Chapter 77
Previously: The Rose of Whitby – Chapter 76
Tedious and intimidating as the paperwork is, Arthur’s still grateful for the change in topic, and nods. “Let’s see what we get to look up today… I didn’t know there were so many laws and things involving what you can and can’t do with your land…”
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“Or which peculiar agrarian products we can or can’t ship to specific locations.” Chuckling about that, John sits back down to resume writing the financial report for the Order of Galahad and indicates the remaining mail to Arthur, telling him to check if there’s anything that would really need Darcy. If they can he’d like to spare her the work today.
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Arthur nods, and settles in- at least he can read the mail really fast. Well. Not as fast as a book, of course, depending on the hand writing of the person in question. But still. It’s good to do something productive, even if it’s sorting letters into piles of “social correspondence”, “look stuff up to find a solution”, and “no idea what to do with this.”
It’s all good until he encounters an envelope he can tell is important before he’s read what’s in it or the sender’s name- the paper is thick and heavy and there’s a seal on it and everything. So he’s already sitting up straighter when he realises that the crest on that seal is something royalty-connected. “Uh…” he says, shows it to John. “…Are we allowed to open this?”
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One of these days, John maybe should smack Arthur and Darcy over the head for being disasters with talking to each other because how is that even a question? “I opened the one from Galahad, too. Go ahead.”
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“But… it’s like… some sort of royal seal?” Arthur looks back down at it. Probably, he should know which person is attached to that seal, but there’s so many, and they’re all so similar and what not, and also, it’s hard to tell the details in wax.
Holding his hand out, John shrugs. “And Darcy is more qualified for freaking out less about it than you how?”
“…It’s her name on the envelope and she has a title, so no one can complain if she reads the letter?” Probably John has a point, but Arthur’s still happy to hand the thing over and let John do the actual seal breaking and reading.
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“You are her official scholar, I’m head of security. Between us, we got this.”
John shouldn’t have said that, he so shouldn’t have said that. Reading over the thing and checking Darcy’s desk calendar, he grinds his teeth then groans. “Fuck. She’s going to hate this and it’s hardly a week away.”
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Arthur looks over to read the missive, too- it’s not so much a letter, more a card, all embossed with fancy gold and swirls and decorations. It’s an invitation. To a ball. Arthur joins the groan, remembering how the last ball went. “…Why… why would Prince James invite her to a ball?” Prince James, who’s also part of the Defenders of the Crown. Arthur bites his lip. “…You don’t think he knows anything, do you?”
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Putting the card down, John thinks it over. He looks at what he was working on and shakes his head. “Order of Galahad, he’s probably inviting her because she’s a supporter of his order. Which, fuck, means Gregory needs to go, too. He’s going to be a dolt about Prince James, isn’t he?”
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Arthur groans, and allows himself to drop his forehead to the table. “…He’ll tell him how he thinks he’s soooo cool… Which I don’t think is proper protocol…”
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“To put that mildly.” After John rubs the bridge of his nose for a few moments, grumbling under his breath, he pats Arthur’s shoulder. “Sorry, I’m putting you on babysitter duty. You’re going with Darcy and Gregory. She can’t do both the social manoeuvring and keeping an eye on Gregory, and there’s precedent from the last ball to include you. Ignore everything else in the work pile, start preparing for that ball. I don’t think Darcy can handle hearing about it today. Let’s have some things ready for when we do tell her.”
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Arthur wants to whimper at the idea of having to go to another one of these things- and an even fancier one, to boot! Sure, Prince James is Duke of Cambridge, and it’s not like the Duchess of York isn’t moving in those same circles, but… but it’s a prince! He’s directly related to the queen and in the line of succession for the throne! So, the sort of powerful person every instinct tells Arthur to avoid at all costs. But he can’t, so he takes a deep breath, and lifts his head, and nods.
“…It’s not another costume ball, right?” They will need fancy clothes, but the house can probably make those for them, because no way is a week long enough to have something made by a human. And he will have to get back to studying etiquette, a lot. And somehow get Gregory to sit down and let him drill at least the most important bits into him, too.
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“Charity ball. I don’t think that includes costumes. If we’re lucky it includes party competitions and Darcy might forget it’s a ball if she gets to play instead. In either case, divide and conquer. I’ll do the logistics, you do the research. Make yourself lists of who to avoid. I’ll check over our finance ledgers who Darcy should talk to because we have deals with their regions. Oh, and whatever you do, don’t talk to those pricks from one barony over… or rather, avoid Gregory talking to them. They have a gossip vendetta against Darcy and we really don’t need him to give them any more ammunition.” Drumming his fingers on the table, John curses, because of course this had to happen right after Art gets the fuck out of the country or something, they could really use the noble backup. Fuck it, he’s in charge now, has to, Darcy needs her space today. He’ll cuddle up with her later in her pillow fort, but that’s the extent of involvement he wants from her for today.
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“Okay- god, I hope that Baron what’s-his-name isn’t invited… Can I find out? I’ll try and find out. This should be in the papers or something? Anyway, yes, I’ll go try and find out whatever I can about this thing,” Arthur agrees. “Does your logistics include the clothes and all that sort of thing?”
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“Clothes, travel, accommodations, expenses, maps, and all the minutia. Don’t waste a thought on that, I’ll take care of it. Same as with holding the barony down while you are out so that you don’t have to worry about the place having burned down in the meantime.” After another groan, he ends up chuckling, one has to see the silver lining even on a pile of shit, right? “Or more in Darcy’s interest, the animals having been neglected. Also, that bastard’s name is Thynne, Baron Carteret. I make it a point to know who to punch if I get the chance.”
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It’s a bit strange to realise that when John tells him not to waste a thought on all these potential things that could trip them up and ruin them if they’re not done right… Arthur believes him, and feels only relieved and not a bit worried. Which… well, why wouldn’t he? John’s proven time and again that he’s good at logistics when they were preparing for the official wedding. “Thanks,” he says nevertheless. “And, um, yes… that one…” He can’t stop a shudder. “He’s… I don’t know what it is about him, but he’s scary.”
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John knows full well that it’s stupid and not his fault and logically it makes no fucking sense but still, he sighs and pats Arthur’s shoulder again. “Sorry. For not being there, I mean.” He so wishes he could have protected Darcy. He knows she didn’t need it and he knows that he hadn’t even met her. Yes, he’s a dolt like that, but then again, that’s what his vision told him, isn’t it? Protecting people is how he best deals with things.
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Arthur gives him a surprised look, because… well, that was before they ever met. But he has to admit: “…Yeah, it would’ve been good if you’d been there. Thanks.” He offers him a smile.
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That bit of belief from Arthur puts a touched smile on John’s face that he quickly shifts into a grin (before Arthur thinks him a softie), so instead, he nods. “For this round I’m here, so let’s start preparing so that Darcy can maul them… just no duels while I’m not there, okay? Talk her out of it if need be.”
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“God, I hope there won’t be any duels!” Arthur heartily agrees. “I’ll… try and make sure Gregory doesn’t do anything anyone could use as an excuse…” How exactly he’s going to do that, Arthur isn’t sure yet, but… Well. It has to be done.
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There’s lots to be done overall. John’s glad that him and Arthur are teaming up for this, that reading speed comes in fucking handy time and again, and he just might get competitive on who of them has the better head for numbers.
But even with how well they work together, the afternoon melts into nothing far too fast. He isn’t as far as he’d like, but they already are late for tea, if he’s generous and doesn’t declare it about time to shove tea and dinner together into one. So he tells Arthur to call it a day, relax with his cat or horse or go read something for fun, he’s worked enough. He’s earned it. He has to repeat himself because of course Arthur isn’t sure he really did but the shove to his shoulder and insistent grunt does get him out of his chair. Good.
Now for the harder one. John grabs food from the kitchen and isn’t surprised when he finds that yes, Darcy built her pillow fort in his room, too worried that if she did it in her own room Gregory might find her. When he asks if he may join her, he hears paper rustling and she tells him that he can, but no peeking at what she’s working on, it’s a Christmas surprise! Typical his girl, she always throws herself into work when she gets stressed.
Well, she’s worked enough now, too. It’s evening, he insists on her getting some rest and relaxation, so armed with the food and ready to start them early on napping, he gets inside her fort… She definitely built that as a rat, he learned she has a bit of a nesting talent like that, and this fort is nothing short of luxurious. He also knows what it does to her when he’s proud of her, so here goes nothing, he lauds her fort building skills and ends up smiling because yes, she’s clinging to him now. He can make her feel better, she wants him there. He makes a difference in his girl’s life. And really, annoying ball logistics are worth that feeling of being her man.
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A ball! A… now she nearly said one of John’s words and that would be rude. A blasted ball! In London, and she can’t even make herself feel better about it by staying at Daddy’s place and sleeping next to him in his bed. It’s no good without him in it. She wants to pout and tell Prince James that she doesn’t know him and therefore doesn’t want to. She can feel her drac very much do the full whine-and-no-wanna spiel, but sadly she’s in no position to decline an invitation from such an important figure in the political system.
So no, of course she writes an affirmative and self-abasing answer, thanking him for the honour, and then promptly sticks her head back under a pillow to scream anyway. Okay, that helped a little bit. If she’s lucky, Baron Carteret is there and she has a duel and that’s that on having to be social. If she can’t get Gregory prepped for keeping his mouth shut, she probably will have to have a good number of duels, though, and the more she has, the higher the chance her drac is going to give itself away. So, sadly, no, she’ll have to be social and appropriate.
Etiquette, why do those bars start to feel less like safety and more like something she is sticking her paws between and can’t quite reach the ground through?
At least she has John and Arthur to help her! John’s doing all the nasty paperwork he can, and Arthur is right there next to her for yet another etiquette session with Gregory. Trying to hammer the names of people he needs to avoid into his head, and even more so, what not to comment on. Foremost, anybody trying to get information to confirm that she married him because she is a scandalous, harlot lacking in morality and good sense who slummed it with a commoner and got pregnant out of wedlock.
She’s trying to give him some good neutral sentences he can give in response to any provocation when he grins at her with a chuckle because he doesn’t care what those people think, he did get her to sleep with him before the wedding, after all. He should be allowed to brag! And he also doesn’t care that she’s not enough of a woman for him to even be able to knock her up.
For a moment, she’s sure she’ll fold over. She feels like Gregory just kicked her directly in the stomach. She can feel it right there, cold and hot at the same time, all tension and no pain at all. Nothing that could make her feel a little bit better about this. Her hands are over her belly and she can feel them start to tremble, can feel her claws digging into her dress, into her corset, into her flat belly. She tries to say something but it comes out as a croak, as a strangled whimper.
How could he?
How dare he!
The next word is still strangled, but now with anger, the cold feeling in her belly spreading out like fire, like a heat so intense that cold is the only way she can describe it. For a moment, her eyes flick to Arthur, she knows she’s feeling horrible about him having heard that, but she can’t hold on to that because the fury running through her is wiping everything else away. Her drac is snapping at the mask and she isn’t sure she can keep it on.
It feels like the lips on the mask are shattering from all the rage that’s in her voice, her far-too-loud voice, even in her own ears. “How could you?! I know I’m useless! I know I’m a bad baroness! I know I can’t be a mother! You might not care but I care! John cares! And I hate being so bad! I hate it…”
The screaming has broken into a whining sniffle and she stomps once, breaks the floor boards with it and stares down at them, before turning and running off, sobbing, but she doesn’t trust herself not to do worse than saying these terrible things out loud if she doesn’t get away from Gregory right now.
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Arthur sits frozen. Even his mind feels frozen- surely… surely he misheard? Gregory… Gregory didn’t just say that? That… that would’ve been mean. And Gregory is many things, but he’s not deliberately mean.
But Arthur knows that he did hear those words, coming out of Gregory’s mouth. And he’s never seen Darcy so… angry. Upset, yes, Darcy’s shown before that she can be way more emotional than he’s used to people being, but… but not angry like that.
“Why…” he finally croaks, as Darcy’s footsteps ring down the hall, “why would you say something like that?” It doesn’t make sense.
When Gregory looks at him, his expression shifts from… from something Arthur can’t read to contrite. “I didn’t mean it like that!” he says.
Somewhere in the back of Arthur’s mind, a voice wants to snap about how he did mean it, then?!, and also… and also, why didn’t he try to tell Darcy so, but Arthur still feels stunned, like his mind is only working at half-speed.
Still… “Well, you better apologize!” That much, he’s sure of.
And Gregory assures him that he will, of course he will. Then he brightens up, and declares: “We should figure out how to get her pregnant!”
That makes queasiness join the stunned and frozen feeling in Arthur’s insides and all he can do is stare incredulously at Gregory.
Who, of course, is undaunted. “You’re so smart, Artie!” He puts a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “You can figure it out, I know it!”
Arthur knows no such thing, and moreover, he doesn’t want to figure out any such thing. “I…”
“Then Darcy won’t be upset anymore! You could help her!”
And Arthur likes to help, of course he does, but not… not with something like this. But he feels helpless to argue against it, because… because wouldn’t he be letting Darcy down, then? “I wouldn’t even know where to start…”
There is a sudden shower of glitter, then Llew stands in front of the desk, says: “Here!” and Arthur barely has time to catch the book he throws him. It’s an odd book. The cover is slick in a way he’s never seen before, almost glassy, and very white. The print is very crisp, and in a straight-lined, blocky typeface the kind of which he’s never seen before. It says: Endocrinology and Human Anatomy, and then a long list of author names.
It smells strange, too, Arthur realizes- there’s a kind of sweetish scent to it that isn’t like the usual ink and paper smell of books. And as he flicks it open to a random page, he finds that those are also blindingly white, and oddly slick and heavy.
The text on the inside is just as crisp as on the cover, dense columns of it, and there are complicated graphs full of notations that don’t mean anything to him. The title makes him think it’s some kind of medical text (and he doesn’t know what ‘endocrinology’ is, but from the word and the mention of human anatomy, he assumes it’s something inside the body… and he’s not sure how he feels about that.)
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While Arthur is inspecting the book, Llew grins to himself. This is perfect. Arthur is going to do all the work, and he’ll get the credit for providing this vital resource. One more chain he can throw around Darcy’s neck to pull her in close to him. Now, as to favours to give her, which are really too much in his own self-interest to be called that, because Gregory, or whatever the actual name may be, might be getting better at control, but he’s still not synced well enough to actually hold on to the emotion he pulls off of Darcy. Ergo, only more for Llew to steal.
Right, as to those favours, he turns towards Gregory with a seductive grin, that one’s easy… Oh, or maybe the improving control is fixing that pathetic human brain, too. Gregory is trying to avoid his look, makes some disjointed comment about having to do something (really now, even Llew can tell that didn’t make sense and he doesn’t care), and turns cat to teleport away.