4th November, 1891 — Malfoy Residence, London

She was making her way relentlessly through a plodding tune on the pianoforte, biding her time until the pieces of her latest scheme fell into place. Estelle had thought it better not to attempt some singing practice alongside this, lest this play on Victoire’s nerves so dreadfully as to see her sister flee the room. (After all, the scheme would not have its full effect if none of her sisters were here to witness it.) So, she had mostly been co-existing with her younger sister in relative peace – she had not made one sniping remark yet today, even though Torie’s mere presence was ordinarily enough to get under her skin and wreck her nerves.

The Malfoys’ drawing room was hardly in the same state of familiarity with visitors at this time of year, now that the season was over. And the last season had seen, Estelle had noted with no small jealousy, an unprecedented number of callers; no doubt because this was the year the youngest flower in the family had finally bloomed, and she had already caught the eye of a fair few sons. But, out of season or no, they still received a guest or a card from time to time. (Though not usually for her. Rarely for her. Almost never for her.)

But cousin Brynn was newly engaged, so the end of summer had not yet wrought the end of her hopes. A match could still be made any time of year; a debutante could not simply hibernate through the winter; and with Brynn’s recent advance towards marriage, Estelle wasn’t sure how many more seasons she would be able to bear with only her sisters for unmarried competition company.

And yet the fact was, Estelle had nevertheless made no real steps forward in the pursuit of being married, and she was beginning to think everyone had simply overlooked her, already written her off for good. Which wasn’t fair. She still had plenty of pride left, and she would have rather liked for someone else – even just the rest of her family! – to see it. To see her worth, just once.

A knock at the door; the butler delivering the day’s owl post on a little silver tray, and in his other hand, an elaborate bouquet of flowers with a little folded card attached. Estelle didn’t move from the piano stool, deliberately leaving Victoire to retrieve it.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, looking up innocently as the butler left again. “Who are those for? Angeline?” Victoire was the most common recipient, she thought darkly, but she would let Victoire take her sweet time poring over this bouquet. Let her get her hopes up for once, and have to feel that pointed blow when she realised someone was not thinking of her. It was a feeling Estelle knew well. 

Something else she knew well, even without sparing it more than a glance, was the bouquet’s contents. The card would read To Miss Estelle Malfoy, with admiration and no signature; the bouquet: rather expensive. The flowers: gardenias and heliotrope – secret love and devotion – blue salvias which meant ‘I think of you’; white camellias for perfected loveliness.

(It was only now that Estelle wondered whether she had, perhaps... lain it on a little too thick.)

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Victoire Malfoy / Elsie Kirke

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   , Madeleine Backus

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Torie had long ago mastered tuning out unpleasant noises around her; her sisters were who they were after all. Today it was Estelle's manhandling of the piano she dutifully ignored while she worked on her needlepoint in the parlor. It really was a pity the season was over, but at least she had plenty of time to rest her bad leg so that she would be back in top form for next summer. Fortunately even at Miss King's debut, she had faired alright, even if she did not dance as many turns as she would have normally. At least Mr. Gladstone had proved to be proper company.

Estelle noticed the butler arrive first, with a stunning bouquet to be left across the room. "I do hope so, it would be nice for her to receive some attention every now and then." Torie said absentmindedly, meaning every word. Though she did most often receive such lovely treasures, she wouldn't mind if her sisters were also gifted such glorious prizes. "What does the card say?" She looked up from the rose she had just put the finishing touches on, toward her sister.

Gently she tucked her needlepoint beside her and looked at Estelle, wondering which of them would break the urge to check first. Torie was innately curious, even if she thought they might be for one of her sisters. Wouldn't in be nice to have some gentleman come keep them company on these increasingly raw days?

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Red again! June 1894

There was a fizzle of electricity in her veins at this – deception, or plot, or plan, or whatever it was – that was almost exciting. Invigorating. (Who knew sending flowers to oneself could be such a thrill?)

However. Victoire had not even immediately looked up from her needlepoint. Damn her, Estelle thought, for being so self-centred as not to care about anything else in the world but her own work. Except then Victoire had followed it up with a sentiment so guilelessly generous and pitying towards Angeline, so – well – fine, then, damn her for being so selfless and considerate! Estelle felt her jaw set together as solidly as if she had been chewing treacle. She just couldn’t win with Victoire, could she? (Well, who could? It was in her sister’s name. Victoire might be the most altruistic or the most self-absorbed specimen of a girl in the world – and yet, either way, she would also always be the most infuriating.)

It was why Estelle cared a little less in this instance about whether or not Angeline was there to witness the bouquet’s arrival. Her other sister would be waltz in sometime later today to read the card for herself, which would be something, and Victoire had a point about one thing: Angeline was just too erratic to gain anyone’s attention (at least, not for the right reasons). It might have given Estelle ample reason to complain about her elder sister too, yes, but it was certainly easier to feel a little sympathy or superiority there, a little less triumph. No, the joy here would be to see a glimmer of surprise in Victoire’s face, to force her younger sister to say nice things to her, or to imagine that Estelle was well-thought of by someone in society, after all. One small dent in Victoire’s superiority would not make her bearable, Estelle was certain, but this was bound to be a start.

But only if she actually looked at it.

So Estelle also kept her place at the piano stool as if her derrière had also been glued to it by treacle, because she was stubborn enough not to give up on a scheme before it had played out to its full potential, and she had to be subtle about how she played this. What does the card say? Torie had asked – and Estelle had noticed her set aside her embroidery – so here indeed were some signs that her sister was harbouring a little curiosity... And Estelle simply couldn’t feign curiosity, because she never did ordinarily, because the trinkets and gestures were never for her, and her sisters would never believe her if she started crooning over gifts for them.

So she only gave a haughty shrug, a barely-disguised huff to say pfft, why ought I care about that, if it’s for one of you, and made a show of settling her eyes back on the sheet music. Estelle replaced her fingers upon the keys and began to play again. Albeit, this time, slower and more softly than before, in case her sister picked up the card and read it aloud, or said anything else; and indeed with a few slipped notes to the song, because her gaze was trained not on the sheet music at all, but, out of the corner of her eye, on her sister and the bouquet.

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Estelle seemed quite poised at the piano, but the curiosity was mounting and since Torie had found a good place to pause her needlepoint, Torie moved to ring for some tea and then toward the bouquet, eyeing the stunning blooms with interest. It was an unusual, arrangement, but something suited to either of her sisters. Not exactly to her taste, the flowers were a week bit dark, but she was in no place to turn down anything either.

Plucking the card from the top, Torie was surprised to see that it was Estelle's name printed beautifully on the front. "Oh!" Torie truly was shocked. "They're for you, darling!" She looked up at her sister, the curiosity was piqued now, but clearly she was surprised. Crossing the room to where her sister sat on the piano bench, Torie passed the card over before leaning both elbows atop the grand to see what it contained.

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Red again! June 1894

A flash of triumph, as Victoire got up first – true, she had called for tea and taken her time to do it, nonchalantly, but at least Estelle had made sure she moved eventually, ha – that she had to swallow, lest her sister see.

And it was followed by her sister’s obvious surprise, as if this was an unbelievable and unexpected turn of events (in fairness, it was), which Estelle had expected – and yet which rankled her all the same. So it took some schooling of her expression to settle herself into a slightly-disbelieving frown and letting a slight flush of indignation bloom on her cheeks without looking smug about it. “Very funny,” Estelle said, in her best imitation of unaffected modesty, but stood slightly off the stool to snatch the card from Victoire as soon as she was within reach of it, as if she were desperate to see what it contained.

“Oh,” Estelle said, imagining that the warmth of her flushed cheeks might come across as a spark of pleasure now, “they are for me.” She couldn’t resist darting her eyes towards Victoire with just a slight dagger of competitiveness in them, because even pulling off a schemed plot was a win, when wins were this rare.

Estelle cleared her throat, conscious that Victoire would probably be left quite unruffled and perfectly unenvious by one bouquet not being for her; but Estelle discovered now that she was also perfectly happy to make a routine of this if she had to, to really bury the knife in her sister’s innards and watch her bleed out of jealousy. “To Miss Estelle Malfoy, with admiration,” she quoted, keeping her eyes on the card for a moment to sell her own shock here. “But no name,” she said, as she narrowed them, as if she were torn between a dreamy, wondering look and of suspecting Victoire of simply having set her up. “I wonder who they could be from?” Not that Victoire could possibly know (– she hoped –) but it would entertain Estelle to make her awful, arrogant sister run through all the bachelors in society and think one or two of them much taken by her instead.

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Torie was nearly giddy as her sister read the card, barely containing her own excitement. "Oh! How sweet!" Torie looked over Estelle's shoulder at the card itself then back toward the flowers. "This bouquet is exquisite, you haven't any idea who they might be from?" Certainly her sister (through little fault of her own!) didn't have that many callers that would send flowers. Torie had always thought her sisters to require a particular... beau to woo them, but clearly Estelle had caught someone's eye!

"Come now, you've been holding out!" The Malfoy sisters were not all that close, in age sure, but little else, but Torie would have hoped that any news of something serious would have been passed along to her. "How very exciting and romantic! I'm so very happy for you!" If only because she knew her sisters had the pressure of having siblings out now too and none of them wanted to be overly competitive or a burden to their parents for an extended amount of time.

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   Estelle Malfoy

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Red again! June 1894

Blast. Estelle had thought her plan almost foolproof, but Victoire had suddenly made this all feel so much worse because she was being nice about it. As if she believed it, as if it were exciting and romantic and not... a ridiculous thought that she ought never to have acted on.

Estelle floundered slightly in the face of her sister’s selfless encouragement, because to backtrack now, to demur or shy away, would be most embarrassing – and also, as it happened, most unlike her. So then Victoire would definitely know something was amiss, and if Torie figured out the truth and turned to well-meaning pity for her, Estelle might tear her own guts out.

“No,” she said, her cheeks pink without trying for a different reason now. “I truly don’t know. I have met so many men, they all seem to blur into one.” Estelle was desperately trying to think of even one conversation she had had in the last few months with an eligible man that she could say had gone unequivocally well, and she was coming up blank. “If he has chosen anonymity, probably he is unsuitable anyway,” she said, dismissively: this was a muddle and a mess and a mistake, because Torie’s honest enthusiasm was a little overwhelming and now she thought there was something serious here.

(So Estelle really would have to send another along bouquet next week, because she could not allow even a made-up expression of interest in her to burn out that fast.)

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"You don't know that, maybe he's just shy!" Torie countered, taking in the beautiful bouquet. "Or a romantic! You can be a little..." How did she say this nicely? "Impressive." There, that might be a better word than imposing or terrifying. Both of which she was sure Estelle could come across as.

"You cannot think of anyone, truly?" There had to be some conversation that stuck out enough in her sister's memory for it to warrant such beautiful blooms! How sad it would be if Estelle had an admirer and she didn't find out his identity! "Is there one you would like it to be?" Torie didn't strictly pay attention to who it was her sister chatted with at social events as she had her own dance card and company to worry about, but certainly Estelle should be paying attention!

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Red again! June 1894

Impressive. Estelle almost liked the word – that it was Torie saying it made her a little suspicious of it, because she tended not to trust a word out of her sister’s mouth. But she could live with impressive.

“Perhaps you’re right, that is my difficulty,” she mused aloud, mostly to herself and entirely without meaning to. But perhaps that was it; that she was too pretty or too proud to seem approachable, and that all manner of men would certainly fall for her charms if only they screwed up the courage to woo her. Torie was – well, more approachable, somehow. She was not quite sure how her sister was such a natural at it.

And she most certainly was not going to ask for her advice. “No,” Estelle insisted instead, plucking up one of the gardenias from the bouquet and tearing the petals apart agitatedly.

She ought to think of someone, to keep Torie assuming there was actually some possibility of this being real and not just a foolish ploy, but she hadn’t planned this far ahead and under pressure there were simply no names coming to her. Mr. Rosier – no, he was engaged to Brynn now, she couldn’t use him – her next thought was too young; the following too old; another a halfblood – and most of the men’s names creeping onto her tongue for someone she liked were not even eligible, because they were married, and no married men were going to be sending her flowers to the drawing room! “Well, maybe I... No, it is better I don’t say.” Let her think he was a secret she was keeping, out of privacy or self-preservation and not just because her mind was desperately blank. The truth was she was floundering, and Estelle couldn’t look at Victoire with the bouquet still sitting between them, because if she did she felt sure Victoire would sense the lie.

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Oh Merlin, perhaps that hadn't been the right thing to say. Estelle looked a little too pleased by the compliment and it was certainly going to go to her head. Ah well, hopefully it wouldn't come back to bite her in the ass too much.

That could be ruminated on later however, as Estelle turned, was that... sheepish? Torie really couldn't identify how her sister was feeling, but it wasn't the normal. Was there truly someone her sister fancied? Victoire supposed that she couldn't be surprised that she had not heard of anything, but she generally did pay attention to her sisters social interactions, loosely, and only to make sure they weren't being... too much, but she must have missed something!

"Oh well!" She beamed. "You don't have to tell me if you do not wish to, I understand wanting to keep such things to yourself." Personally she'd be shouting it from the rooftops if she was Estelle, but then again, they were completely different people. "Hopefully something will come of it!" Which meant Torie would learn eventually; she could be patient.

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Red again! June 1894

If it had been someone worthy of her – if it had been real – Estelle probably would have declared their name at once, and bathed in Torie’s (no doubt) taken aback expression.

So, itching at this ill-thought-out deceit, she decided she would have to keep it up until such time as she could make it real. Extending out the prelude to a courtship just a little longer than it actually was: if she could find someone, sooner rather than later, all the pieces would fall into place, and all Estelle had done was give herself some crumb of pleasure to survive upon in the interim.

If she found no one, and Victoire found her out, sending regular flowers to herself, then – well, then Estelle would have to move to Timbuktu in shame and never return. Still, there was something terribly peppy and yet knowing, skeptical, in Victoire’s last remark – hopefully something will come of it! – that made Estelle glare at her outright. “Of course it will,” she said, rather more snappishly than she ought to have been, having just received a surprise bouquet, and she shook her head, feathers ruffled, and flounced for the door before she could say something else she would regret.

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"I'm so happy for your, Estelle, truly." Anybody that could handle Estelle would need all the luck in the world, but she did wish her sister the best, obviously. Not to mention, if one less of them was on the market, that only increased Torie's own chances of success.

Torie returned to her needlework as Estelle pranced away, with a smile and shake of her head. Hopefully something would come of it and Estelle would be occupied elsewhere. Three daughters out in society was a lot for one family, even a family such as theirs, it would look much better if one of them were to have some luck finding a husband. Torie suspected she would have the most luck and it would go out of order; hopefully neither Estelle nor Angel put up too much fuss about it...

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Red again! June 1894