3rd January, 1895 — Timoleon Maxime’s Residence, London

She had gone to bed early, claiming a headache in spite of it being her birthday – which Estelle usually milked for all it was worth. As the years passed, of course, it became a bitterer and bitterer day to her, no matter how she tried to combat it; and this year she had more weighing on her mind than ever before.

If it had only been the flowers, those alone still would have been the last straw. But it was much, much worse than that – she was going to kill Timoleon Maxime for all he had done to her, and kill him twice if he didn’t fix things now.

He had ruined her – ruined everything. She had locked her bedroom door, put out her bedside lamp, and then, her hair down but still fully dressed, lit up the Floo. For a moment, Estelle hoped she wouldn’t bump into any of his staff or worse, some other slut in bed with him (no: she might be deluded, but she held with her idea that if he had been fortunate enough to be with her, he would not have wasted his energy on seducing anyone else) – but then she remembered that if she was already ruined, what did it matter if she were seen?

But she hadn’t come across anyone else, just searched from room to room until she found him, her expression stormy. “You think you can just do whatever you want, and get away with it?!” she hissed, already fuming. “Well, I won’t let you. Don’t you dare send flowers to the house –” (it didn’t matter that she had, that was different, and there was no one who would remark on his; and that had been before her monthlies hadn’t come, and she had started to feel strange in herself, and now suspected she was carrying his blasted child) “when I’m – I’m –” She couldn’t seem to say it now that she was actually looking at him, so she just gestured angrily at her midriff, presuming he would understand the consequences of his actions better than she did.

---

Timoleon Maxime/Gus Lissington

  

---

Today was just another day and would forever just be another day as far as Leo was concerned. He was well aware it was Estelle’s birthday and if he could have been a fly on the wall for when both bouquets were delivered – one to Estelle and one to her boring little sister that he gave two shits about – Leo would have spent the entire day there, waiting to see their reactions. But since he couldn’t, he decided to ignore the day altogether, throwing himself into work until it was time to head home.

He’d retired to his sitting room with a nightcap, his head leaning back against the couch as he imagined the blonde’s reaction – she’d get red in the face, from both shame and embarrassment, although she’d have to lie to those around her and say she didn’t know who they were from. The staff would whisper about her behind her back, citing how the bouquet was underwhelming in color, especially in comparison to Miss Victoire’s. Who in society would want her anyway, now that she was ruined?

It must have been his thoughts that summoned this banshee out of whatever hell she resided in when she wasn’t with him, because a moment later she was storming into the room. He tipped his head and let her finish speaking, his lips curling into a smirk. “Of course I can do whatever I want.” Only Murdock and the Minister himself were above Leo, but he wasn’t afraid of either of them. It was cute (amusing, annoying) that Estelle Malfoy thought she could stop Leo from doing anything, and if he wanted to send her flowers on her birthday, he damn well will.

But he didn’t interject because she was all up in arms about something, although as words failed her, he couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow, waiting for her to spit it out so he could throw her out of his home. She gestured and he just laughed. Leaned his head back against the couch and let out an unabashed amused laugh that he hadn’t done in a long time. When he stopped, his chest hurt from laughing so loudly. “Did you think this wouldn’t happen eventually?” He mocked her. (It didn’t dawn on Leo that she didn’t know what the purpose of sex was for most people.) They hadn’t been very careful over the last few months, so it wasn’t shocking that this had happened. It was just a nuisance.

Leo let his gaze settle on her. "You look it. Who else knows?" How big of a mess was thing to be was the only thing he was worried about.

---

Estelle Malfoy / Elias Grimstone

---

The following 1 user Likes Timoleon Maxime's post:1 user Likes Timoleon Maxime's post
   Estelle Malfoy

She had been expecting his counter about doing what he liked. She had not been expecting him to laugh.

They had always been on the same page before, or so Estelle had thought, in spite of all the jibes and taunts and bickering. If they had hated each other, at least they had been on a par, both of them getting as good as they gave. There had been a kind of balance beneath it all: that, whether or not they had been playing with fire, they were equals.

But now she knew she had been a fool all along, because she had come to him on the brink of utter desperation, and he was sitting there laughing at her. The consequences were to be all hers. For the moment, though, the humiliation of this realisation only fed her anger. “No, I don’t,” Estelle snapped, at you look it: she was paranoid that her body had already changed, but she still fit in all her clothes, and she could not see a difference in the mirror, so nor could anyone else. Which meant – “And no one else knows,” she spat. She wasn’t stupid. She could solve this on her own, without her parents disowning her.

And he was talking like this had been inevitable! That didn’t make any sense! Estelle rounded on him, trembling in anger and wishing that he would get up from the couch expressly so she could shove him. “How could it have happened?! We never – but I never went to bed with you!” She exclaimed, because even if they had done some intimate things in that observatory; and occasionally up against a door; and once on a chaise-longue, it shouldn’t have led to pregnancy: however that happened, Estelle had been certain that the bed part of the marriage bed was a necessary part of the equation.

---

The following 1 user Likes Estelle Malfoy's post:1 user Likes Estelle Malfoy's post
   Philomena Sprout

---

She didn’t actually look pregnant, her clothes still fit and she didn’t have the swell that came with pregnancy, although it was possible that she wasn’t too far along, if she was, at all. Leo wouldn’t put it past her to use this scheme to force his hand into marriage, given that she wasn’t getting any younger. Well, it certainly wasn’t going to be him that she trapped! He tore his gaze away from her as she snapped at him, and he felt himself relax when Estelle confirmed no one else knew. That made it easier, then.

She got closer, and Leo just leaned back against the couch, smirking at her. “It doesn’t need to be a bed, darling,” he mocked her with the nickname, spitting it out like it tasted like shit in his mouth. He’d never call her anything sweet like that. “Sex is what leads to children. What do you think the bed does to aid that?” Leo was more curious than anything to hear her rationale behind it. He wanted to hear about stupid she sounded so he could throw back in her face, laugh at her. At least Estelle Malfoy was a pretty girl - she had absolutely nothing else going for her.

(And yet there was something that made Leo keep coming back.)

Leo silently cast muffliato, lest his nosy staff come around to try to hear what the ruckus was about. He stood then, taking a few steps forward so he could rest his hands against her hips, even if just for a moment. “What do you expect me to do about this… problem?” And how did she expect him to trust that she was telling the truth? Not that it mattered – this only ended in one way, and it wasn’t him becoming a father.

---

  

“I – I –” The marriage bed, the birthing bed, one leading to the other – it had all made sense in her head, and she had never reckoned with unpicking her assumptions, even doing what they had done. And she had not thought Timoleon Maxime would have let it come to this – she had supposed it more his choice than anything, and had not thought he had any interest in begetting children. But perhaps it made sense, that a man of such giant ego would want to populate the world with miniature versions of himself.

Her horror at the thought of more than one Maxime in the world was impeded only by her horror at his spiteful darling, or her outrage when he thought to put his hands on her. Her eyes blazed, a silent how dare you. How dare he touch her, and use her, and send her flowers and stand here and laugh in her face? She grasped a fistful of his shirt in her hand, still fighting them temptation to shove him bodily. “Do something,” she hissed. “Fix it. Marry me, if you must,” Estelle spat, because he might have as about as much interest in marriage as she had supposed he had in having children, but surely – surely he would to help her now? They didn’t need to like each other, or care about each other, but surely he respected her more than he did some ugly streetwalker? Surely he knew that ruining her would only cause him more problems?

---

  

---

For the first time in her life, or at least what Leo assumed was for the first time, Estelle Malfoy seemed to be at a loss for words. It was a silence he reveled in. It wasn’t like her voice was ghastly, (or too high pitched, or low enough that she sounded like a man) but sometimes she was annoying – always so certain, so sharp with her words, like every sentence was a carefully aimed dagger. At least the silence gave Leo a chance to move to stand in front of her, to touch her.

He didn’t do much outside of wrinkling his nose once she fisted his shirt, knowing damn well that whatever marks she left (not that there would be any outside of a few wrinkles on his first) wouldn’t be seen by anyone else. Leo glanced down at her, amusement flickering in his own gaze at how angry she was over this, when in reality she had been the one to start the game. Surely she couldn’t be mad that she had lost it.

“Marry you?” Leo laughed, malice wrapping around each word when he spoke again. “What makes you think I want to marry you, Estelle?” Granted the Malfoy name is one of the better names he could attach himself too, and as much as he found he didn’t care about Estelle in any way, Leo also loathed the idea of another man having her. He could easily just lock her away. “However, I can offer you a solution.”

Leo let go of her so he could dig into his pocket, pulling out a little satchel. He dangled it in front of her face. “Get rid of it.” He ordered. “Somewhere less people might know you. Do you need me to accompany you so I ensure that you’ve actually done it?” He couldn’t allow her to keep it and bring him down with her, but at the same time Leo couldn’t marry her. Estelle wasn’t worth that kind of investment – she was a ruined woman, after all.

---