Chapter Text
Taylor Swift was cursed to be single forever.
At least, that was what she had heard the ladies at court whispering about her when they thought she couldn't hear. She had always rolled her eyes, but she had to admit that as time went by, she found herself trying not to think about it when she couldn't sleep at night.
It was Taylor’s eleventh season out as a lady in society, and when it came to marriage, she knew that she was widely considered to be more or less on the shelf. For the most part, she didn’t mind so much - she knew she would always be taken care of by her father and her brother, even if she never received her inheritance, which was contingent on her getting married. She was in a rare position as a woman who didn’t need a husband, and she considered herself lucky for that.
Another part of her felt wretched about it. Ever since she was a little girl, she had always thought she would meet someone - someone perfect for her - and she had dreamed of her wedding and marriage. And she had never imagined herself, almost twenty-eight, without at least the promise of a family of her own.
She knew she shouldn’t be surprised no one wanted to marry her. There were several points against her.
First of all, everyone knew what had happened with John.
Twelve years older than her, he was the son of one of her father’s friends. When she was just sixteen, he had spent one hopeful spring sweeping her up in a whirlwind romance, promising her all sorts of things about their shared future as husband and wife, before she had even been presented in court.
Then he had gone into the city for a season, leaving her so sure of him and what they had together. He had even told his friends that he was going to marry her, and the news of their imminent engagement had spread through court - just in time for him to fall in love with someone else, a lady closer to his own age who was already out in society. He had married this new lady before the end of the summer, leaving Taylor with a mark of shame on her ledger before she was even given a real chance.
Secondly, at this point she was widely known to be far too educated and much too outspoken to be a suitable wife to any respectable gentleman. This flaw in her character had only been encouraged by her parents when she was growing up - especially her father, who had built her the most wonderful library when she was a child, employed the most competent tutors for her in any subject she took interest in, and liked to bring her into his study to quiz her on philosophy, history and literature.
Thirdly, she had the audacity and the privilege to believe in love. Deep down, she still imagined someone - someone who would take her for who she was, and would meet her where she wanted to go. Someone who would hold her, and uplift her, and value her, and care for her, and understand her. If she were to marry, it would need to be someone extraordinary who caught her eye.
The last reason was a secret. Her biggest secret.
Since she was fifteen, she had been publishing novels under the pseudonym Scarlet Hargreaves. To her surprise and delight, they had become extremely popular over the years, and the publisher had reprinted all eight of her novels several times. They were popular enough that she now had a considerable stash of banknotes tucked in the top drawer of her vanity.
It was imperative that no one find out the truth. It wasn’t so much for her sake - it would cause her family no end of grief. Taylor’s reputation, already perilous, would plummet. Taylor could just imagine her mother’s shock and her father’s disappointment, and all the things everyone else would say about a young lady writing such salacious, unseemly stories.
Taylor knew there had been many lady writers without there being a scandal about it - but their books weren’t quite like hers. She imagined adventure and passion, tragedy and crime, affairs and treachery - she used colorful language and she didn’t limit herself to subtle social commentary, nor simple romance. Ladies didn’t write novels like that, and although she was proud of her work, she knew it had to remain a secret, at least as long as her family was alive - and she hoped they would be alive for a very, very long time.
Against all odds, things had been looking up for Taylor romantically. Last year, she had been wandering the royal library with her maid trailing a ways behind when she had nearly bumped into a blonde man with soft blue eyes buried in a book. He had apologized politely, and introduced himself as Joe Alwyn. She had been taken with him right away, and they’d had a short but remarkable conversation that flowed easily from literature to art to music.
At the ball the following week, she spotted him across the room, and took care to arrange herself in his eyeline. Sure enough, his gaze caught on her, and just like she had hoped, he came over and asked her to dance.
He was a lovely dancer, and he had a lot of the qualities of the someone she had always imagined - intelligent, well-spoken, witty - and he seemed to appreciate her for who she was as a person. Over the next few months, they danced together at almost every ball, and he called on her several times, bringing her books so that they could discuss the contents, telling her about his travels to other continents, and even sitting down beside her at the piano, hands dancing on the keys beside her as they played a duet.
She learned that he seemed to have cast himself as a quiet sort of misfit, someone comfortable at the edge of society, always ready to retreat into the woods or into the pages of a book. This appealed to her on some level - she had never completely fit in, either, and so she imagined herself at his side, surrounded by books, tromping across moors, composing soft duets, forgetting everyone they had left behind in the smoky city.
Sometimes, as her feelings grew, she fantasized about confessing to him her secret, even letting him read her books - but she wasn’t even sure if he would like them, let alone take her secret in stride. Her stories weren’t like the esteemed literature that he clearly enjoyed. She loved books like that, too - but she really liked to write the kind of stories that made her heart race, made her bite her lip and worry if the hero was going to make it out alive. She liked making worlds out of the ink at the end of her pen, she liked being able to elicit a gasp with the perfect combination of words; she liked being the one who determined who got what was coming to them.
Despite this, she became sure Joe would propose, expecting it almost daily as the season drew to a close - but then summer was over, and just like that, he was gone, traveling north to his family’s estate. She was left behind to reason with herself and to separate the passionate story she had been telling herself in her head about the two of them from the cold reality in which he barely brushed her hand with his lips when he said goodbye.
They wrote to each other over the winter, discussing all sorts of things - books and music, of course, but also what they wanted out of life - where each of them might want to live, how many children they might want - dancing around the topic more than they had ever danced at any ball. She wanted to just come out and ask him if he wanted to marry her, if that was on his mind at all, if it felt as obvious to him as did to her - but she never found it in herself to write out those words, always unsure of what she would read in reply.
Then it was summer again, and Joe came back to London. She was excited to see him, buying a new dress for the first ball she knew he would attend. There he was, asking her to dance, spinning around her in the ballroom, and many of the anxieties she had been cultivating in his absence faded away. He even seemed a little more forward than usual, complimenting her new dress, brushing her flushed cheek with one finger in a breathless moment at the end of a quadrille, attentively fetching her drink after drink. She felt so happy to see him, and she couldn’t help the hope that welled up inside as she gazed at his round face. She rode home that evening staring out the window of the carriage with a small smile on her lips.
But then he wasn’t at the next ball, nor the next one, nor the next picnic on the royal lawn. She barely saw him for the rest of the season. Soon, it was August, and there were only a few weeks left before everyone usually started leaving the city again, and she had seen him four times in total. He had danced with her twice, he had asked her to stroll with him along the promenade once, and he had offered her the same pleasant, intellectual conversation that she had grown so used to.
But nothing more. And, she was realizing, maybe he simply had nothing more to offer. He wasn’t following the steps she had written for him in her head, and it was becoming clear that he had no desire to. There was never a whisper from him about speaking to her father to gain his permission for her hand. And as much as she romanticized the idea of retreating from society, part of her also loved the whole scene - the pretty clothes, the whispered gossip, the extravagant performances. As she doubted how much he really liked her - whether he really wanted her at all - she wondered what a life with him would even be like. A lot of words, perhaps, but very little action.
They hadn’t even kissed. She knew that as an unmarried, respectable young lady, she wasn’t supposed to have kissed anyone before - but John had spoiled that for her, too, and sometimes it was all she could think about. Heat, desire, longing… She certainly wrote about it enough, imagining passionate embraces and torrid liaisons in her room late at night - and then waking up to face her own lonely, boxed-up life every morning.
Was Joe really the someone she had always dreamed of? How could he be? Why wasn’t she more certain? Why wasn’t he? She knew she wanted more from him - not just nice conversations, not even just a proposal - she had a hunger, she had a spark deep inside her that she wanted to learn how to turn into a fire - and she could only do so much in her bed alone.
One night, she returned from another long, lonely ball and climbed the stairs to her room. Her maid Abigail helped her take out her hair, and then Taylor got into bed. Abigail turned out the lamp before leaving the room.
Taylor lay awake, staring at the moon which shone brightly through her window. She had indulged in several glasses of sweetened wine, and she felt all sorts of emotions swelling inside her chest. She had spent the evening watching everyone else dance, from her parents to her brother to her friends, and though she had tried her best to push it down, a great surge of self-pity rose inside her.
Please, she prayed, looking up at the starry sky. Please, God - if there is someone out there - someone meant for me - someone who simply loves me - who just wants to be with me - please let me know him. Please do not let solitude be my fate… Let it once be me…
Slowly, her eyes drifted closed, even with the moon lighting her face. As she slept, she dreamed of him - but she didn’t recognize his face.
The next ball was at the palace, welcoming the prince back from another of his continental excursions. Taylor attended with her family, trailing behind them into the ballroom, unable to stop herself from surveying the room for the shape of Joe’s face - but of course, he wasn’t there. She felt more like a fool than ever.
Her parents were greeting some of their friends, and her brother was already wandering off towards a group of young men by the drinks table. Taylor stayed behind her mother, smiling vaguely when anyone bothered to say hello to her. She wasn’t in the mood for this, but she couldn’t ask to leave five minutes after they arrived.
She let her eyes trail over the room again, and her eyes caught on a bright figure on the dais - a young blonde lady in a diamond-encrusted gown, sinking into a low curtsy in front of the queen. As Taylor watched, the queen took the lady’s hand in her own, drawing her up, and a tall man with curly hair that Taylor recognized as the prince stepped up beside them, putting his hand on the young lady’s back.
She had heard that the prince had found a bride on his latest trip to France - a love match, if the rumors were to be believed. This must be her, Taylor realized, a small smile growing on her lips as she kept watching. The queen laughed at something the princess-to-be said, and Prince Patrick was grinning as he looked between them.
Everyone had been abuzz all summer with talk of the upcoming wedding, which was set for the third week of October, and now with summer drawing to a close, prenuptial festivities were about to begin. The majority of the court were planning to stay in the city through the fall this year in order to attend the wedding and all the surrounding events. Taylor hadn’t thought much about it until now, but now that she saw the pretty young bride on the arm of the prince she was reminded how much she loved love.
“Miss Swift?”
Taylor turned to see a footman in the palace uniform bowing to her.
“Her royal majesty wishes to hear the young lady play the piano,” he said politely.
Taylor exchanged an eager look with her mother.
“Very well,” said Andrea, smiling proudly, and they linked arms as they followed the footman across the ballroom.
Taylor felt excitement rising up in her as they approached the throne. The queen looked over at them as they stopped a respectful distance away and curtsied. She nodded and waved her hand for the band to stop playing. Taylor went over and sat down on the bench, and several of the people gathered around the queen turned to watch. She noticed a group of the ladies that liked to whisper about her turning to each other behind their fans, and resolved to ignore them.
She had become accustomed to being ignored or dismissed by men for the most part - it was the women that paid too much attention to her. A particular group of mothers seemed to think that her old maid status was contagious in some way, and kept their daughters from socializing with her. Several of them were amongst the people flocked around the throne, the mothers in dark gowns with old-fashioned hooped skirts, and their daughters in pastel-colored empire waist dresses cut closer to the body.
The princess-to-be was also watching her, a polite smile on her face, and Taylor spotted a few girls that she considered friends, Este and Danielle Haim, beaming at her from amongst the pastel crowd of young ladies. She met each of their eyes briefly before turning back to the piano.
She flexed her fingers, then rested them gently on the pale white keys. This was one of her favorite pianos to play, although nothing would ever replace the one she had at home. She could still feel the eyes on her, and it sent a thrill up her spine. This wasn’t the first time she had played for the court, but this was the largest number of people that had ever been present. Over Taylor’s eleven seasons in court, the queen had become increasingly fond of hearing her play, as Taylor remained unmarried and easily enticed to sit down at the piano bench.
Taylor shook her head slightly to clear it, then she started to play. She chose a variation on a piece that she had composed herself, an upbeat, playful song with a breathtaking crescendo. In her head, it was the story of an evening just like this - the ladies’ giggles, the men’s boasts, the pageantry, the extravagance, the flirtations, the delicate intricacies of social behavior and the soaring simplicity of a smile across a crowded room. She got caught up in the music, swaying and dipping as her hands danced over the keys.
By the time she was done playing, most of the guests had formed a large crowd around the dais, watching her. Everyone applauded enthusiastically when she finished, the queen clapping the loudest.
Taylor stood up and curtsied. She wished she could stay at the piano and play all night, but that wasn’t exactly an option.
“Marvelous, absolutely marvelous,” said the queen. “Next time you must sing for us as well.”
“Of course, your majesty,” Taylor said. “Thank you, your majesty.” She curtsied again and turned to go back to her mother, and almost tripped when she saw who was standing beside Andrea - Joe Alwyn.
She stared at him in surprise as she walked over to them.
“Taylor,” her mother said, taking her arm. “Look who is back in the city!”
Joe smiled at her, then bowed, offering her his arm.
“May I have this dance, Miss Swift?” he asked in his deep voice.
Stunned, she took his arm and let him lead her out onto the dance floor. They took their places in the line of couples, facing each other.
“I am so happy to see you,” she said, unable to seem blasé.
“Likewise,” he said, smiling at her. “I've missed you.”
She stared at him searchingly. “You’ve been - so occupied this season,” she said, trying to keep her voice light.
“Indeed,” he said offhandedly. “I am sorry I did not arrive earlier this evening - I may have been able to step in before all - that.”
It was their turn to lead the dance, and they both stepped forward, palms touching between them.
“All that?” Taylor repeated, confused, staring at his blue eyes.
“That performance. What a spectacle,” he said. “Everyone staring at you like some kind of common entertainer. The queen is quite selfish in the way she insists on making you sit down on that piano bench every time you come here.”
Taylor couldn’t help the surprised look she gave him. “I really do not mind,” she said softly as they spun in a slow circle, hands still touching.
“Of course - you are too kind,” he said dismissively. “You play so sweetly, but she does make you quite undignified with her antics. I wonder if she sometimes forgets that you are not her jester.”
Taylor blinked at him. She didn’t know what to say. His hand felt like a stranger’s against hers.
“I know you cannot decline, but I cannot imagine you enjoy being the center of attention like that. You would not have to worry about that if you were married, you know?” he said. “It is a husband’s job to set boundaries on his wife’s behalf, especially in public.”
Her blood froze, and she pulled her hand away. They stared at each other for a moment, and she felt something boiling inside her. He smiled mildly at her, as if he hadn’t said anything out of hand. The song ended, and she took two steps back.
“Splendid to see you tonight, Miss Swift,” he said, sounding somewhat pleased with himself.
“Joe-” she started. “I mean - Mr. Alwyn - might we speak - somewhere-?”
“No, no,” he interrupted her. “We mustn’t. That would set off all the harpies.” He looked sideways at the venomous group of mothers. “You know how they all talk in this horrible town. I will write you,” he said conclusively. He bowed slightly, then left her there, staring after him as he walked away.
Her head was whirling. Had he just referred to marriage-? In that manner? So - condescending? So offhand? She felt slightly ill. She stared around at the crowd, eyes jumping from one sparkling tiara to shiny tophat to swooping ball gown, vision blurring. Was everyone looking at her? Did she care? Did she like it? Was she wrong for that? She felt itchy and odd.
She found her mother and asked if they could leave. She could tell her family was confused but none of them asked many questions, perhaps glad of the excuse.
Someone watched her leave from the edge of the ballroom. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of her since hearing her at the piano. That song, those fingers, the line of her back as she swayed slightly over the keys… He was affected, to say the least.
He bit his lip, staring at the empty doorway she had just walked through, then leaned over, nudging Prince Patrick.
“Patrick, tell me,” said Travis Kelce. “Do you know that young lady?”
Another ball, another night, another dress. Taylor was in a somewhat melancholic mood, even more than usual, wishing she could turn around and leave the same moment she entered the ballroom.
“Taylor,” someone sang out, and there was her friend Este, the oldest Haim sister, linking her arm through Taylor’s.
“Lady Levin,” Taylor greeted her, feeling a little better immediately. “You are back!”
“Indeed,” said Este, squeezing her arm. She had an especially mischievous look on her face, and Taylor thought she knew why.
“And… how was your honeymoon?” Taylor asked in a low voice.
A sparkling smile crept over Este’s face, and she whipped out her fan, opening it and peering at Taylor over it. “It was… marvelous…” she sighed. “Oh, Taylor… you have no idea…”
Taylor raised her eyebrows at her. “I am sure I have some idea,” she murmured. “I am not sixteen anymore.”
“Well, speaking of which,” Este said, voice full of mystery. “I have a message for you - there is a particular gentleman here tonight who has been seeking you out… He wishes to dance with you.”
“A gentleman?” Taylor repeated, confused. It must be Joe, she thought. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him at the moment. She let Este pull her across the ballroom somewhat reluctantly, not quite watching where they were going.
“Miss Swift,” said Este in a formal tone, pushing Taylor slightly in front of her. “May I present Baron Kelce, Duke of Cleveland?”
Taylor blinked, finally looking properly at the person Este was presenting her to. It definitely wasn’t Joe. It was someone else - an enormous man, tall and wide, with a dimpled smile and bright eyes that sparkled as he took her gloved hand in his large one. Keeping his eyes on hers, he leaned down and kissed her hand.
“A pleasure, miss,” he said in a rumbling voice that threatened laughter.
“Baron…” she said slowly as he let go of her hand.
“Baron Kelce,” Este reminded her with a smile. “He was quite taken by your performance the other night.”
“Oh,” said Taylor, looking at Kelce. “Was he?”
“I’ve never heard anything like that,” he said. “Tell me, who wrote that marvelous piece you played?”
Taylor narrowed her eyes at him, unsure of his tone. She looked him over a little more carefully. He was wearing a vivid green jacket over a striped waistcoat and fitted white trousers, and his face was open and interested.
“I composed it myself,” she told him cautiously.
His lips curved in a generous smile, and she was suddenly caught by that sparkle in his eyes again. They were a dappled green, and they traced over her face curiously.
“How remarkable,” he said softly. “Miss Swift, forgive me - may I have this dance?” He gestured out at the ballroom, and held his arm out towards her.
She stared at him for just a moment, then nodded before she could think twice. They took their places amongst the other couples as the band started to play a lively song. They were at the end of the line, so they had to wait for the other couples to begin. She stood across from Kelce, a few feet between them. trying not to feel self-conscious as he stared at her. Finally, it was their turn to step towards each other, and let their palms meet between them.
Her gloved hands were entirely dwarfed by his. She looked up at him, and her breath caught. He was so tall, and he was staring down at her with his bright eyes. The music moved forward, and they both stepped back. Taylor let her hands drop to her sides, palms tingling. How had she ended up here? She felt completely taken off guard.
“Taylor…” said the baron suddenly. “Forgive me, miss, but that is an unusual name…”
“It's Miss Swift,” she said.
“Of course, of course,” he said, grinning. “Miss Swift…” He said it as if he liked the taste of it in his mouth. There was something about his accent that she wasn't sure she could place.
“I hope you are having a pleasant evening,” she said.
“I am,” he said. “I most definitely am.”
They both stepped forward again, and she was close to him again, hands against his, throat going dry for no reason at all.
“And is this a habit of yours?” he asked as they stepped back again. “Composing music?”
“It is a favored pastime of mine, my lord,” she admitted.
“My lord,” he repeated with a crooked smile. “I’m no lord, miss.”
Taylor tilted her head. “Did Lady Levin not call you a duke?”
“Well - yes,” he said slowly, still grinning crookedly. “Didn't know if you caught that.”
They stepped forward again, and their hands met. This time, they both spun in a slow circle, eyes locked.
“Are you in town with your family?” he asked her as they completed their spin.
They stepped away from each other, and took their spots back in the line.
She nodded and pointed out where her parents and brother were staring at them from the edge of the dance floor. “And you?” she asked politely.
“My family lives here in the city,” he told her. “Enough about me - tell me more about that song you played.”
“What would you like to know?” she asked warily.
“Anything,” he said. “I am absolutely fascinated. I’ve always loved music - there’s nothing quite like it to really capture the ups and downs of the human experience, don’t you find?”
She tilted her head, looking at him in surprise. “Just that,” she agreed.
It was finally their turn to lead the dance, and they stepped together and turned around each other, staring into each other’s eyes and letting their hands touch and pull away, and touch again. Despite his size, Kelce moved with the confidence of someone who did this often. They completed the pattern and joined hands, her gloved one in his larger one, and ran together down the middle of the two lines of couples. They took their places at the other end, facing each other again. She met his eyes, and he offered her a small smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.
Who was this man? she wondered as she stared at him. It was as if he had come out of nowhere and pulled her into his orbit. She felt strangely drawn to him - his smooth, deep voice, his large hands, his eyes twinkling as he looked at her.
Another couple took their turn and ran down to stand beside them, then they both stepped forward and touched their palms.
“I call it ‘Tonight’,” she told him softly, head tilted to look up at him.
His lips curled. “‘Tonight’?”
“The song,” she said. “I made it for nights like tonight…”
“I see,” he said, nodding slowly. “You hit the nail on the head, then. I couldn't get it out of my head all night.”
She smiled back at him, warmth rising inside her, melancholia fading away as she stared in his eyes.
Este, Danielle and Alana were all waiting for her when the song ended, smiling sideways at Kelce as they swept her away, whispering delightedly.
“Darling-”
“Dancing-”
“With Baron Kelce-”
“Baron Kelce,” Taylor repeated, taking Este’s arm. “How do you know him?” she demanded.
“I do not really know him,” Este said.
“It is more like we know of him,” Danielle put in. “Until now.” She had a drink in each hand, and she gave one of them to Taylor, who took it automatically.
“Really?” Taylor asked curiously. “But you - you introduced me-?”
“I met him but ten minutes before you-” Este said quickly. “The prince introduced us, as he had heard I was your close friend - Kelce desired to meet you, he was not shy to make it known - and I thought - well, who was I to keep you apart-?”
Taylor shook her head, giggling despite herself as they huddled together against the wall, a row of large columns between them and the main part of the room. She still felt slightly on edge from the way Baron Kelce had left her whirling. It was a much more lovely feeling than the way most men abandoned her like a boy bored with a spinning top.
“Was he unpleasant?” Danielle whispered, squeezing Taylor’s arm. “Was he quite - outspoken?”
“Outspoken?” Taylor whispered. “I - I do not suppose I would say that. He was - well - he was perfectly courteous, actually-”
“You have really never heard of him?” Alana asked. “Never heard his name?”
“Never,” Taylor said. “Not that I can recall. Should I know of him?”
“Baron Travis Kelce…” Este said dramatically. “He has something of a reputation…”
“A reputation?” Taylor repeated.
“He’s a big war hero,” Danielle put in. “He fought in France, I think.”
“He won in France,” said Alana. “He saved Prince Patrick’s life when he got shot and took over his command while he was injured.”
“That is how he earned his title and land,” said Este. “Along with an excessive amount of medals and gold, I’m sure.”
“He was not born into his position?” Taylor asked.
“No,” said Danielle. “His parents owned a shop, or something similar, I believe.”
“Neither of them work anymore, of course,” said Alana. “He has bought them a fine house in town.”
“That is not the reputation I was talking about,” said Este in a patient tone. “He has - connections at all levels of society - all levels,” she emphasized, raising her eyebrows.
“We do not know what you mean by that,” Danielle told her plainly.
“Well - apparently - he is known for engaging in duels,” said Este in a hushed voice. “Or, perhaps I should say - he is known for winning duels. Has not lost a matchup in years. And… he is said to be a favored customer at the most expensive brothels…”
Taylor blinked, thinking back to the man she had just danced with. “Really?” she murmured. “Brothels?”
“How do you know all this?” Alana asked her sister.
“Jonathan,” said Este with a smile. “He was filling me in on all the members of the prince’s entourage in anticipation of their arrival at court.”
“Your new lord husband is quite the gossip,” Taylor murmured.
Este laughed. “I know. Isn’t it lovely?”
“You knew all this when you decided to introduce him to me?” Taylor asked her.
Este shrugged, raising her eyebrows. “You truly wish I had kept him from you? You wish he had not asked you to dance?”
Taylor felt her cheeks start to turn pink. “I did not say that,” she whispered, taking a long sip of her drink.
Travis wandered back over to Patrick. He had lost sight of Miss Swift in the crowd, but he was still smiling a secretive little smile to himself.
“What is on your mind?” Patrick asked him as Travis took his usual seat at his side. “Did you find your mysterious lady?”
“Hmm?” Travis hummed absently. “Oh, yes. Yes, I did.” His smile spread into a triumphant grin.
Patrick grunted, looking him over. “Oh, good. How was she?”
“Patrick…” Travis mumbled distractedly, rubbing his beard. “Mark my words… I’m gonna marry that woman…”
“Marry?” Patrick repeated with a loud laugh, his attention truly caught now. “You?”
“I understand why you laugh,” Travis said slowly, meeting his friend’s eyes. “But I can’t shake this feeling. I have to know her.”