Chapter Text
For as long as Izzy could remember, he always felt wrongness in having been born a girl.
It all started when Izzy met Ed.
Izzy lived in a quaint home in the country. His father was often away, leaving his mother alone to tend to the household duties. So Izzy often went off to play alone. That’s when he met Ed, a local boy. They became fast friends and played together frequently.
Back in those days, Izzy often came home with dirty or more ripped dresses, earning his mother's chastising.
“Why do I have to wear dresses?” Izzy would ask.
“Cause you’re a girl, Isabel. You have to wear girl clothes.” Izzy's mother would reply.
Sometimes when playing, Ed and Izzy would swap clothes with each other. They’d play family and Izzy would be the dad. Izzy never felt happier than those times.
Izzy once cut his hair real short to look more like a boy. At sight of it, his mother burst into tears about Izzy running his beauty. When Izzy’s father came home, Izzy received spankings for the misbehavior.
Years later, at one-and-twenty, Izzy felt trapped. He felt suffocated by the corsets, petticoats and ribbons he was forced to wear. He felt suffocated by having to adhere daily to society's expectations of him as being seen publicly as a woman. The small reprieves Izzy got were when he snuck away from home dressed how he liked, in a manner befitting that which felt right —most certainly not a dress like the one the dressmaker was currently fitting him into.
“Have you heard the news about the Lord coming?” The dressmaker spoke to Izzy’s mother, who had joined them for the affair. Izzy would not have come otherwise. He had more than his fair liking of dresses back at home, thank you very much.
“Oh, no.” Izzy’s mother perked right up.
“News is he will be at the Meryton ball.”
Izzy gritted his teeth as his lacing was cinched up, giving him the all too ill-pleasing figure of a woman in the mirror that stood before him. He could never stare long at his reflection when looking like this, It made him feel nauseous.
Lydia, Izzy’s younger and only sibling, was also reflected in the mirror. She stuck her tongue out at Izzy. Izzy cracked a smirk at that and stuck his tongue out back at Lydia.
“Oh, good thing my girls are getting new dresses then.” Izzy’s mother beamed in return to the dressmaker.
Izzy’s stomach clenched at his mother referring to him as one of her “girls”. But Izzy could hardly blame his mother, whom he had not the courage to tell his true feelings to.
“Perhaps one of you shall catch this Lord’s eye.” Izzy’s mother smiled at them.
Lydia sat up, smiling back as Izzy’s stomach began to feel even more nauseous. If there was one thing above all else that put Izzy at ill-ease, it was the idea of becoming someone's wife and being expected to bear children.
“Isabel, darling.” His mother turned to Izzy, her eyes and features soft. “Could you please try to be more…demure at the ball. You know it is my only desire to see my two girls married well off.”
Izzy breathed in a slow breath. “I know, Mama.”
Thankfully, the fitting was quickly over.
On their walk back home, Lydia snuck closer to Izzy, bumping close beside him. “You okay, Izzy?”
Izzy smiled down at Lydia. She was one of the few who knew Izzy’s truth. Izzy appreciated her checking in. “I'll be fine.” He assured her gently.
“I think it'll be fun to meet a Lord,” Lydia stated.
“It will surely excite Mama.”
“Do you think he's handsome?”
“Doubt it. But he's got a title so everyone will think he's handsome, even if he's not.”
Lydia hummed back.
“He'll probably be too old for you anyway.”
“So not too old for you.” Lydia teased.
Izzy shot her a stern glare, making Lydia only chuckle more. Izzy couldn’t help but crack a smile in response.
~ ~ ~
The moment Izzy’s family arrived at the Meryton ball, Izzy’s mother promptly proclaimed, “Oh, this is so lovely!”
Izzy, meanwhile, surveyed the gaudy excess judgingly.
Izzy’s father had already disappeared with the other husbands. While Izzy never liked his father, he severely wished he could join him to escape the horrors of the ball.
In the center of the room, the dancing had already begun. A few strangers mingled along the outskirts, conversing or enjoying refreshments. Izzy typically made great effort to hide along the walls and to go unnoticed at such events. He would have slinked off to a corner of the room instantly if his mother had not squeezed his arm, holding him in place.
“That must be him!” She gasped, gesturing. “Lord Bonnet.”
Across the room, a small crowd was forming, mainly Mamas and giggling young ladies. Izzy had to shift to get a look at the man they were surrounding. Izzy spotted a man in a bright blue suit, with blonde, glinting hair and rosy cheeks, smiling and nodding.
“Oh, he is handsome.” Lydia stated.
Izzy shot her a glare, but Lydia just smirked back.
“We must introduce ourselves.” Izzy’s mother insisted.
“Mama.” Izzy groaned. “The man's already got a whole herd of Mama's and their daughters swarming him. Perhaps it’s best if we give him a moment.”
“Oh, you’re right, Izzy. Very smart and sensible of you, as always.” His mother turned to smile at Izzy almost proudly.
Izzy nodded in return and was grateful that his mother released them.
“Do you think he'd dance with either of us?” Lydia asked Izzy, walking alongside him, glancing back at the Lord.
“I wouldn't want to dance with him anyway,” Izzy replied coldly.
Izzy’s eyes, however, darted back to the Lord. Unfortunately, at that precise moment, Lord Bonnet looked up over the herd of women swarming him and met Izzy’s eyes. Izzy felt frozen as the man smiled at him! Izzy immediately looked away, feeling a weird blush. What the fuck was that? He marched off to go unnoticed along one of the walls and hopefully avoid catching the eye of the Lord once again.
Thankfully, Izzy managed to go for most of the night unbothered as he sipped champagne along one of the walls. He watched Lord Bonnet fluttering away, chuckling, his cheeks glowing pink. He danced with near-about everyone. Why, even Lydia had a turn. She was glowing in his arms, hair flying, smiling like she was having the time of her life. Izzy eased slightly, happy for his sister.
/
It was well believed that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. And while that may have been true for other men, it was not such the case for Stede Bonnet. Why, the very last thing he wanted was a wife. The whole idea of it made him rather ill. (Unfortunately, to the chagrin of his father.) So, it was to say, the vacation from his father was much needed.
Stede felt rather welcome in Hertfordshire. The ball was so far positively charming, and he couldn't fault the Mamas for pushing their daughters to him, an eligible Lord. It was, of course, only natural. The ladies were charming enough, and Stede was polite as always.
Stede, of course, couldn't turn down the offers to dance, for he so enjoyed dancing. Stede made a point of dancing with each eligible lady so as not to make anyone in particular think he'd set his sights on them. It made him feel warm inside to see otherwise unnoticed ladies flush at his offer to dance with them. He thought every young lady deserved the opportunity after all.
Late into the night, Stede was dancing with a rather young lass, a Miss Lydia Hands. She looked Alma’s age, couldn't have been more than sixteen. She was an adorable little thing with bright pink cheeks, long, dark-braided hair, and dark eyes to match. Stede politely asked about herself, and she enthused about her love of pianoforte.
“I have quite a lovely one in my current lodgings at Netherfield,” Stede told her. “Alas, I know not how to play, so it shall go on collecting dust. Seems such a waste. Perhaps you might like to visit, and you could play for me.”
Lydia’s eyes widened as her face lit up. “Really!?”
Stede cracked a smile in return. “But of course. I should like the visit.”
Lydia’s smile warmed.
“Tell me about your family.” Stede prompted. He wanted to get a lay of Hertfordshire if he was going to be residing there for some time. If he was lucky, he thought he might like to settle down there, even if it were to the chagrin of his father.
“Well, there is my Mama and Papa. Then my... elder sister, Isabel.”
“And where is she?” Stede prompted.
“Oh, Izzy detests functions such as these. They are just over there, hiding out along the wall.” Lydia gestured with her head as they spun around.
Stede scanned the wallflowers, spotting a lady he had noticed earlier. She had been putting him at ill-ease all night, for she had not stopped glowering at him ever since he smiled at her. It was only the polite thing to do, but it seemed to have offended her somehow. Stede did not understand. Stede was not used to ladies glowering at him. It made him a tad hot under the collar with nerves. There was something so fierce about Isabel’s gaze, her dark, sharp eyes. It made Stede feel increasingly judged, nay scrutinized, like a bug pinned to a board. It made him squirmy, itchy.
“That's your sister?” Stede inquired young Lydia.
Lydia nodded with a happy hum.
“I get the sense she doesn't like me. She's glowering at me.”
“Izzy doesn't like most people.” Lydia chuckled. “Her neutral state is glowering. You must not be offended.”
Stede hummed in reply.
“You must positively dance with Izzy, Lord Bonnet.” Lydia then insisted. “Nothing would make my mother happier.”
“But of course,” Stede assured. “If your sister should be so welcoming.”
Lydia beamed in joy at that. “I will encourage her to accept your invitation.” She then whisked off, scurrying excitedly towards her elder sister.
Stede trailed slowly after, cautiously approaching behind Izzy as Lydia talked enthusiastically to her sister.
“You must dance with him.” Lydia spoke.
“I would find it absolutely detestable to dance with some fancy tart.” Isabel spat. “I was right in my assumption, he's not the least bit handsome at all.”
Stede couldn't help the small, soft cry that escaped from him. Isabel turned at the sound, and Stede was met with those sharp dark eyes glaring distastefully, and his stomach turned ill.
At once, Stede turned on his heel to scamper outside into the gardens, where he hid in the bushes and released some choked-out sobs.
Not handsome at all. Such words tore at Stede’s soul, even coming from the gender he was not attracted to. Oh, it was dreadful.