Chapter 10
Previously: Obsidian: Crystal Heart – Chapter 9
2 Jan 1900
Tenant request, tenant request, ew, potential policy thingie, tenant request, ooh hello there, another letter from those arses a barony over, that’s going to be the most fun one for today, Quincy thinks. Until he pulls the one two tenant requests further down out of the pile. What is this? Now this looks downright private, even better, it’s addressed very specifically to the heir of the barony.
John getting private letters? In a handwriting that is definitely a woman’s! Oh, Quincy is going to enjoy reading this one and poking John about it in front of Darcy so that she can go jealous and maybe finally notice that she really, really should get her heart in gear and fall for the hunk before somebody else is smarter there.
Trying really hard not to give himself away but still glancing over to where John and Arthur are somehow not looking suicidal over having to go over all the tax ledgers, Quincy could bounce in his chair, this ought to be good.
Oh Divine, this is better!
By the time he’s at the bottom of the letter, Cycy has caught on that something is going on, must be her sense of smell, he knows he has at least half a poker face about this, but with her nose, he’s long learned that she smells out emotions, and he is half tempted to have a cackling fit right now. He can’t wait to see John’s face!
But before their manly man gets grumpy holdbacks or loyalty pangs and goes stubborn, oh no, let him write an answer letter first. Then he has it ready as an offer, so that John doesn’t even need to do much work on his own incoming marital bliss!
Curiosity apparently is killing the wolf by now. Cycy is the least subtle person he knows anyway, so he isn’t surprised at all when she pouts and decides to climb on his lap as he writes so she can read over what he’s doing. What he didn’t expect is her first pricelessly gobsmacked face and then obviously rising hissy fit. Ooh, Cycy having a hissy fit about another woman, ah, now that’s the drama he lives for.
“But I’m not ready! She can’t just have him!”
He’ll dissolve into cooing at her yet. Yes, she yelled that out loud, right while John is in the room. And that’s before Quincy could explain all the ‘read between the lines’ hints that woman peppered into her letter. She did her research, this isn’t random, no, she very specifically head-hunted dear John. Fine, looks like they’ll be doing the research about who she is all together.
“What my jealous queen is pouting about here is that, indeed, we are not ready yet. I propose we look up who this delight of a go-getter is first.” Fixing John with a grin, Quincy goes on: “After that we can decide if the heir should propose. At least, that’s definitely what she’s after.”
If ever there was a ‘What the fuck?’-face, John is having it right now, and Quincy really shouldn’t be this gleeful about it. So he explains what the letter he’s waving at John is about. Seems like their trio appearance at the New Year’s Eve ball didn’t go unnoticed, and the (he checks to get her titles right, she didn’t throw those in so explicitly for no reason,) dear daughter of the Baronet Blyth and Reid appears to want in on their merry little menagerie.
“Arthur, honey, could you use that lovely speed reading of yours and find her in one of those debutant catalogues I’m sure the house has?”
Even while Arthur, of course, makes short work of that request, Quincy goes on, having to work hard not to interrupt himself with giggling at Darcy’s still intact pout and John’s ‘I’m only letting you talk because I like you’-grump. “I like her. This is some impeccable work she did here. It’s only been two days. She works fast. She spots opportunities. She’s willing to take risks. I mean, please, honeys, a woman, writing a letter to a noble of higher rank she’s not been introduced to, specifically to propose the union. The scandal, oh the spicy scandal if we make that public. We could ruin her and she still did it. I’m smelling some desperation under that bravado. I’m smelling somebody who just might not mind that, well, the baroness is a dhampir and the heir an aberration, both not eligible for noble titles under our beloved idiot law system. Hm, come on, honeys, we have to meet her! Give the girl a chance!”
~
Arthur concurs on Quincy’s assessment of “some desperation under the bravado”: Because Miss Mariam Powlett, daughter of the Baronet of Blyth and Reid, is nineteen and already has a broken engagement – from the prospective groom’s side. There’s no information on why, and the parents, of course, swear that her virtue is intact and all that. But despite the fact that she’s also maternally related to the recently-extinct duchy of Vane-Powlett of Cleveland, that has the society pages the house gives him make lots of dire noises about how she might be unmarriageable at this point.
Anyway, she might be a bit below them in the noble hierarchy, but that’s still an impeccable pedigree, as it’s called, (why nobles insist on talking about themselves like they’re horse breeding stock or something, Arthur will never understand,) with some possible scandal attached.
In other words, she’s possibly a perfect fit for them? Arthur offers after sharing all that.
~
Darcy is still pouting and worries about her drac. She made sure to not only drink from John lately, she knows she didn’t, she’s even been out a bit more with Quincy, hunting in town together, but still, it’s pouting so hard about this woman trying to steal John. She doesn’t want to be bad for him, she never again wants to be obsessed, is that it? Is she getting there again, or why is her drac whining and unsure about ‘giving the girl a chance’?
What Quincy says makes sense and it’s not as if it wasn’t Darcy herself who made John heir. She knew what that meant and she… well, she was looking forward to raising their puppy together even if she couldn’t bear it for him, but after the week out here and the month in the dreamscape with her men… The thought of John maybe not being there every night with her is gnawing at her.
And that’s really mean of her, because she doesn’t love him the right way, and part of her wants nothing more than him having somebody who loves him as much as he deserves, but… but blast, she kind of really wants it to be herself, and what is wrong with her?! Why can’t she love him right? She’s been treating him like her secret husband, the one who fulfils all the responsibilities, and he’s done so very, very right by her.
It’s just no fair, no fair at all!
But that’s how her gothic fairy tale always goes, isn’t it? She can’t love John the right way, Quincy can’t love her the right way. Her love is doomed, was doomed from the moment they ripped Radu’s love out of her heart, broke their connection, broke the bridge under their dracs and made her hopes tumble into nothing.
But that’s not fair, either. Her men are wonderful. So very wonderful. And she wants nothing more than to be good for them. That means helping them have the things they need that she can’t give them. In John’s case that means a wife who might love him and give him children, so she hugs her drac tight but tells it that they need to be good, not pout.
“I think we should go meet her. I mean, I know how it is to have all those rumours about me. If everybody is mean to her the way they are mean to me, then she’d fit right in, right?”
~
John is so fucked. The redheads aligned on this. So fucked. He can see the triumphant fucking grin on Quincy’s face spreading at Darcy taking his side.
And really, a woman is after him. Should he be smug? He’s not sure. He’s honestly not sure if he’s comfortable with this. He knew he was heir, he knew what that means, he’s talked about it before with Darcy, of course. They even did a bit of dreaming about their kid. And yes, that’s always how they talked about it, but now there’s a woman, with a name, and it suddenly becomes a whole lot harder to ignore what would be involved in getting that kid to bring up with Darcy.
And… how does he only now realise how much of an enormous arse he’s been there? Oh fuck, he had kind of thought of ‘his future wife’ in exactly the abstract, objectifying way he never ever wanted to be thought of himself. Fuck!
Now he feels horrible, absolutely horrible. He swore to himself he’d not be a man like that and what did he do? Put the blinders on and only see his girl in the scheme.
Fuck. He has to be a better man than that.
This might be his chance. An ‘unmarriageable’ baronet’s daughter would be exactly the kind of woman that needs a way out. But, can he be a good husband? Quincy keeps telling him he’s a keeper, a great husband to Darcy, but that’s his girl. He loves her. Loves her so fucking much that it only hurts a little bit every time he sees her look at Quincy the way he wants to be looked at.
But he’s been over this before, hasn’t he? His girl still always makes so sure to show him she wants him in her life, that she loves him, that really, their relationship got closer, not more distant, when Quincy sashayed into it. Maybe… maybe helping this woman is going to be good for their relationship, too?
John’s aware he has no fucking clue how to conceptualise this. How would this look? Him, his wife, his girl, and his girl’s affair? The idea is so absolutely ridiculous that it sounds just about ‘normal’ for this household. Fine, he surrenders. Let’s do this.
“How far did you write my answer already, Molly? Let me have a word, too, will you.”
Okay, he has to admit, seeing his bro so obviously gleeful and the way Darcy is trying hard to be supportive, but is still totally clinging to him while he and Quincy write the answer letter together, makes John feel better about this.
And one thing’s for sure, it’s a more tangible thing to do than looking over the tax ledgers. Sure, there are some more villages that might fit the pattern, but by the time he and Arthur are done (more mentally than with all the paperwork,) he still feels like they didn’t make any headway on helping with the selkies.
In contrast, riding down to town to personally hand the letter in gives him a sense of actually doing something. It’s a finished step further on that front, and being trailed by both redheads for it feels more like backup rather than heckling.
Also, should he feel so much as if he’s on a date when, after the letter, they move on to the theatre to talk to the people he and Darcy organised to renovate the place? Now that it’s no longer in Quincy’s name and sure as fuck not with any icky patron gift associations, their molly actually does seem to enjoy figuring out what could be done with the place. He’s a ball of furiously-gesticulating energy with the planning people while Darcy, because she’s not doing a good job staying in her baroness persona, discusses interior design and funding for bringing in different troupes.
Okay, yes, John admits it, he likes seeing those two so happy. This is a pet project, not any of the heavy work for the barony. He doesn’t mind one bit that it’s going to be him doing the accounting for some of it. No, he realises that he still hates the paperwork at the barony with a vengeance, but maybe, just maybe, that enterprising baronet’s daughter will help with it, and then he can focus on being husband and steward and maybe, just maybe, dad.
That future doesn’t sound so bad at all. His life doesn’t sound so bad at all right now.
~
3 Jan 1900
Something wakes Arthur up in the middle of the night, and it takes him a bleary moment to realise that it was a knock on the door. That sends alarm coursing through him, dispelling the fuzzy memories of his dreams. He sits up sharply, which prompts Katharina to make a questioning “‘eow?” from his pillow.
A quick spark lights his candle on the nightstand, and he scratches her ears in apology even while he calls: “Yes?”
His door swings open to show John. He’s fully dressed, and pale as a sheet, and leaning against the doorway like he has trouble staying upright. Arthur’s already scooting out from under the blankets before he registers that John’s also grinning drunkenly.
~
“Sorry, Molly insists that I get healed. Eh, world’s just spinning like a fucking carousel. He’s just fussing.” Sure, that spinning was a right arse while he stumbled over here. It’s just blood loss, bah, he’s used to it. He would have been fine until breakfast. His girl just needed some help with her own healing. Course he’d protect her by copious donation. It’s fine… the headache would have stopped with sleep.
~
Arthur crosses the room at full speed, and doesn’t bother with any niceties, instead puts his hand right into John’s face- well, mostly onto his forehead, because with how he’s leaning against that doorway, that’s right in reach.
Because John makes it sound like it’s not a big deal, but oh yes, there’s room for a good chunk of magic to shove into him.
“What happened?!” Blood loss, from the symptoms, did Quincy get hurt and need to feed, or what?
~
Okay, that does feel better. John leans a bit more comfortably against the door frame rather than holding on to it in an attempt to make sure he remembers which way is up. “Finally managed to hit culver with the shotgun she gave me. Not my fault she got distracted by talking to a night friend and forgot to dodge.”
~
Arthur makes sure there’s really nothing left to heal before he takes his hand away and says: “Uh…?” because… John shot Darcy with his shotgun? …For fun?
Well, to be honest, it sounds like something Darcy might actually consider fun. He wouldn’t put it past her… He makes a mental note to ask her about it.
“Well, Quincy was right to send you here! That was some substantial blood loss, uh, don’t worry on waking me up to heal that? If it happens again?”
~
“Thanks.” Cracking his neck and stretching, John chuckles. “Don’t tell him that. I won’t live it down. If I manage to hit her again, fine, I’ll show up, but normally my girl is a real bitch to catch. She’s gotten so good at it.”
Yeah, he knows he sounds absolutely proud and smitten about that and Darcy deserves it. She’s been so diligent with all their gun training ever since they started weeks ago. He knows full well that he probably only hit her, and that good, because she is still all bouncy about being able to talk to her night friends now.
~
Yes, Arthur is certainly withholding judgement on how John and Darcy choose to spend their free time, because John looks really very happy about it.
“Alright, I won’t- unless I hear you decided to tough it out!” he adds, with the sternest look he can manage.
~
With a grunt before John lets his thought of “Yeah, yeah” slip out loud, he gets away from the doorframe and tells Arthur to get to bed again. “At least for tonight we’re good, I think. Might need another one during breakfast, but I’ll let you know.”
~
That’s probably the best he’ll get, Arthur thinks- and maybe he should read up on the effects of blood loss on the body? He has a general notion of “not good”, but given that he lives in a dhampir household, he should know more than that.
“Alright, I’ll see you at breakfast. Good night,” he offers.
~
“Night!” John answers, already half turned into the corridor. It’s fucking late and he wants to get into bed with the dhampirs… fuck, his girl he means, ugh, hopefully he was far enough away for the molly not to have heard that slip. It’s been way too fucking normal and comfy to sleep with both of them, as in be asleep.
Fuck’s sake, it’s clearly too late, his own brain is tripping him up. Time to get over into their dreamscape and spend the best part of his day with them, no paper work, no barony, just the three of them doing whatever the fuck they want together.
~
Go-getter and risk taker indeed! This is going to be so good! Quincy can’t wait to meet this woman.
She sent a telegraph back! A telegraph, right the same evening. Oh girl, you want yourself a slice of hunk badly!
And John’s the most adorable kind of nervous. He even let Quincy fuss over his outfit in the morning, the one for driving over to Hartlepool to have a luncheon with his potential future engaged. Their manly man totally did triple check how the vest is sitting on him.
Not that Darcy doing a good impression of the North Sea with how much her reaction shifts like the tides isn’t drama fodder for Quincy, too. He has a front row seat for this and just about the only downside is that Arthur isn’t the best quip sparring partner. Still, Quincy was ready to go huffy when Arthur was all confused why he should be coming along (something about this being a social event,) when his fallen angel took her proverbial flaming sword out. At least he has to assume there are some flames involved, going by the blushing carousel it sets off between Darcy and Arthur.
Somebody write a ‘do they, don’t they’-play about those two, please. He needs more of Cycy flailing about, of course Arthur needing to be along for deciding something for the household they share, only to stutter into a crash and backtracking about not forcing him of course, and if he feels uncomfortable with being social then he can of course hide, but she’d really like his input.
Girl, you don’t know how to read anybody, because Arthur couldn’t hit you harder in the face with how obviously touched he is by being considered if he was aware of it himself.
Ugh, those two! At least John sees it, too, so they can bro snark at each other about the adorable social disasters. How many ‘of course’s was that altogether? It doesn’t sound at all as if there’s anything obvious about the whole thing to either of them. Well, he’ll get to Arthur in time, he has two marriages to facilitate first. One love one, one political, or hey, who knows, their manly man is more than enough hunk for two women and Quincy would pay money for seeing John realise it, too.
So he’ll be on his very best behaviour (and by that he means social wingman game) for that luncheon. Coral their social disasters through it and coach John to make a good impression. He can do that, and goodness, that looks like he’s in for some good sparring. When they finally arrive at the upscale cafe after what felt like hours in the train, it doesn’t take Quincy long to hone in on who must be his opponent here. Wow, talk about picture-perfect for a young lady. And voluptuous at that, he better look out that John’s eyes stay where they should be and that Darcy doesn’t get jealous.
Obviously she has a chaperone with her, a governess, if he’s not mistaken, not a member of her family, and now that’s interesting, too. Did she sneak out or do her parents not care about her? Given her reputation, probably the second. No reason not to show that he knows his etiquette rules, maybe not as perfect as could be for noble company, but still, he can make it through the correct order of introductions and ways John, well, that is, the young Mr Silver, heir to Rossmore, can interact with Miss Powlett.
He’s not surprised when it’s Darcy he has to coach more. She knows her etiquette in theory, but as always, there’s just no decorum with it. The only reason, he suspects, she’s not pouting is because she is trying so hard to be good for John, and she can tell just as much as he can that as far as breast-size preferences and good child-bearing hips go, that woman has her outperformed about three times.
Still, he has the distinct feeling that John is a bit distracted, not only because of the Miss’ two major arguments in front of his nose, no, he’s glancing outside a bit more often than Quincy would have expected. What is he missing here? What did that stubborn hunk not mention?
~
John knows he really should listen better to what Miss Powlett is talking about. She’s clearly telling him her value, her family’s involvement in different aspects of the town, her education, her abilities as a noble. She’s hawking herself as wares as skillfully as he’s ever heard. Heard at auctions he wasn’t supposed to be inside, at meetings his father had that he wasn’t supposed to listen in on. Places that are only a few streets away.
He thought that it wouldn’t be a problem returning to Hartlepool, nobody could possibly recognize him. They wouldn’t be anywhere close to his community, to the synagogue. But he still has the worst, illogical sense that he’ll look out of the cafe windows and spot somebody he knew in a former life at any moment. He’s well aware that the chances of that, of seeing one of the not-even four dozen people like that in a city of thousands is basically non-existent, but he still can’t stop himself from glancing towards the street.
This just feels so… surreal. He’s sitting here as a British nobleman from Whitby, when half a year ago, he was a Jewish merchant’s daughter over on Whitby Street. He thought he had successfully left his old life behind, had buried everything that might remind him, but now he realises that was a lot easier in a castle where everything is new. He can’t even look at the coastline and the harbour here without remembering days he’s looked and longed for them before.
He knows that he is running his hand through his hair too much, that has to be suspicious, and he’s not even entirely sure why he’s doing it. He didn’t cover his hair outside of prayer, so it can’t be that. Maybe he needs to remind himself it’s short now? His own nervousness doesn’t want to make sense, and he knows he’s making a dolt out of himself in front of a woman whom he might need to marry. And that thought, too, feels surreal.
He’s dreamed of marrying a woman for so long, and the one in front of him is way out of his league by any estimate, but all he can think of is: ‘she’s not Darcy’. His girl is trying so hard to be friendly and polite to Miss Powlett, but he can see her insecurity. Can he really do this?
Not that he has much choice. If it’s not Miss Powlett, it’s going to be some other woman, and he has to agree with their molly, she seems like a good choice. Her social standing is worse than theirs, they hold more power, but her choice of writing a letter shows that she isn’t just some wellbred damsel, and their household really wouldn’t be any place for a human like that.
So yes, he should get his head into the game here and try to… he supposes show off that he has somewhat learned to be a good British nobleman by now. Well, best he can, and for everything else he has bro-support. Not that he hasn’t long since noticed that Quincy is giving him little nudges on masculinity. At first, he was terrified of maybe being found out, but their molly hasn’t a single time so much as commented that John might not be a real man.
No, he… trusts Quincy.
And he trusts Darcy, too. So alright, British noble… with a bit of a rake twist, he can do. Let’s see if, between Quincy’s social finesse, Darcy’s wolf instincts, and maybe a tiny bit of daydream cheating, they can’t figure out if this Miss Powlett has any chance of surviving in their household. Oh, and they can use Arthur’s shyness to figure out if she might be too much for him. Darcy would have a tantrum if his fiancée was bad for Arthur, and if there’s one thing John doesn’t need, it’s the two women he somehow has to balance in his life hating each other.
Mentally, he flips Whitby Street off, throws his old life to the sharks a second time, and instead turns fully to the noble lady he might marry in front of him, and this time, there’s a tiny bit of a flutter in his stomach about it, because if this works out, yes, he’ll get to be a dad!
Let’s find out if they could really be a family!
~