Chapter Text
"at six and twenty, michonne is re-entering society."
The first time Michonne realized she was a disappointment to her mother, it was the summer of 1814.
More specifically, it was late June and nearing the end of London’s social season that year. At two and twenty, Michonne’s first season out was her last opportunity to find a suitable match, due to the Hawthorne’s not being able to finance another season. They could hardly afford this one.
“I’m depending on you.” were the only words her mother spoke to her during the two hour carriage ride from the ship port to Hawthorne House; her late father’s townhouse in the middle of the square and the only thing they had left to his name before the lease expired.
Both she and Mary-Ann Hawthorne figured that surely a gentleman would be interested in her. But month after month, every ball that passed, every failed promenade through St. James Park and every concert she went to with avoidance from eligible bachelors made them both realize how completely undesirable Michonne had become.
It had nothing to do with her beauty. Her skin was the color of espresso, soft with golden undertones that made men initially deem themselves unworthy of her presence. Her eyes were mesmerizing; a single glance from her made one feel captivated. Her smile was tender, soft and absolutely fascinating. One look at her, and mamas clutched the wrists of their daughters and whispered to avoid Michonne Hawthorne because surely she’d be the Diamond of the season.
Her inability to capture the heart of a young gentleman in the social season of 1814 had absolutely nothing to do with her beauty.
No, her undesirability was due to her tendency to step on her partner’s toes during a waltz (whether purposely or not), and because of her habit of unintentionally insulting a gentleman she was wiser than; which was nearly all the potential suitors that year. Her options dwindled down one by one until she was entertaining decrepit nobility one touch away from turning into dust.
And when she ‘mistakenly’ punched Lord Blake in the eye during a walk in the gardens (after his hand got too comfortable traveling down her waist), well…even the decrepit nobility of the ton avoided her.
The last few days of London’s social season, Michonne didn’t even try to find a suitor. As stubborn as she was, the young lady also knew when a situation was hopeless. She was ready to go back to the German countryside.
But as she was taken out of the bath and changed into her gown her second to last day in London, it hit her that she had failed to complete the only thing a woman of her stature was meant to do; find a husband and save her family from poverty and ruin. Mary-Ann wouldn’t even look at her during their last walk through the pleasure gardens.
And that was the first time Michonne realized she was a disappointment to her mother, and she would be for the rest of her life.
She could almost smell her mother’s dissatisfaction underneath the scent of her perfume; like some hidden decaying fruit she couldn’t find but the odor got stronger the closer to the end of the season.
But then there was a call at the door from Lord Blake. Mary-Ann was in the entryway leading him to the study before Michonne could even process why he could possibly be visiting. She’d already given him an apology at her mother’s request weeks ago, and avoided him like the plague since then.
After an uncomfortably long hour, Mary-Ann walked out; with her perfect posture and an aura so regal that one wouldn’t realize she had pennies to her name. It only took one look at Lord Blake and his hunched back, walking cane and discolored eye that made Michonne realize she would no longer be the Honorable Lady Michonne Hawthorne, daughter to the late Viscount Hawthorne. Now, she would forever be known as Baroness Blake.
Well, technically she was Baroness Blake for a grueling two weeks.
It was a quiet, rushed wedding; simple, and nothing like she dreamed as a young girl gossiping with friends about dukes, princes and happily ever after. Her husband had a perpetual frown on his face, as if he’d been forced into this just as much as she had.
Michonne thought she knew what to expect from marriage. She knew it was her responsibility to now choose what company she kept, who she wished to call on, who she wished to receive. She also knew one of her most important duties was to have babies. That was the part she was most looking forward to. The only problem was, she didn’t know how one was meant to make said babies. So she did what newly married daughters did best.
She asked her lady’s maid.
She and Phillip laid together two times. The first time, it seemed as if Phillip couldn’t - as her maid put it - arouse himself. She tried to help; she gave his hand a comforting squeeze, which resulted in him pushing her arm out the way and yelling that it was her fault.
“Maybe if you didn’t just lay there like a board-”
Michonne doesn’t remember the rest of his grumblings; she was too busy running out the door.
Her maid told her that she needed to make him want her. That was the problem that made it so that he couldn’t give himself to her.
Michonne had to make him want her.
And Andrea told her exactly how a lady was meant to do it.
Michonne’s marriage was full of avoidance, quiet dinners and glares around the estate when they were in the same vicinity. But when she walked into Phillip’s room, her nightdress showing more of her ample bosom than their rushed encounters allowed, the hatred in Phillips' eyes disappeared and was replaced with an emotion Andrea had described during their lessons.
Desire.
Michonne could’ve sworn she did everything correctly. She slowly unbuttoned her covering, walked towards him and laid herself onto the bed, sinking into the goose-feathered bolster and lifting her chemise in anticipation to just get it over with.
All of a sudden, Michonne found herself flipped onto her stomach, feeling the white silk of her nightdress lifting over . She could feel the cool air pricking her skin, and then suddenly, Phillip’s even colder hands rubbing her behind.
It was painful and felt as if she was being stabbed. Before, his member had been soft and awkward. But now, he moved and thrusted into her once, twice and then suddenly he fell on top of her; all his weight pressing her down into the mattress so hard she felt like she couldn’t breathe.
She counted to 10 before trying to move a little. There was no response to her obvious discomfort.
“Phillip?” He absolutely hated it when she called him by his Christian name, but she assumed perhaps that would be the catalyst to get him off of her. “Husband, please get off of me.”
There was nothing.
And Michonne finally noticed that her husband was not breathing.
The compromising position she was found in was almost as humiliating as being married for two weeks before becoming a widow. Although miles away, she swore she could hear the ton gossiping about her, her failed marriage and the humiliating last moments she had with her late husband.
The kindest thing the late Baron Blake did for Michonne was die, and leave her enough money to live her days isolated from society in the German countryside.
During her mourning period, Michonne knew she could never speak of her failures out loud. No matter how much she yearned to apologize for her imperfections. No matter how much she wanted to ask how she could fix her mistakes. But at least her mother was satisfied enough with the wealth they required to not mention the disappointment she had for her daughter.
A couple moved in next door two years later; the eldest son of a duke and his newlywed; the Marquess and Marchioness Grimes. Mother absolutely despised them; she assumed the Marchioness was immature and childish, but Michonne thought her mother’s hatred had more to do with her desire to be as young and vibrant as she.
They came at the perfect time for Michonne, who was growing wearisome at the mundaneness of her everyday life. And when Lady Enid showed up for a house call and stayed for an hour instead of the usual 10 minutes, she knew she’d finally found a friend after so many years of isolation.
“I want a baby.”
A rough cough comes out of Enid; unbecoming of a woman of her stature. Her cheeks turn pink as she tries maintaining both her composure and her teacup at the same time.
“Pardon me?”
Michonne has never been one for subtly. Perhaps that’s why she was so unliked in London society. One would think she’d grow out of her unlikeable habits, but alas, four years of isolation did nothing to change her unique personality.
“I said I want a baby.” She takes a sip of tea, as if she’s simply conversing about the weather.
“That’s wonderful Michonne.” She can tell that Enid is holding her tongue, so Michonne simply raises an eyebrow to beckon the younger woman to continue. “When did you realize this?”
“Well…I suppose I’ve always known that I want motherhood. But unfortunately I must acquire a husband, which is a bit unfortunate. But on the bright side I can get a new wardrobe at the modiste, and stop wearing this depressing shade of black. Everyone knows I never liked the old wart I was married to.”
“I’m very happy you’ve decided to become a mother-”
“Do you think I will have to associate with my husband much after I have the baby?” Enid spies Michonne’s maid close her eyes and let out a deep sigh in the corner.
“I would expect as much. Do you know who you’ll be going for in London? An earl, a viscount, a baron like your late husband?”
“I don’t care about his title. I don’t think there’s any men with titles around here anyway, at least not eligible ones.”
“Are you not planning on going to London?” Michonne’s nose scrunches up, as if she’s bitten into a sour lemon.
“Well initially I was, but then my mind changed. I could always find some baronet or knight around here. Baronet’s love traveling here during winter, which is so odd to me-”
“Nonsense; London would be the best course of action. Carl is actually traveling to London in a month to visit his sister-” Enid gasps. “Michonne, you can get the Blake estate in order in a month’s time, correct? Of course you can, love. Why did I not think of this as soon as Carl told me he was traveling?!”
“Think of what Enid?”
Comically, Enid places her tea on the table between her and Michonne, then reaches over to grasp her hands.
“Carl and I are accompanying you to London. You are going back to the marriage mart. You are reintroducing yourself to society, and you will be positively splendid.”
The Marchioness’ dining hall has never been so silent. And yet here Enid is with the largest smile on her face, as if what she’s suggested isn’t the worst idea Michonne has ever heard. Which is saying something, given Enid once convinced her to smoke a cigarette in the company of her mother.
“Did I fail to mention to you how much I despise high society?”
“You’ve told me multiple times…about incidents from years ago. Darling, all of those suitors are either dead, off the market or have completely forgotten about you. This is your time to start anew. You’ll have me and - oh! Carl can put a good word in for you.”
“Enid-”
“You as well as Judith! And this way you can find the perfect, eligible father for your child. Maybe this way you’ll find a husband you can actually grow to like.”
Michonne Hawthorne is quite talented in the art of debate. But as her mouth opens and closes, trying to find a flaw in Enid’s plan, she notices that she can’t think of a single argument to refute her friend’s claims.
Despite the vapid mama’s, competitive debutantes, and rakes masquerading as eligible suitors, the men that London society provides will give her only the best options. She will have the opportunity to choose the gentleman with the most wit, intellect, humor and best features to make life with. Every turn across the ballroom, every smile and glance in her direction will tell her everything she must know. Despite its flaws, high society is the perfect ecosystem for vetting gentlemen.
Which only means one thing.
At six and twenty, Dowager Baroness Blake is re-entering society.