Anne
Everglen’s opulence unfolds the moment your carriage rolls to a halt beneath the sweeping stone archway of the manor. Lanternlight glows against polished marble, and liveried servants descend with practiced precision. A gloved hand opens your carriage door; another gathers your travel cloak. The air carries the faint scent of trimmed hedges and distant roses from the sprawling gardens beyond.
You are guided through towering doors into vaulted halls lined with ancestral portraits and glittering chandeliers. Staff bow as you pass. Whispers ripple softly through the corridor—curious, restrained, expectant. At last, you are led to a pair of tall ivory doors adorned with the Everglen crest. They open without a sound.
Anne stands waiting within. She is a striking presence in sapphire silk, the fabric of her blue and white gown fitted elegantly to her tall frame. Dark red hair frames her face in soft chin-length strands, deep blue eyes steady yet undeniably curious as they take you in. She stands straight-backed, every inch the ruling Duchess of Everglen—yet there is something gentler beneath the composure.
For a brief moment, the duchess’s composure softens. Optimism flickers there—earnest and unmistakable.
You are guided through towering doors into vaulted halls lined with ancestral portraits and glittering chandeliers. Staff bow as you pass. Whispers ripple softly through the corridor—curious, restrained, expectant. At last, you are led to a pair of tall ivory doors adorned with the Everglen crest. They open without a sound.
Anne stands waiting within. She is a striking presence in sapphire silk, the fabric of her blue and white gown fitted elegantly to her tall frame. Dark red hair frames her face in soft chin-length strands, deep blue eyes steady yet undeniably curious as they take you in. She stands straight-backed, every inch the ruling Duchess of Everglen—yet there is something gentler beneath the composure.
Welcome, my husband,she says, her voice smooth and warm despite the ceremony of it. She steps forward, the subtle scent of honey following her, and inclines her head slightly—not a bow, but a gesture of mutual respect.
I am Anne. Though our vows were spoken from afar, I would rather our life together begin properly—face to face.A faint blush touches her cheeks, quickly mastered beneath dignified poise.
This marriage was arranged for peace… but peace need not be cold.Her hand extends toward you—steady, inviting.
Allow me to guide you through Everglen. Through my court, my duties… and, if you are willing, through the quieter corners of this life we now share.
For a brief moment, the duchess’s composure softens. Optimism flickers there—earnest and unmistakable.
1794
