he wanted.
“Want to make a wager on that?” Jon asked.
“You know Daenerys will drag you out onto that dance floor herself if she has to.”
Jon looked at his brother with an arched brow. “Then I suppose it will be your job to keep her at bay.”
Aegon rolled his eyes. “You do know that eventually you will have to talk to people. Especially the ladies.”
“Says my older brother who should be looking for a wife first,” Jon said pointedly.
Aegon sighed. “I have devoted myself to the task of finding a wife this Season. I just thought it might make things interesting – not to mention a bit more fun – if you and I attempted to make a match together.”
Jon shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Aegon threw his head back and laughed and Jon belted him in the stomach. “Quiet! You’ll draw attention this way.”
Aegon just shook his head. “You are hopeless.”
Jon shrugged. “I prefer to keep away from the insipid females these balls seem to be in an abundance of, and well, quite frankly, I am not a fan of people in general. I never know what to say to begin with…”
“It’s not that hard. They ask you questions and you answer.”
“And if they expect me to be the one asking questions?”
“Then you find something you want to know about them and ask.”
Jon sighed. “I’ve never met anyone I care to know anything about. People at these things are just so…shallow. It’s all about making a match and being seen. None of it is about having a real conversation.”
“And if you were to have a real conversation, what would it be about?”
Jon looked at him as though he should know the answer to that. “Books, of course.”
“Well, I’m sure there are plenty of bluestockings that are chomping at the bit for a husband.”
Jon made a face. “Do not say it like that. As if a learned woman is a terrible thing.”
Aegon shrugged and Jon just rolled his eyes. Jon knew that for all of Aegon’s bluster he would be bored stiff with any woman that could not add more to a conversation besides what was in fashion in hats.
“I see the Starks have arrived,” Aegon said, nodding toward the entrance of the ballroom. “With Arya here now, you’ll have company in the corner.” Aegon pushed away from the wall. “Try to have some fun, brother.”
Jon leaned back against the wall and sipped his punch. He was certain Arya would find him eventually. Until then, he wasn’t going to move from this spot.
xxxxxxxxxxx
“Arya, you will have to dance tonight,” Catelyn Stark told her youngest daughter as they set up camp on the outskirts of the dance floor.
Arya sighed and looked to her sister for help. Sansa just laughed. “Do you think I have any sway when it comes to Mother?” she asked. “Just get them out of the way quickly.”
Catelyn narrowed her eyes without heat at Sansa. “Do not humor her.”
Ned, their father, just cleared his throat and looked down at Arya sternly. Arya and Ned had always been close, and Sansa sometimes wondered if it was because they looked so much alike. Arya had his dark hair, his thin nose, and his black looks when he was displeased (Arya was often more displeased than Ned). Sansa had inherited her mother’s auburn locks, pale skin, and high cheekbones. She’d also inherited her blue eyes, whereas Arya and Ned were brown-eyed.
Sansa smoothed her green dress and peered out into the crowd. So far, no one had appeared to have noticed her. She feared the moment when they did.
“Do not worry, Sansa,” Ned said softly from beside her. “Relax. Everything will be fine. Our hosts know you are here, and they are fine with it.”
Sansa did relax some; her father had that effect on her. He was as steady as they came – so was her mother. She trusted them. She just wished she had trusted them when they’d advised her to think twice about marrying Harry. . .
“Is Robb coming tonight with Talisa?” Sansa asked her father.
“I believe he is,” Ned replied. “Ah, speak of the devil…”
Sansa beamed as she found her older brother Robb and his wife making their way towards them. She embraced her brother and his wife and then formed a bit of a circle as they chatted and caught up.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa spied Arya waving someone over in a very unladylike manner. She frowned and turned to face her sister. “Arya, do stop waving in such a manner,” Sansa said. “It’s not polite.”
Arya shot her a look. “I do not care.”
“Who are you waving at anyway?”
“My friend Jon,” Arya replied. “He’s found his corner for the night, but if I have to dance and be seen, then so does he.” And then she smiled at the man who approached. He wore all black, had dark curly hair that fell to his shoulders and had piercing gray eyes. He had a beard, though closely trimmed. He looked at Sansa as though startled, which put Sansa on guard. What would give him cause to look at her thus? Did he know about her? About Harry? Had Arya’s tongue been wagging or were there whispers behind her back after all? For heaven’s sake, she’d only been back for two days!
Sansa lifted her chin. She was not going to let the ton get to her. Let them say what they wanted. It wasn’t she that had multiple affairs. It was not her fault that Harry had been stupid and had gotten himself killed in a duel over a married woman. Oh, but she knew how fickle Society could be. How they laid blame at an innocent person’s feet simply for being related to the one that had caused the scandal in the first place.
Sansa cleared her throat and nudged her sister with her elbow. Arya took the not so subtle hint and introduced Sansa and Jon. Arya used the title Lord Jon, but Sansa wasn’t sure to whom he was related. She curtsied as a lady was supposed to and Jon took her gloved hand in his and bowed.
Sansa pulled her hand away hastily and looked at her sister. “Remember what Mother said, Arya. You may have your fun, but you must dance as well.”
“I thought you were on my side,” Arya groused.
“I am dearest, but I told you, I only have so much sway.” She smiled at her sister, nodded to Jon, and returned to Robb and Talisa.
“I see you met Arya’s bosom friend,” Robb said once she’d returned.
Sansa frowned. “Who is he?”
“He’s the youngest son of the Rhaegar and Lyanna Targaryon. Their father is an earl. Jon has two siblings – Daenerys and Aegon. Daenerys is only a couple years older than Jon, and Aegon is four years older,” Robb explained. “Father has met with Lord Snow – that is, Rhaegar – often. He likes them very much. During that time, Jon and Arya became thick as thieves.”
“He looked surprised to see me,” Sansa said. “Almost as though he knew me. Does he know about me? About Harry?”
“I doubt Father would say anything, Sansa,” Robb said. “He does not like to talk about our business.”
“Arya?”
“Perhaps,” Robb shrugged. Then he grinned. “It was probably just the fact that you’re a lady who is not Arya that he had to talk to.”
Sansa cocked her head to the side. “Oh? He is shy?”
“Robb, be nice,” Talisa scolded gently. “Lord Jon is a perfectly kind gentlemen, but yes, he is rather shy. And studious, according to Arya. He’d prefer books and libraries to crowded ballrooms.”
“I can’t say as I blame him there,” Sansa said with a laugh. Once upon a time she had enjoyed all that Society had to offer. Now she found it stifling.
Her smile fell as she noticed Lady Cersei Baratheon making her way across the floor and looking directly at Sansa with a smirk on her lovely and yet snooty face.
Well, if ever there was a way to announce to Society that she was back in it, it would be courtesy of Lady Cersei. Sansa braced herself for the barrage of insults that were no doubt headed her way.
“Sansa!” Lady Cersei said as though so very excited to see her. She even kissed Sansa’s cheek. “How are you doing, dearest? This must be quite strange for you after spending so much time in Paris.”
“It’s a bit like riding a horse. One never quite forgets,” Sansa replied.
“At least here you don’t have to worry that much about running into one of your husband’s conquests. That must ease your plight considerably.”
And so the niceties were over.
“Perhaps you should consider moving to Paris with your husband, Lady Cersei, so he does not have to worry about running into a few of yours,” Sansa said with a sickly sweet smile on her face. “Is he here, perchance? Or are evenings like this too much for the poor infirmed soul?”
Cersei’s smile fell and her expression darkened. She smoothed a bit of hair at her temple. “At least I can say my husband is accounted for.”
“Well, at his age I presume it is hard for him to move around so much, so yes, you can be sure of his whereabouts at all times. How comforting.”
Cersei stepped forward, murder in her eyes, and Robb stepped up in front of Sansa while Talisa pulled Sansa discreetly away towards Arya and Jon.
“Do you want me to punch her?” Arya hissed as she glared at Lady Cersei.
“She’s had her fun,” Sansa said and patted Arya’s arm. “It’s over for now.” She smiled then when she saw Margaery Tyrell and Roslin Frey making their way across the ballroom. Now these two had been her closest friends, and from the smiles on their faces, not much had changed in that regard. “Excuse me,” she said, and glided forward to meet them.