Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been so long since Lavinia had left for New York, almost ten years. As she came down the bridge, she was so glad to be back in London. The United States was good, but England was her true home. The cold wind was making her blond locks fly out of her hat, and feeling the breeze made her so nostalgic. She left at seventeen, her father had signed a juicy contract to exploit coal on the American east coast and even if it wasn’t diamond, her family became even richer, to a point where she could do almost anything she wanted without any consequences. It felt so good being so powerful, being able to decide everything about her life. Except for one thing. Wealth couldn’t spare her the social obligation to get married and start a family. And, of course, she didn’t want to. Her main interests in life were reading and gossiping with her friends about what happened in the local elites’ world. Men weren’t even a bother for her, she just ignored them. As if there could be one in real life as good as the ones in her romance novels. She would rather spend her whole life with her girl friends.
She was lost in her thoughts when someone called her:
- Miss Herbert? Here’s your carriage. I’m John, your new butler. Mrs your mother hired me to make sure you’re being well taken care of.
- Yes, it’s me. I am Lavinia as you supposed. Nice to meet you.
And now her mother was hiring people overseas just to keep an eye on her. Great. She guessed she’d just have to escape from his surveillance whenever she wanted some freedom. Her whole childhood had been like that: first there was her nanny who wouldn’t even let her go to her bedroom alone, then there was Miss Minchin’s seminary for young ladies where this woman wanted nothing else than her parents’ money and reputation and finally, in New-York, she had a chaperon every time she went out so she couldn’t even try to do what she truly wanted. What a shame being so rich and powerful in theory, yet so powerless in reality. The only time she actually felt like she had an ounce of power was with Sara. Not that she controlled her, but she could easily push her buttons and that, that was the best thing she could do in return to that girl’s infuriating perfection.
She never liked Sara, just like oil and water can’t mix; they could barely share a civil conversation before one made the other fume. But Lord, at least they treated each other as equals. Something Lavinia despaired to find. All her chaperons, nannies, and even her so-called friends couldn't stand up to the comparison in terms of banters and challenge. She didn’t really know why she was so suddenly thinking about this ridiculously perfect Miss Crewe; maybe it was the Londonian air, carrying all sort of memories from the seminary, or maybe it was just being back that made her nostalgic. Still she was thinking about her, and couldn’t help but wonder if she was still in India or if she had decided to come back to London, just like her.
After a while, the car finally arrived at the Herbert’s mansion. Thanks to her mom's attachment to old things and inability to let go of any memory, they kept it despite living on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. The old building was still there, even if a bit dusty from being left for so long, and she had all the time to decorate it as she pleased now. Unfortunately, though, the weather didn’t change much in eight years; it was still as cold and cloudy, and she was freezing. The first thing she did once out of the car was to run inside to warm up, the employees could take care of her luggage themselves.
Inside, she was welcomed by an unknown face. The young woman introduced herself as Katie, her maid, and immediately asked if she needed anything, from a warm bath to a cup of tea. Good, at least she wasn’t lazy, thought Lavinia with a soft smile. She quickly dismissed her, saying she simply needed some rest, and headed to her chambers. Heading upstairs, she couldn’t help but notice how nothing had changed despite the years; the walls were still this old blue her mother loved so much, and the family portraits were still properly pinned on the walls. But opening her childhood bedroom’s door, she didn’t expect to be so overwhelmed by the weight of years and all the memories she had there.
She didn’t come often, it’s true. She lived there during the holidays or when her presence was required for some obligation. But the oak furniture, so elegantly carved, those yellowish walls, and her library, nothing had moved in eight years. Yes, the shelves and wardrobes were empty, but not her memories. Things she hadn’t thought of for years were coming back to her mind, tales of older times, tales of when she was still a young lady at the Seminary. If anyone had told her before she’d be at least a bit happy to think about this insufferably whiny Lottie, she would’ve laughed in their face, but yet… Nothing felt more comforting than being here, surrounded by the walls that saw her growing up and filled with the memories of her youth. She remembered about all the things that happened at this time: of Sara’s arrival, of how she stole her place just before her downfall. Then, of course, she had to think of the rest, of it. About how she behaved when Sara was merely a domestic having to cater to their every needs, of how merciless she acted with her and how infuriated she felt when she still didn’t yield to all the mistreatment she endured.
By reminding herself of those things, Lavinia felt the rage and frustration simmering back to life. That’s how enraging Sara was, bothering her even after almost a decade without seeing each other. But here she was, on her bed, fuming about the past when she should be resting from her long journey across the ocean. With a resigned sigh, she finally got up and took off her gown, letting the discarded clothes fall on the floor as she finally slipped under the covers, enjoying her first nap on dry land after two weeks on a boat. She quickly drifted asleep, soothed by the familiar smells and atmosphere of the mansion.

Lavinia didn’t wake up before the early morning, almost sleeping for twelve hours straight. After quickly fixing herself, she called Katie, the maid, who helped her get ready for the day and brought her breakfast. It was weirdly comforting to eat British food again, it was yet another thing adding to her nostalgia, as if it wasn’t already enough.
Later during the day, while she was busy ordering around where to put this chest or this bookshelf, Katie came inside, giggling, a fancy envelope in hand.
- Mails already?
Lavinia asked, curious, did anyone know she was back yet? Maybe it was some of her mother’s friends, inviting her for tea or something.
- It’s an invitation to a reception actually, from a certain Mrs. De Fontaine, responded the maid.
- Show me that letter, Lavinia commanded, even more puzzled. I’ve never heard that name before; that must be an error or something.
Taking the illuminated paper in hand, she quickly read it, coming back to earth as quickly as a free-fall when she saw the first name of her mysterious sender. “Sara”. It was Sara. Of course, it was her. Why would it be anyone else inviting her to a party as if they were the best friends who ever lived? Lavinia had contacted Jessie before coming back to inform her of her return, the word must had been passed around to the Diamond Princess’s ears. And now she invited her to her reception, expecting to see her again. And as much as she wanted to decline the invitation, a part of her only wanted one thing. To go.

Chapter Text

It had been a week since Lavinia came back, so also a week since she received the invitation from this Sara De Fontaine, who, she was pretty sure, was in fact Sara Crewe. A long week, in which course, she didn’t sleep much, her mind refusing to slow down at night, but rather repeating over and over memories from another time. The reception was next Friday, and she hadn’t even settled on a gown color yet. Pink would be too tacky, but blue wasn’t enough… Maybe yellow? Of course not, she was blonde, it would dull her features… Silver? Lavender..?

She was so hesitant that it was almost embarrassing; she was a lady for the love of God, not some simple-minded teen aged girl. So here she was, lying on the divan in front of her wardrobe, her mind reeling with every possible clothing choice for the reception, but also those very unlikely scenarios of what could happen once she’d finally be in front of Sara. It was too late now to order a new dress from a seamstress, so her last hope was to find something suitable enough within what she already had.

It was on Monday night that Katie, who had finally finished unpacking her effects, brought her a lilac gown embroidered with pearls and silver seams. It was one her mother bought her a few months ago when her family signed a particularly prolific contract on the American West Coast. The fabric was silky enough to show its good quality, but not too much to appear cheap or flashy. After a few well-made adjustments made by Kate, the dress was as good as new, and Lavinia could finally relax about this part.

She didn’t even know why she was so stressed out about such futility. Maybe it was because that would be her first mundane event since her return, or maybe because it had been so long since she last saw Sara or anyone remotely related to her Londonian childhood. The next days passed in the blink of an eye, caring about how she’d do her hair or catching up on high society’s newest gossip. And there we were, on Friday.

Lavinia was getting ready at her mansion, gown perfectly adjusted, each pearl rightly sewn to the silk, her hair up in an elaborate up-do with feathers and pearls, blond curls falling down to frame her face and extricate her pearly necklace with an amethyst encased in the golden jewelry. There were a lot of pearls, yes, but since it was so prevalent on her gown, she decided to commit fully to her theme, boldness always granting better results than a shy try.

Arriving before the lavish mansion, Lavinia had to take a minute for herself before getting out of her carriage. She couldn’t get why, but catching sight of the building made her pulse quicken and her breath shorten. So, as nervous as she was, she couldn’t reasonably get out in that state. It took her a good quarter hour of deep breaths and self-admonishment to collect herself. Making sure nobody saw her from outside her carriage, she eventually stepped out, displaying her best smile. Her first public appearance since she was back in town couldn’t plausibly be tarnished by an inopportune expression.

There were a lot of people at that reception; she couldn’t count them exactly, but she would’ve guessed a hundred. A hundred guests who would witness any mishap from her. But she could do it, she would do it. She stepped inside, taking a deep breath in. Once in, she noticed the rich decoration. Luxurious furniture from Indies, flowers she only heard about in books, and tasteful art pieces here and there. She couldn’t deny it; that interior was consistent with what she remembered from Sara. Her taste for her native region’s culture, the way she always cared about art, or even how she always talked about the world as something to explore and decipher with books and adventures. There were no doubts left, it was the same Sara she knew who invited her, the one from her childhood, her Sara.

As she weaved through the crowd, Lavinia recognized some faces. Her mom’s old friends or even ones she couldn’t really recognize. She took a champagne flute to give herself some liquid courage and finally started to greet some of the people she knew, a clever word, a playful comment, two or three compliments… Everything she needed to do to appear like she fit in. She couldn’t let them think that her time spent in America made her incompatible with the Londonian life she always knew. But then, all of her resolution melted when she saw her. The lady of the night. Her best enemy since forever. Sara was here, a few steps away from her, and she wasn’t walking away, but instead towards her.