Victorian Tailcoat Novels & Stories

Only the firmness of his jaw gave away the tension he was suppressing. Men and woman dressed in a mixture of period attire were lying languidly around the smoky room with large bongs set amongst them. The tall, foreboding figure of a man of clear Chinese-Caucasian mix was dressed in finely tailored early Napoleonic-period three-piece suit as he sat in a gilded throne on the balcony overlooking the crowded room. His tailcoat and breeches were stitched from deep rich purple silk and velvet. A lavender waistcoat of the same material complemented them nicely. His power permeated the room.

He wore a white muslin shirt with ruffles on the frontal view and have high collar on its neck, reaching the chin when starched and standing up. The valet then topped it with a dark tailcoat having a waist-length cut in the front but continued up to the back of the knee. His lower body was adorned with a personally tailored pantaloon. Finally to complete the gentlemanly rugged look, he paired it with a polished tall boots extending mid calf, presenting him both as a noble and as a rake all together, with a devilish smirk plastered on his face. He rarely comes to the palace at least once and twice a year if necessary as he was far cry not the best amongst his fellow lordships with his indiffe

I donned a traditional black tailcoat with subtle sheen, adorned with intricate silver embroidery that reflected the dim light of the room. A crisp white shirt with a high collar and a black waistcoat with silver buttons completed the outfit. I fastened my black trousers with a silver buckle, and my polished black leather boots were immaculate. A silver-tipped cane, a symbol of my authority, rested against the wall, awaiting my grasp. Upon arriving at the main hall, I found it filled with rogues from across Elton. The atmosphere was somber and moody. I walked to my throne room with confidence, my coat sweeping the floor. The rogues fell to their knees at my dominant aura, their eyes cast dow

I place the three designs on easels for their perusal. Queen Catherine walks between them, studying them carefully, followed by Elizabeth, who does the same. I walk along with them to point out all the distinguishing features. “The material will be radzimir silk,” I explain. “It was a favorite of Queen Victoria’s. The style will be a floor-length A-line gown with a high neckline and long, fitted sleeves.” Elizabeth scans it briefly with an unreadable expression. “What if it’s windy that day? We all have to march in the presentation on the way in and out.”

And even if someone did hurt her, why does she care? When she stepped down the grand staircase, Victor was already waiting at the foot of the steps. He was dressed in a black tuxedo that accentuated the sheer, intimidating breadth of his shoulders. His crisp white shirt was buttoned to the throat, a stark contrast to the blood-stained mess she had seen him in just twenty-four hours prior. He looked pristine, untouchable, and utterly lethal.

With one fingertip she wrote in the condensation: *I’m next.* *Please don’t drain the tub.* Raven read it. A tiny laugh bubbled up—soundless, but felt in the way her shoulders shook. She nodded. Victoria slipped back into the bedroom. She opened the tall wardrobe carved with thorned vines and drew out a dress she had commissioned in secret weeks earlier: deep midnight blue silk the color of a starless sky, sleeveless with a fitted bodice that laced up the front in silver cord, the skirt flowing but not so long it would hinder movement. Tiny embroidered ravens flew along the hem and neckline—subtle, elegant, unmistakably hers. She laid it across the foot of the bed with care, then placed a sm

For Oden and Martin, dark amethyst in silk was chosen for coat and breeches and mauve for waist coat; a paler shade of mauve in organza was selected for cravat. Dark burgundy was chosen to Jack and Thomas in velvet silk for coat and the same color in silk for breeches and rose-gold color for waistcoat; Cravat was also rose-gold in organza material. Jack was responsible for getting silk stockings and white linen for shirts for everyone while Mira was busy. “Let me pay for this lot.” Jack offered as Mira nudged him. Mira felt like she had taken an unfair advantage looking at all the boxes that were packed; this was almost a gold nugget.

Standing in front of the display window, Catelyn admired the hand-made pieces on the stand. There were beams of light on top of every cell, and each piece appeared extremely sophisticated under the light. At the very center of the display window was a perfect white wedding gown. With a scoop-neck neckline that hugged the chest, the dress extended all the way down to the ground. Inspired by the Victorian era, small pieces of diamonds were scattered all over the hem of the dress, giving it an elegant and fairy-like appearance.

We took our seats and he spoke first. “You look beautiful Victoria. You always look good but today it’s at a whole other level.” I felt my cheeks burning up and I knew I was blushing. He was a charmer. “Thanks, Aaron. You also look pretty nice.” He was wearing a blue denim coat with a woolen lining, a white shirt, black dress pants, and a pair of white sneakers. “Why thank you Victoria, I was going for pretty nice.”

The mansion felt quieter than usual, as if it, too, was holding its breath. When I reached the bottom, I realized Alexander was already there—waiting. He stood in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, dark and sharp against the muted tones of the hall. He hadn’t lied when he said we would match. Still, it wasn’t the obvious kind of coordination. He hadn’t chosen full white to mirror my gown; instead, the subtle harmony lay in the details—the crisp polo beneath his tux and the neatly folded handkerchief tucked into his coat pocket, both echoing my color in a way that felt intentional and controlled.