I feel like I should apologise for this somehow - it is after all, slightly ridiculous.

I just adore the aesthetic of anything set in the Regency period - the houses, the clothing, all of it.

But - alas! - it is such fun to write and there are plenty of tongue in cheek homages to the great Jane Austen in here too and the odd reference to Shakespeare - chapter titles come from Sonnet 116.

Anyway, enjoy!

A Sonnet for the Asking

ONE

of true minds

Little Bagshot, nestled in the rolling green hills of Gloucestershire, was the kind of pleasant small town, with a thriving rural society, where the residents wondered at anyone ever wanting to live elsewhere. One such gentleman was Mr Bilbo Baggins, who had lived in Little Bagshot all his life, on his father's estate atop the hill, Bag-End House.

He had lived there alone for many a year, showing no inclination to marry, much to the displeasure of many an admirer. Mr Baggins was well bred - the Bagginses a most respectable family and his mother, a Took, was one of the daughters of the late Earl of Westfarthing - and he was also handsome and, best of all, in possession of great fortune. Such men are usually in want of a partner, but not Baggins; some said it was Mr Baggins' preference for his own sex and its conflict with his need to procure an heir.

Romantics said he had yet to find the right person.

Critics said he considered himself the offers he had received.

Then of course, he had taken in his widowed cousin Primula after her husband Drogo Baggins was lost at sea and even paid for the tuition of her young son.

Many who had once upon a time believed there to be an attachment between the two, speculated once more as to whether Bilbo would engage himself to his cousin, and there were mutterings as to the impropriety of it all, what with them living in the same house.

These rumours persisted, but were largely discredited as Bilbo, indignant at the comments of one Lobelia Bracegirdle proclaimed that he did indeed love Primula Baggins, but as a brother loves a sister, and as such, named her young son Frodo as his heir. This had caused much upset to the Sackville-Baggins branch of his family, who as it stood, had been in line to inherit Bag-End House, but had done much to satisfy the society gossips for a while. Bilbo had found some more respect for Lobelia, because, as unpleasant as she often was, she at least had the bravery to voice that which otherwise would have remained murmured over afternoon tea in the parlours of the town.

That such a minor thing could cause such uproar spoke volumes as to the quiet nature of life in Little Bagshot.

Which was why when newcomers came to town, all descended into chaos.

It started on a quiet Tuesday in June, just after Midsummer; Bilbo was sat reading under the shade of the old oak in his garden, Primula reclined against the trunk to his side with a book of her own.

"Mr Baggins! Mrs Baggins!" came a shout from across the garden. Asphodel Burrows scurried over to them, one hand holding onto her bonnet, the other hoisting her skirts. "I come bearing news!"

Bilbo, feeling as disinclined to move as he was, merely closed his book and watched as Primula stood and greeted her older sister with an embrace.

"Ered Luin Hall has been let at last!" she exclaimed without preamble.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow in interest, "Indeed? To whom?"

Ered Luin was a large estate to the west of the village that had fallen empty for many years after Old Tobold Hornblower had passed without an heir. After so long, many had given up on the hope that the property may be rented and bring some fresh faces to Little Bagshot society.

Asphodel shrugged, gently lowering herself onto their rug whilst her sister dropped unceremoniously onto the grass.

"Some gentleman from town; a Mr Fundinson, if I remember rightly."

"I wonder if he knows quite what he is letting himself in for, moving here," Primula chuckled. "If he was hoping for the quiet country life, he has picked the wrong town."

"He's unmarried too," Asphodel added, "And rich as well. Maybe he'll be handsome enough to tempt even you into matrimony, dear cousin." She gave a teasing wink to Bilbo who narrowed his eyes back.

Primula gave a mock gasp of horror, "But sister, have you not heard? Bilbo's heart yearns for me and me alone."

Asphodel snorted ungraciously, "Have those rumours begun again?"

"One of the old Bolger maids, apparently she didn't much like how Bilbo and I danced at the Assembly Rooms last week."

"They never much like it when you and I dance," Bilbo pointed out. "They say if we are so much brother and sister, then it is improper."

"Anything we do is considered improper."

"Why don't you two just marry? It would quiet the gossips, secure Frodo's inheritance and you'd be left well enough alone," Asphodel suggested reasonably.

Primula puffed out a laugh, "Because our dear cousin is adamant that only the deepest, most passionate of loves will tempt him into matrimony."

Asphodel raised her eyebrows at her cousin, her amusement increasing when she realised Bilbo had retreated behind his book, a slight blush colouring his cheeks.

"I never realised you were such a romantic cousin."

"I'm not," he grumbled.

"Oh he is," Primula cried, "Do you not remember when we were children; he was the only one who would join in the weddings we held for dolls?"

"Oh yes!" her sister cried, "And you used to come up with the most detailed backstories of how each marriage came to be."

Bilbo sighed, "Perhaps I am waiting, but I have no intention of leaving Little Bagshot and none here I should like to marry, so for now, at least, I shall lead the happy life of a bachelor."

"Well perhaps this Mr Fundinson will change things,"said Asphodel with a sly smirk.

"I doubt it."

Within the week, Bilbo had heard so much speculation as to the infamous Mr Fundinson that he was quite sick of the sound of him. He was unmarried, and in possession of a fortune much similar to Bilbo's own of four-thousand a year. Such a thing excited all the young maids and ambitious mothers of Little Bagshot, for a single man of such wealth must be in want of a wife. He felt a sort of vindictive pleasure for the man, for all the annoyance the incessant gossip about him caused Bilbo, that once he arrived he would be bombarded by the handsomest young ladies and gentlemen, each after his wealth.

Bilbo himself, heir to Bag-End and his father's great fortune, had once been subject to such torture, and though he would not wish it on many, he definitely did not find enough sympathy as he might have otherwise.

For that week, Bilbo and Primula were loath to make their usual social calls, and they were in fact, quite relieved when they called upon the Bracegirdles to find Mr Matthias away and his wife and sister of similar resentful sentiments for the new resident of Ered-Luin.
"I think it most rude of him," Lobelia stated primly, "He has caused such a stir, yet he has not the decency to even arrive yet. A true gentleman would have conducted his business much quicker to save us all the inconvenience."

"Perhaps so," Primula conceded, her dislike for Lobelia seeping into her tone, "But we cannot fault the man for arriving later than we would have hoped. We know nothing of his affairs, or his business."

"Well I daresay we shall have much to say after his arrival," she replied. "All the girls are bound to make such a spectacle of themselves."

"Not you, Miss Bracegirdle?" Bilbo heard himself ask. "You will not entertain the thought of this Mr Fundinson as a suitor?"

Lobelia bristled, "Indeed I shall not!"

"My sister has enough fortune to marry as she wishes," Daisy commented, looking up from where she had been fussing over her infant son, Hugo. "She needs not consider a man that no doubt half of Little Bagshot will be pursuing and can instead focus her attentions elsewhere."

At the light flush that coloured Lobelia's round cheeks, Primula gave a smirk that she quickly hid behind her teacup.

"Is there someone you would instead rather choose, Miss Bracegirdle?"

"No, not at all," Lobelia contradicted hastily, "My sister simply means that I would simply prefer to remain here and not engage myself to a London gentleman."

Bilbo was not convinced, and wondered at who it was that may have captured her attention so. Lobelia was quite the eligible young maiden; her brother, master of Hardbottle Lodge, had secured for her quite the sizeable dowry and she was most definitely handsome, despite her predilection for rather more garish fashions. It was only her abrasive manner that would fail to endear her to prospective suitors, that and her strong-mindedness. Whomsoever she had set her mind on, well, they could be considered both lucky, and one in need of sympathy. He was surprised he had not heard anything sooner, for it was unlike the young lady to give up once she had set her cap to something, so to speak - her former pursuit of Bilbo some six years prior had been proof enough of this.

"So I hear the elusive Mr Fundinson is to join us before the month is out," Daisy mused aloud. Lobelia looked rather grateful for her sister-in-law's timely change of subject. "Though it means he must hurry, for he has barely a week left."

Mr Fundinson did indeed come to Little Bagshot the following week, with an agreeable countenance and a rumoured fifty servants. Bilbo, not hoping to form an acquaintance with the man for his own gain, did not presume to call on him just yet, rather he waited, not wanting to impose, knowing his turn would come soon enough.

He was, however, the head of the Baggins family since the passing of his father, so in this sense Bilbo felt as if he was doing the man an injustice.

His uncle, Isumbras Took, the Earl of Westfarthing, did give him some small comfort in this matter.

"You may be a Baggins, Bilbo my boy," he said, in that deep calming voice that Bilbo had delighted in hearing narrate stories as a child, "But you are also a Took and I have already taken the liberty of calling on the man. I assured him that you would call in due time, so do not worry."

"Thank you, Uncle," Bilbo replied, settling himself back into his favourite armchair in Tuckborough Manor's impressive library. Though the Manor boasted several parlours, the Earl preferred to take tea, with relatives at least, under the great stone arches alongside his books.

The room had not been originally intended as a library, but as an impossibly grand ballroom; the ninth Earl, a man whom had great priorities, in Bilbo's mind, had converted it into the room it was now, repurposing a different, though by no means small, gallery into the ballroom that played host to so many parties.

"It is no matter my boy. Now tell me, how fares that niece of mine? And my great-nephew, any news from him?"

"Primula is fine, as always," said Bilbo with a smile, "And Frodo wrote just last week, telling us how excited he shall be to come home. His writing is already most accomplished given he has only completed his first year of schooling."

Isumbras chuckled, "He sounds much like you - you were far too fast a learner as a child and much too inquisitive, like your mother."

"Yes well the young lad has Took blood in him from his mother and the curiosity that comes with it."

"You must bring him here, in the summer," Isumbras offered in a manner that could not be refused, should Bilbo have wished to. He took a long draught from his tea cup before fixing Bilbo with a slightly more serious look.

"Now Bilbo my boy, what say you to a ball? I was thinking of holding one here, at Tuckborough in honour of Mr Fundinson - he assures me he has several friends coming up from London to stay with him for an indefinite amount of time."

"More new faces," Bilbo murmured, unable to quash the small wave of excitement he felt at the thought. He cleared his throat then nodded decisively, "I say a ball is a splendid idea."

"Good, though don't keep your fair cousin to yourself all night - I hear Mr Fundinson brings several gentlemen."

At his uncle's slight knowing smile, Bilbo's cheeks coloured slightly, knowing that he had aimed that comment at his preference, as opposed to Primula's. There was a warning in those twinkling eyes though and Bilbo sighed with mild wariness.

"So you heard those rumours again?"

"Just be wary Bilbo," the Earl said kindly, "I had your aunt Mrs Bolger up here the other day, fretting over the damage it may do to yours, and your cousin's reputation."

"Oh Aunt Belba frets over most everything," Bilbo muttered irritably. "Prim and I are always careful of such things."

Isumbras nodded and that was the end of it. His father had raised his grandchildren to be too close for him to really believe the rumours surrounding the situation in Bag-End House.

They finished their tea with further idle conversation as to the goings on in Tuckborough Manor; apparently Bilbo's eccentric uncle, Isembold, had taken it upon himself to start trying to learn the harp; Isumbras had indulged him, though had wondered how such a generally lovely instrument could produce such painful sounds and had therefore had given his brother a room in the largely unused East Wing for practice.

After five o'clock, Bilbo bade his uncle farewell and called for his horse, Myrtle.

"Before you go, Bilbo, will you come to call on Mr Fundinson with me on the morrow?"

"For afternoon tea?"

Isumbras nodded, "About three o'clock, come here and we will take the carriage up together."

Ered Luin Hall was situated about five miles north of Little Bagshot. It was a huge, imposing structure, of the Carolean style; a symmetrical facade with many windows glinting bright in the sunlight, built of a light, sand-coloured stone. Bilbo had seen the Hall many a time on his walks in the surrounding parkland though he had never actually stepped foot inside. The Earl, having been a friend of Mr Hornblower, assured him that the home itself was just as grand inside.

Bilbo tugged lightly at his cravat - his layers, even in their lighter summer fabrics, were a discomfort in the heat and so the cool air of the entrance hall was a welcome relief from the sun outside. They were greeted by a cheerful butler and escorted through a door in the wooden panelling, shoes clicking on the polished marble floor.

The parlour they were led to was airy, despite the rich teal of the walls, with great sash windows along the west wall. The room's role occupant stood to greet them.

"Lord Westfarthing, how good to see you again."

"Indeed it is, Mr Fundinson," replied Isumbras jovially. "And may I present my nephew; Mr Bilbo Baggins."

On cue, Bilbo gave a small bow and offered a small smile, "It's a pleasure, Mr Fundinson."

"I have heard much about you from your uncle." The man grinned warmly and gestured to the table he had arisen from, "Come, let us take tea."

Mr Balin Fundinson was a pleasant but rather plain gentleman of thirty-nine. He was a stout gentleman, of a similar height to Bilbo with thick auburn hair, threaded with the odd strand of silver. His cheerful disposition and great love of history made him an instant friend to Bilbo and the three talked the rest of the afternoon away.

Mr Fundinson, it turned out, had no great desire to marry, but had need to secure an heir. Tired of London society, he had come to Little Bagshot in the hope of finding a wife who was rather less frivolous than the young ladies among his acquaintance. His brother, he told them, was engaged to a young man, a younger son of a Baronet and thusly destined for the church - it was a love-match that he had not wished to deny.

He related the information to Primula who still gleaned no small amount of glee at the prospect that faced the newest resident.

"He shall have to dance every dance, and each with a different maid, poor fellow!"

"I feel more sympathy at the parade of matriarchs that will impose on him at Ered Luin."

Primula laughed. "Oh but now he will not do for you for he needs a wife. And he sounded such a pleasant man as well."

Bilbo fixed his cousin with a stern look, though there was no heat to it. "Well I'm sure he and I will be fine friends - he has the most impressive library. And anyway Prim, if I were to marry, who would be here to stop you coming into mischief?"

"I'm six and twenty Bilbo," she scoffed, "I know longer get into mischief."

"I can think of at least ten people who could say otherwise. Myself included."

Two days hence, they received an invitation to the ball - to be held the first Friday in July - and that very morning he took Primula off to Goodchild and Diggle - the finest tailors in all of Westfarthing - insisting that such an occasion warranted new clothing.

Primula protested, as she always did when Bilbo tried to spend money on her, and it took him the entirety of their breakfast to persuade her.

Willifred Goodchild, as well as being inspired and unparalleled in his skill with needle and thread, was also a notorious gossip and Bilbo was partially going in a hope to glean knowledge on some of the happenings in the village that had been left to the wayside in the wake of Mr Fundinson's arrival.

"I hear he shall bring no less than five ladies and eight gentlemen," Mr Goodchild informed them as they perused the fabrics. Bilbo felt a little sorry for Mr Fundinson now; when his grandfather had made a slight joke pertaining to the attention his arrival had been receiving , he just looked uncomfortable.

"Well I heard he was to bring seven ladies and nine gentlemen," his business partner, Thomas Diggle countered imperiously.

"Plenty of gentlemen," Primula muttered in his ear, even adding in a salacious wink when Bilbo turned from the burgundy damask he had been admiring to glare at her.

In the end he commissioned a waistcoat in a vibrant emerald green and gold silk brocade and an accompanying jacket in a racing green velvet. Primula continued to be stubborn on the matter of him purchasing her anything but was swayed when she found the loveliest taffeta in a delicate duck-egg blue.

The ball came much quicker than Bilbo had anticipated, seeming to be upon them in an instant. The few trips he had taken into the village had done nothing to clear up the matter of how many guests would be accompanying Mr Fundinson and by that point, Bilbo had heard so much about it, he frankly could not care.

Dressed in his new garb he felt he cut quite the fine figure, as did the comely Primula, whose gown flattered her well. Together they made quite the handsome pair, he mused, as they stepped into their carriage. Primula was fairer than he, with curly auburn hair she how wore wrapped into an elegant chignon. She had the rich hazel eyes that Bilbo's mother once had and what locally was called 'the Took nose', a delicate button nose that Bilbo himself possessed.

Bilbo watched out the window of the carriage as they approached Tuckborough Manor, yellow stone cast in a dramatic relief by the pinking light of evening. The estate had been the seat of the Earls of Westfarthing for some eleven generations and had remained largely unchanged in all that time - his grandfather had said it was a respect for history - the design of the place was a seamless mix of medieval gothic and renaissance classical and thusly seemed a representation of the period of the 16th Century in which it had been erected.

Bilbo had a great affection for the Manor and he found himself, as he quite often was wont to do, staring up at the facade in awe as they entered.

The dancing had not yet begun, for they were fashionably early, and Bilbo soon contented himself with conversing with Rorimac Brandybuck, the oldest of Primula's six siblings, and his wife Menegilda on their son Saradoc - who was just of age - and his rather hopeless infatuation with Esmeralda Took.

"He just trips over his words around her, poor boy," his cousin chuckled, "And he normally is quite the wit."

Indeed, the young gentleman stood, flushed a bright pink, as the object of his affection chatted happily at his side.

"At least she herself seems to be quite set on him," Menegilda smiled.

"Yes," Bilbo agreed, "And you know how Took women are."

He and Rorimac shared a laugh then at the thought of their respective mothers - sisters of the particularly Tookish kind of headstrong that was so revered in their family.

Primula approached them then, arm linked with her dear friend Rosamunda Took who, just the month before, had announced her engagement to one of their cousins, Odovacar Bolger. Both were of an easy disposition such that Bilbo was certain they had many years of happy marriage ahead of them.

"I believe Uncle shall announce the dance soon," she informed them excitedly. Isumbras was in fact her great-uncle but 'Uncle' had become the preferred form of address for anyone descended of one of the Earl's siblings.

It was then that Mr Fundinson entered, flanked by two taller gentleman; the one of the left was a great bear of a man and was more obvious in his displeasure as he glared at the polished floor of the ballroom. The other, however, drew Bilbo's eye; he was not as tall, nor as broad as the first man, but he surveyed the room with such an air of pride and condescension that it made him seem much larger. He was much handsomer also, with a sharp nose, and eyes that, even at this distance, Bilbo could see were a piercing blue.

"The fellow on the left is Mr Fundinson's younger brother, I believe, and a Colonel in the army," Menegilda supplied for him and Primula. Bilbo chose not to wonder at the wheres and wherefores of how she acquired all her knowledge and instead just accept her usefulness at moments such as this.

"And the other gentleman?" Primula asked. "The handsome one?"

"That is Mr Fundinson's oldest friend; a Mr Durin."

Bilbo thought it best not to ask how she had come by this knowledge already - gossip in Little Bagshot had a habit of spreading thick and fast, often before the subject even realised they had in fact done something worthy of the town's attention.

Isumbras did indeed announce the dance them; his son Fortinbras and his wife, Lalia taking the lead.

Bilbo offered his hand to young Rosamunda with a kind smile and she accepted graciously, placing her gloved palm in his own.

The first dance was a fast-paced one, exhilarating but not uncomfortable in the cooler summer evening, and Bilbo found himself laughing along with Rosamunda as they hopped and twirled across the floor. At one point, his eyes caught onto a pair of bright blue ones and he almost faltered before he let the steps carry him away once more.

Once it was over, he led Rosamunda back to where they had been standing. Menegilda, it seemed had managed to acquire further information even in the small amount of time.

"That Mr Durin, he has a large estate in Yorkshire and ten-thousand a year."

Bilbo shot the man, who was currently talking with Mr Fundinson and his Uncle Isembras, a contemplative look.

"Indeed? And look - I think he has become all the more handsome for it," he quipped, eliciting a giggle from his company.

Their uncle glanced up then and, catching Bilbo's eye, waved him over. Bilbo took his leave of his cousins and, after offering his arm to Primula, began to make his way across the hall.

Both Mr Fundinson and Mr Durin seemed to be watching them; the former with his usual convivial air and the latter with an odd intensity.

"Ah there you two are," Isumbras hailed them, voice loud as the music for the second dance started up.

"Mr Durin, may I present my nephew and niece, Mr Bilbo Baggins and Mrs Primula Baggins; Mr Baggins, Mrs Baggins, this is Mr Thorin Durin, an old friend of Mr Fundinson's." At Isumbras' words, the intense look in those light blue eyes had faded into something cold and unreadable. Still, he inclined his head politely in greeting before excusing himself and stalking away. Mr Fundinson watched after his friend for a moment, a slight frown creasing his brow that he quickly smoothed away.

Primula squeezed his arm lightly and he turned to her with a frown. There was a barely perceptible flicker of her eyes towards Mr Fundinson and then Bilbo understood.

"Mr Fundinson, I believe I have not yet had the honour of presenting you to my cousin; Mrs Primula Baggins."

"Indeed you have not," he replied with a smile and turned to Primula, "It is a pleasure, Mrs Baggins." He took her gloved hand and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles. "And if you are not otherwise engaged, would you dance the next with me?"

"I should like that, thank you," Primula answered, removing her hand from Bilbo's arm so she could be escorted to the floor, where the current dance was coming to a close.

"They make quite the fine pair," Isumbras mused once they were out of earshot. Bilbo looked after them, Mr Fundinson laughing at something Primula had said.

"Perhaps," he conceded, "But Prim is unlikely to marry again, at least not anytime soon."

His uncle smiled sadly, "I forget sometimes, she so young, and to have already lost her husband."

His older cousin, Adalgrim Took, approached him then to ask for a dance. Just further up the line of dancers, Adalgrim's daughter Esmeralda was practically pulling Saradoc Brandybuck into place.

His cousin sighed, more to himself than anything, "I swear my Esme is going to propose to that boy before long."

Bilbo snorted in agreement, "You know my mother proposed to my father."

Adalgrim raised an eyebrow, "Did she indeed?"

"Yes I remember her telling me how each of my father's attempts had him so tongue-twisted that in the end she gave up on waiting and asked him herself."

"I could well imagine that of Aunt Belladonna," he laughed.

After their dance, Bilbo collected a cup of punch and retreated to beside one of the large marble pillars, half concealing himself in the juncture between it and the wall.

"I've already told you; no," came a deep unfamiliar voice, it's rich timbre making Bilbo blink rapidly.

"You can't just stand here in the corner brooding all night," replied another, Bilbo recognising it as Mr Fundinson. Which would make the other Mr Durin.

"There is none I wish to dance with," was the curt reply. "And I do not brood."

"Well there must be someone amongst the acquaintance you've made tonight," Mr Fundinson continued, a little imploringly, "What about Mr Baggins? - I hear he is considered quite the fine gentleman in these parts."

"He looks more of a farmer to me," Mr Durin dismissed snappishly. "Honestly, what appeal do you see in all these country folk my friend?"

Bilbo felt himself bristle and the man's rudeness, forcing down an indignant protest. He was far superior to a mere grocer! Spying Asphodel stood against the adjacent wall, he instead strode out from his hiding place, and over towards her, directly before two other gentlemen.

With a glance back to them once he had reached his cousin, he noted with some annoyance that Mr Durin had the gall to not look in the slightest bit chagrined, whilst Mr Fundinson's face bore a regretful grimace.

"What happened there?" she murmured to him.

"I believe I have just been insulted by Mr Durin," remarked Bilbo in a clipped tone, "And I daresay he considers himself above our simple country manners."

Asphodel snorted, "Well woe betide he who slights you dearest cousin."