Rhys Hawthorne

✨ Age -:-- 29 years old...
✨ Nicknames -:--
✨ Height -:-- 185 cm; (6'1")...
✨ Weight -:-- 88 kg; (195 lbs)...
✨ Eye Color -:-- Deep brown;
✨ Hair -:-- Medium brown;
✨ Scars -:--

Rhys Hawthorne carries himself with a posture shaped by discipline and long days spent outdoors… broad-shouldered, tall, and undeniably powerful, the sort of strength earned through years of riding, hauling, repairing, and working alongside his tenants. His build is unmistakably muscular and rugged, with strong arms and a narrow, well-defined waist, but without the exaggerated bulk. His strength is the quiet, lived-in kind… practical, capable, and visible in the effortless way he moves.

His dark, curly brown hair falls in unruly waves around his brow and collar, perpetually tousled by wind no matter how carefully he begins the morning. A persistent shadow of stubble clings to his jaw… never unkempt, simply the natural state of a man who rises before dawn and thinks little of his own vanity. His eyes are a deep, storm-touched brown, sharp and observant, often taking in more than he ever speaks aloud. Yet when his gaze settles on someone he cares for, they soften with a warmth few ever earned.

He favors dark riding coats, linen shirts left open at the throat a button more than society approves of, and tall, worn leather boots that bore years of use on the estate’s trails. A long, weathered coat often swings behind him, catching the light as he walked. Even in the most elegant rooms, he carries with him the scent of earth, leather, horses, and fresh country air, as though the land itself refuses to let go of him.

There is a purposeful yet unhurried nature to everything he does… the unmistakable ease of a man who knows his strength, knows his land, and sees no need to prove either. His presence alone commands attention, not through volume or arrogance, but through the steady confidence of someone who has lived hard, worked harder, and emerged unbroken.

Rhys possesses the unmistakable confidence of a man who has survived enough to know his own strength. He rarely raises his voice, yet people listens; he rarely issues commands, yet people obey. He is steady, thoughtful, and unshakably composed even when provoked. Beneath the stoic exterior lay a dry, wicked sense of humor, revealed only when someone managed to truly catch his interest. He is fiercely loyal to those he cares for, and quietly protective… often stepping into trouble without hesitation if someone weaker stands to suffer. But emotional vulnerability is another matter entirely. He loves deeply, fully, and silently, masking tenderness behind restraint and steady gazes. He dislikes frivolity, theatrics, and false intentions. But he values sincerity, hard work, loyalty, and a good argument more than most.

❖ -- Early morning rides through mist-covered fields,
❖ -- The rhythmic sound of a horse’s hooves,
❖ -- Repairing fences, mending tack, and hands-on work,
❖ -- Working alongside his tenants rather than above them,
❖ -- Evenings spent reading—exploration, science, and military history,
❖ -- Honest company and gentle, unforced laughter,
❖ -- Being surprised by genuine insight or cleverness,
❖ -- Simple food and strong tea,
❖ -- The warmth of a hearth after a storm,.

❖ -- idleness disguised as nobility,
❖ -- cruelty masquerading as discipline,
❖ -- people who mistreat those with less power,
❖ -- cannot abide gossip, manipulation, and false intentions,
❖ -- hates predatory behavior of certain wealthy men toward vulnerable women,
❖ -- loud abrasive voices,
❖ -- arrogance and entitlement bores him,
❖ -- Landowners who hoard wealth at the expense of their workers.

❖ -- Expert horseman, (English riding + rugged terrain techniques)
❖ -- Skilled in hunting, tracking, and shooting,
❖ -- Capable of repairing tools, tack, and farm equipment,
❖ -- Strong understanding of estate finances and land management,
❖ -- Quiet but sharp intelligence,
❖ -- Tactical, strategic thinking,
❖ -- Exceptional ability to read people—their posture, hesitation, emotional state,
❖ -- Commands respect without needing to demand it.

❖ -- idleness disguised as nobility,
❖ -- Crosses his arms while listening, (habit, not defensiveness)
❖ -- Runs a hand through his curls when thinking,
❖ -- Tilts his head slightly when intrigued,
❖ -- Moves with measured, unhurried footsteps,
❖ -- Taps his thumb against his thigh in deep thought, (old militia reflex).

❖ -- Steadfast and unshakably reliable,
❖ -- Fair, principled, and deeply protective,
❖ -- Physically strong and hardworking,
❖ -- Disciplined mind capable of long-term planning,
❖ -- Emotionally intelligent and perceptive,
❖ -- Calm under pressure and steady in crisis,
❖ -- Inspires trust and loyalty in others.

❖ -- Struggles to express affection or vulnerability,
❖ -- Carries guilt from past decisions, especially family-related,
❖ -- Stubborn to a fault; resists compromise,
❖ -- A dangerous temper when pushed beyond restraint,
❖ -- Shoulders burdens alone and rarely asks for help,
❖ -- Slow to trust... and slower to forgive.

Born New Year's Day, 29 years ago... Rhys Ashford Hawthorne is the second son of a proud landowning family. His elder brother inherited the Hawthorne estates, but Rhys became the one to sustain them.

When his father died unexpectedly, Rhys returned from militia service to find the land neglected and the tenants suffering under mismanagement. Taking matters into his own hands, he bought out the debts, repaired the fields, and rebuilt the estate with his own labor… earning the trust of the people who lived there.

His mother passed from illness soon after, and his brother… unsuited for responsibility… left the region entirely. Rhys, though younger, became the de facto master of Hawthorne Hall. Over the years he turned the failing estate into one of quiet prosperity.

Though several women pursued him… some by heart, others by ambition… none broke through the guarded walls forged by loss and duty. He remains single, respected, and not a little mysterious to those who watch him from afar.