Author's Note: Thanks to a prompt on tumblr from Maddylonglegs, I've developed a rather elaborate ASOIAF regency AU that is heavily influenced by my love of Georgette Heyer novels. I'm starting to upload all the connecting drabbles here and on AO3 because this world is growing. I currently have things written for two pairings, Robb x Margaery here, and Jon x Sansa in a separate story called The Reclusive Earl. I have an overall series name The Marriage Mart and have more pairings brewing in my mind. So if you like this world, please keep an eye out for more.
None of these are beta'd so pleased excuse any mistakes.
Disclaimer: I am not GRRM and I'm sure he would side-eye my regency AU world.
Lady Margaery Baratheon stomped into the library where two out of her three older brothers were currently reading the newspapers and slumped into a chair.
"It's not fair!" she declared dramatically, as her entrance had failed to gain any attention.
"What ails you, sweet sister?" Garlan asked with a twinkle in his eye.
"Father," she sighed. "He is insisting I marry soon."
Margaery had removed her widow's weeds just after the season had started, and now that her mourning period was over for a husband-who-had-not-really-been-a-husband, she was enjoying the relative freedom of life as widow. She was no longer subjugated to the stifling propriety that young debutantes suffered and had thrown herself into a whirlwind of gaiety that was now threatened by her father's demand that she shackle herself to another eligible man.
Loras made a face in sympathy. Margaery knew that he was under the same pressure and any excuses he'd had of keeping Margaery company whilst she was in mourning had run out. Of course, it was Loras who had really mourned Renly's death, but society could not be aware of that or their name would be ruined.
"I thought the young Duke of Kingsland had caught your eye," Garlan commented.
Margaery wrinkled her nose in distaste.
"You've certainly been seen flirting with him enough," Garlan continued.
She shot her older brother a glare. "I do nothing as vulgar as flirt." Garlan snorted but Margaery decided to ignore his ungallant behaviour. "Joffrey is perfectly pleasant to while away an evening with, but I am perfectly sure that I would not wish to be married to him. No matter how wealthy his family is. Father, however, struggles to see beyond the gold."
"You'll have to marry sooner rather than later, Marg, you're far too pretty and young to get away with staying single for much longer. So, if you don't want Father to pick your bridegroom for you, then I suggest you go and find someone who is suitable."
Her brother's advice was sensible and she recognised the truth in it. However, she had yet to meet anyone she had taken a fancy to.
The park during the height of the season was a press of people, horses and carriages. Margaery flicked the reins of her phaeton as she picked Loras up from one of the walks. The dashing Lady Margaery and her phaeton was an idiosyncrasy that she had been keen foster. Her grandmother, Lady Olenna, always said it was better to stand out in a crowd, that way you were sure to get noticed. It was advice that Margaery had followed to the letter, even during her debut season, when standing out in any other way than beauty was walking the fine line between acceptance by the haute ton and being considered fast. She had always stepped close to the line but never gone beyond it, knowing her reputation and ability to make a good match was of paramount importance.
"How does the quest to avoid a match with Renly's odious nephew go?" Loras asked.
"Not too well," Margaery said as she spied the Targaryen landaulet in the distance. The distinct auburn hair of Sansa Stark could be see sitting next to the dark haired Princess Rhaenys. A curricle was blocking her view of the other inhabitants but she would bet that Lord Snow sat opposite. "It's a shame Lord Snow seems so taken with Sansa Stark," she remarked to her brother.
Loras gave her an amused look. "You stand no chance. The odds in in the clubs grow ever shorter. If he is not engaged to the Stark girl by the end of the season then I'll eat my hat."
"Gentlemen never fail to amaze me with how odious they can be, betting on the prospect of a marriage. Besides, Lord Snow is handsome enough but far too solemn for my tastes, and getting him to come to Town for the season every year would be nigh on impossible."
The curricle finally moved on and Margaery spied a second head of auburn hair in the landaulet. "Who is that with them?" she asked her brother.
He glanced over. "Must be Lady Sansa's brother."
"Yes, I gathered that," she said astringently. "They look enough alike for anyone to make that observation. But who is he?"
"Robb, I believe his name is. Marquis of Wolfswood and the Duke of Winterfell's heir."
Margaery tapped her whip thoughtfully on the side of the phaeton and Loras laughed. "He's not your style, Marg. Lacks Town bronze. All the Starks do."
As they passed the Targaryen landaulet, Margaery caught his eye and smiled. He's handsome enough to be my style and Town bronze can be overrated.
Robb craned his neck to see over the heads in the squeeze of the ball he was attending with his sister and aunt. Sansa was already off dancing and if Lord Snow did not appear soon, then she would have no more dances to give him. But just as he thought it, a hand clapped him on the shoulder and he turned to see Jon.
When his father had sent him to London to gauge the eligibility of the Targaryen Earl making up to Sansa, Robb had not expected to like him. None of the court cards Sansa had mooned over had ever appealed to him before. But had had not been expecting someone like Jon, who was more silent than talkative, and was nothing like the dandified jackanapes Sansa had giggled with Jeyne Poole over.
However, it hadn't been Lord Snow that he was looking for, but the beautiful brunette he had seen in the park earlier. When the phaeton had passed, Robb had pretended to be interested in the horse and Jon had told him the Tyrells were famous for their horses, Lord Willas breeding them himself. Armed with that basic information, it had not taken him long to find out the beauty's name was Lady Margaery Baratheon, the widow of Lord Renly Baratheon.
A flash of chestnut curls caught his eye and he espied Lady Margaery disappearing out onto the balcony just as the current dance ended. As Sansa was escorted back to Aunt Lysa by her partner, and as the ladies fussed over Lord Snow, Robb made his escape.
"I had almost given up on you," a voice said coming out of the darkness to his left.
Robb turned and saw Lady Margaery standing at the end of the balcony, away from the light streaming out the ballroom. He walked down towards her.
"Forgive me, my lady, I did not know you were waiting for me."
"Then you made a bold move coming after a lady you did not think was waiting for you. I like bold people, Lord Stark."
"You know who I am?"
She gave him a knowing look. "As I am sure you know who I am."
He silently cursed the flush that came into his cheeks at her words. This was not one of the shy little girls who would blush when he asked them to dance at the assembly rooms near Winterfell.
The strains of a waltz could be heard starting up from the ball. "Do you know how to waltz, Lord Stark?"
"Of course I do!" he said stung.
She smiled up at him. "My apologies, my lord, I did not meant to doubt your skill, but this is your first time in London is it not?"
"Is it that obvious?"
"No," she said. "But I am sure I would have noticed you before."
Flustered, he was unsure how to respond. The daughters around Winterfell had never been as bold as Lady Margaery. So he settled for a safe question. "Would you do me the honour of dancing this waltz with me? Then I you will be able to judge my dancing ability for yourself."
She laughed at that and a delightful dimple came out to play at the corner of her mouth. "Alas, Lord Stark, I am afraid my hand has already been claimed. Perhaps another time. However, I would be grateful for your escort back the ballroom.
He held his arm out. "It would be my pleasure, my lady."
As they entered the ballroom, Lady Margaery untucked her hand from his arm, and before he knew it, he had captured it in his and was pressing an old fashioned kiss on the back of her hand. "It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Lady Margaery."
She hesitated as she pulled her hand back, and as she looked up at him, he noticed the arch playfulness had left her face, leaving it a little guarded. "Likewise, Lord Stark," she said, a little seriously, before turning towards the partner coming to claim her hand.
Robb watched as Lady Margaery turned elegantly around the floor, a teasing expression once more on her face as she talked to her partner and he found himself fascinated.