A small shake of Caroline’s head told Damien to corral the idea he had, to clear the air of who they were and what they were capable of. As much as he wanted to protest, it was Caroline’s venture. Damien only played a small role. For the time being, he would have to follow her lead.
Two to one. As Caroline reached for the bottle, Damien became aware that a weapon was needed. The sound of glass breaking was his first cue, followed by the rush of patrons to either make a swift exit or gather around to become spectators. He made a lunge for one…
The navigator appeared amused while eyeing the broken end of Caroline’s bottle. He held up his hands to bring the jeers and shouts of the room down to a hush. “You gonna give me a shave with tha’ bottle?”
Damien stepped up and held the handle of a saber out for Caroline. “She will fight you like a real man. If you are keen on being hired.” The passengers remark still scraped against Damien’s skin. “Because we are looking for a navigator, and so far all you’ve done is waste our time.”
-
Caroline took the sword. She looked from one man to the other, letting them bicker between themselves. Here she was, more than ready for action, and the two of them wanted to insult each other. Or actually, correction, the would-be navigator wanted to insult her. Damien was defending her honour, and she was looking for a quick way to climb across the table.
Her eyes darted about the room. Quieter now. She had the stranger to thank for that, and irritation flashed briefly across her face. She had wanted the chaos. The more people throwing chairs, the more likely someone else would do her work for her. All she need to be mindful of was when to duck.
The stranger let out a raspy chuckle. “Waste your - ”
Caroline’s aim was swift and true. The broken bottle collided with the man’s face before he even finished his sentence. Gentlemen had their rules, and traditions that regulated sparring. Even in duels, though technically illegal. She would fight like a real man. Meaning she would fight to win.
She didn’t have another option at this point.
“Flip the table!” she muttered, dashing around Damien into the open space. She kicked a chair toward the stranger - somewhere in the background the yelling began again. The saber was a touch too heavy, and tugged her arm downward as she leaped forward.
“Yes, yes – and-and where might – where might that be?” The conversation mirrored his actual progress, starting and stopping – full of unexpected twists and turns – just like the one now, where he dodged a particularly surly-looking crewman hauling yet another crate on board.
“This place you intend on going, that is?”
There had been something else that niggled at him from her words – her words, combined with the unexpectedly rough-and-ready nature of the men bustling on and off and all around. If he had not known this was Miss Fenn’s proposed vessel, he would not have pegged this suitable for any genteel travel. Why, it looked more suited to the kind of-of clandestine hit-and-run missions he had been on – had ordered himself, once upon a time, on enemy coasts – all the speed, none of the flash or fuss.
He stopped then, frowning as he replayed her earlier words – then quickened his steps to catch up.
“Wait, wait – you said – Mr. Keyes purchased the vessel, to – to further his business ventures, but yet this vessel is also for – for you?”
The relationship between those involved, the motivations – it was all deucedly puzzling – oh. Oh. That was it, was it not? The relationship – Mr. Keyes, with Miss Fenn, at Almack’s, with royal approval of the match.
He stopped again, mouth opening – closing – opening again.
“Why, what a-a romantic this Mr. Keyes of yours is – quite a-a gesture indeed, to purchase and-and equip and gift an entire schooner – in wartime as well.” The words tasted like an admission of loss, of being found less – and perhaps they were, if this Keyes fellow was willing to go this far for a lady’s hand. “Most gentlemen settle for offering jewellery upon engagement.”
A pause, then, with difficulty:
“Allow me to wish – the both of you – joy.”
-
“Thank you.”
The implication of engagement was one Caroline was willing to play along with. It was good cover. For what did one call an unmarried woman who appeared to receive such a ridiculously expensive gift from a gentleman in her acquaintance - a friend? Not quite. It was the most acceptable explanation for why she was here.
“He has an eye for art, and an ear for music. A romantic nature is no doubt inevitable. The only people more inclined to romance are... poets,” she said lightly, attempting to hide her general distaste for poetry. Music she liked. Art she could appreciate. Her inability to conceive a poem of her own, however, left her thoroughly irritated.
“Anyway, I trust him. That matters more than romance.”
Trust in shared history, and mutual understanding. Damien’s motivations were clear to her, and his next steps logical. Even if their goals were not always aligned, there was a consistency of a sort. Caroline ducked around a tall barrel. The men on board did not so much as bat an eye at her presence, but a few glared at her guest.
“You know it’s funny, I rather thought you and I might be more than friends one day.” She started up the stairs that lead up to the quarterdeck, turning her head to call back, “I would have accepted jewelry, for the record. If you had asked.”
Here she was, best vantage point in the house (short of climbing up to the nest). Caroline moved to the railing to look out at the water, and the other ships stationed nearby. She had to admit, she was happier on this damp deck than she’d ever been while trying to navigate the ton.
“Look at this view,” she said, falling into an appreciative silence momentarily. “Well, what’s the verdict then? What do you think of my ship?”
“I – well – no! Not at – “ He stammered at her increasingly wild descriptions; why, that would not be practical at all, given the combined effects of salt water and sun on-on fabric – a bane he himself was all too aware of. But then she mentioned pillows – which brought to mind the last room he had been in that had been more bed and pillow than room –
He flushed, posture straightening in indignation, about to retort back – only to once again be caught unawares at the change in topic. To want the world – well, she and that-that Bonaparte fellow alike, traipsing across sea and desert – perhaps it was indeed a blessing Miss Fenn had refrained from-from speaking plainly for as long as she had.
“Tour – yes, yes, that would be – be most meet.” It was, after all, the most socially appropriate offer he had heard in the past few minutes of their conversation – volleying from one dangerous shoal to the next.
“I say, insult the crew? Ah, Miss Fenn – you will find that as you are their passenger – their reason for sailing at all – it is yourself and any guest that may accompany you they should be respecting, and certainly not the other way around. Insult the crew, ha! What an odd notion! Must come from this being a-a civilian vessel – although.”
He stopped. Now that they were closer to the schooner, it did look far sleeker and more – more dangerous than the usual merchantmen he was used to guarding in convoy.
“This – this is a-a civilian vessel, is it not?” he heard himself ask. Surely not even coincidence would not have both of them attempting the same trick on the Admiralty – and at the same time? “Miss Fenn, how exactly did this Mr. Keyes secure this transport for you?”
-
“He bought it.” She paused. “Outright.”
She narrowed her eyes, casting a rather curious glance in his direction. That was a strange line of questioning, indeed. One that put her on edge. What would it be, if not a civilian ship? She forced her hands, which had curled unbidden into fists, to relax at her sides.
“Its main purpose is to further his business ventures, of course, but from what I understand he wasn’t in the market for an entire ship until... well, until he knew I wanted one.” Needed one. She’d be paying it back ten times over if things went to plan.
“So you’re right, it’s not really the crew that would feel the insult.”
Caroline had been promised the world before. More than once. If she had learned anything, it was that a real ship going on a real voyage was a fair sight better than any imagined luxury. Now she had one to do with as she pleased. For a time. She was not about to sit there, and hear it criticized.
“I do think highly of your expertise in this area, but I have full trust in this vessel. Comfortable or not,” she said, walking onward. Up the rickety gangplank that shifted ever so slightly, causing her to throw out her arms to catch her balance. She hurried up the rest of the way. Not stopping until her feet hit the deck. Her deck. Onboard her ship.
“Oh it really will be lovely. Wherever I end up going.”
His misgivings about this-this Mr. Keyes only grew the more he learned; less of the man himself, but one could tell the quality of man by his actions and choices – and if nothing else, the man’s choice in-in seafaring vessel appropriate for a-a lady like Miss Fenn was, to put it mildly, lacking.
That perhaps he desperately wanted the man himself to be equally lacking, that he might shine in comparison – that he set aside.
Instead, he hastily corrected what was likely a clear look of dismay, if not horror, when the schooner was pointed out to him – rearranged it into one of critical inspection. “B-Black Dahlia – I say, that sounds a most, hrm –” inappropriate, insalubrious, but Miss Fenn had taken great offense at his attempts to guide her in Society before; perhaps here, on the docks, he could acquiesce to her request for-for foregoing formalities –
Only to be brought up short at yet another surprising change in topic.
“Well, I – don’t we all? There is nothing quite like – like returning to civilized company after months, if not years, scraping by with just one’s serving officers. That is to say, we all do our best on these ships, of course, but – well, one does tend to get lax after a while – and-and of course I am not counting the places where one might be stationed. By Jove, you could barely call some of the-the natives we have come across a-a society – savages, true ones, to be sure – why, let me tell you –”
He caught himself then; stopped, aghast – the last lady he had so regaled with tales of foreign encounters had been the Viscountess Kenworthy, and her reaction had been telling to say the least.
He cleared his throat – turned pointedly back to the schooner they were contemplating. “Did you mention where you and-and your Mr. Keyes were planning on going? Only – such a schooner is a fine one for speed and maneuverability and the like, but a comfortable voyage it would not be – not for-for a lady like yourself.”
Then, in a spark of generosity, “Perhaps – perhaps I can come aboard? I would be happy to offer any service I may – a-an independent inspection, so to speak, to put any concerns to rest?”
-
“Concerns about comfortability?” she said, raising an eyebrow. The corners of her lips twitched. Without even thinking about it, she latched onto the topic to avoid the question of where she would be going. She had not told even Damien. That piece of information was her one bargaining chip.
“And what would you be looking for in such an inspection? Down cushions on every chair, and linens of silk to caress me as I sleep?” she asked. Her face split into a wide grin. “Oh, and extra pillows! To line the floor when the ship rolls. Indeed, it is very uncomfortable being tossed across the cabin.”
Pillows on the walls, as well.
Caroline took a moment to regain her composure. A feat not easily accomplished with the image of a man like the Butcher - burly, grouchy, and towering over the rest - bouncing back and forth between padded walls. Truly, a bit of padding wasn’t a terrible idea. Until it inevitably got wet, started molding, and became a nesting spot for mice.
“May I speak plainly?” She turned to face him. Studied his expression. After a season of biting her tongue, some honesty would be refreshing (and she was fairly certain this opinion wasn’t verging on illegal like her revolutionary words of five minutes ago).
“I desire the world, Lord Effingham. Nothing less. I want to see and touch and taste it. Discomfort in travel is a small price to pay, and whatever awaits me beyond the sight of our shores, I will prevail.”
Caroline did not believe in much, but in this she did. If there was discomfort to bear, she would manage it. If the sea turned sailors into monsters, she would vanquish them or she would perish. Then, one day, if things went according to plan, she would have a much larger, extremely comfortable ship. Silk linens and several cannons.
“Shall I give you a tour of the deck, then?” She moved toward the ship.
No options. There was – was no way she could have known of his situation, yet in the context of all the other topics discussed so far – the order of things, revolution, mutiny – he could not help but make the connection.
“Well – that-that is to say, why – therein lies the difference between man and-and gentleman –”
Mention of this mysterious Mr. Keyes again, and try as he might, he could not recall what this gentleman was like – could not recall even having met him, despite the man having been just on the opposite side of Miss Fenn.
A Miss Fenn that had once again taken advantage of his inattention – had slipped past him – he started, but too late; fortunate, then, that she had headed towards the gangplank rather than toward the cabin.
“I – well now, you are also here to-to see your own ship, were you not?” He hurried to catch up – cast a quick look back at the Belinda just in case – then offered her his arm. “Here – allow me to escort you – I insist. After all, you did also promise me a tour.”
Depending on how close this ship of hers was docked, perhaps he might even swing past the Executor again – get Davies to take a look at what other stores could be loaded early.
“You will, of course, have to point it out to me – do you know the name of the vessel, perchance?” Vessel, but it was likely some – some smaller, sailing craft; nothing larger than a-a river barge – ladies had such grandiose notions of their own travel arrangements after all. “And would – would your Mr. Keyes also be there? I do not believe we have been introduced.”
-
“That’s a shame, the two of you would surely get on,” she said, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. Those who could charm often found themselves in good company with those who had coin to spare. That said, with her departure date nearly at hand, it was not the time for any more unnecessary risk. Better to keep them apart if she could.
“He is around here somewhere.”
Caroline glanced down at his arm. Silently weighed the pros and the cons of letting herself be seen acting the part of gentle lady, the opposite of the reputation she needed to uphold on these docks, as opposed to potentially offending an earl. Who, in her humble opinion, could use a bit of offending. She offered him a gentle smile.
“Perhaps we might... forgo formalities?” she said, gesturing to his arm. With that, she started down the gangplank, hands kept to herself. Once again taking the lead. She paused at the bottom, finding steady footing on the dock, and waited for him to catch up before she continued on.
“She’s called the Black Dahlia,” she said, “Just like an old ghost story my father used to tell, so it seemed fateful. Though I must admit I’m not one for fantastical stories myself. Oh there... straight ahead.”
Caroline nodded. In the distance was another schooner with a handful of rough looking sailors carrying boxes up to the deck. The name had been re-painted, so recently it was not completely dry.
“Do you miss your home terribly when you’re gone?”
Whatever initial relief he had felt at the accepted change in topic was quickly replaced by a-a new wave of wariness – his initial nod in response to her comment turning into him goggling at her instead, drawing nearer if only – if only to ensure any exchange did not have far to travel.
“Mutiny, Miss Fenn – the word you are looking for is-is black, bloody mutiny,” he hissed in a low voice, eyes darting around again for any unwelcome eavesdroppers. “Good God, do you mean to bring down attention on us all? What a topic to raise here!”
Then, realizing their proximity, he stepped back – clearing his throat. “The Spithead and Nore mutinies in ‘97, you see – not that-that long ago that people still remember – especially mutinies so close on the heels of-of a damme French-Irish invasion attempt the December preceding.”
1796 had not been a kind year to anyone – but even he had felt a pang of sympathy for the poor devils lost at the bottom of Bantry Bay.
He gentled his tone then, recalling his audience – despite her questions, she had not asked to be so-so troubled by upsetting news. “Men become different creatures indeed, when desperate – and there is nothing quite like being adrift at sea, at the mercy of wind and wave and command alike to-to make one desperate. Nevertheless, I – I say.”
Mr. Keyes, accompanying her. How odd – usually it was-was the other way around, especially if the lady in question were wed to the gentleman engaged in travel.
“Is this voyage on your Mr. Keyes’ business? It strikes me a-a dangerous risk to be taking you along – travel is fraught as it is, the chances of-of running into a French or even a Spanish patrol notwithstanding.”
-
Caroline stood her ground when he drew close. Too close. Intimidating with his presence the same way some of her crew attempted to try her patience. She stood as still as a statue, staring at him, adrenaline rushing to her extremities as instinct prepared to take over. Dodge, ideally. Strike if she must.
When the captain stepped away, she looked immediately to the docks. Taking note of one of her own crew who, in turn, was eyeing the interaction upon schooner. His dark hair and scruffy bread did not mark the man in any particular way, save for the jagged scar that ran through one of his eyebrows. His expression one of pure contempt for the man who stood beside her
She was fine.
“You might say man and beast are not so different. If you corner a wild animal, it will act accordingly. If you give a man no options, he will... act accordingly.”
The voyage was business of a sort. Her own as much as anyone else’s, but that seemed like a lot to explain. Particularly to someone whose worldview was founded on the supposed natural order of society. An order that only allowed her to take up one of three roles: trophy, peasant, or harlot. No other options.
“No sea excursion would be complete without some risk. Mr. Keyes and I have considered this,” she continued, sidestepping the question of business as nimbly as she moved away from the side of the ship. She slipped past the captain once more, this time on her way back to the gangplank.
“But your concerns are noted. Should I find myself captured or sinking, I can remind myself you warned me so, if you like?” she called back, and then, “That is to say, I will have to deal with the situation at hand first, but surely there will be a moment of despair in which I can ruminant on my choices.”
She paused near the top of the gangplank.
“I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about touring only the deck?”
A strong desire in him wanted to grab Billy’s wrist and pin it to the table. For the sheer intrusion into Caroline’s space. Damien knew well enough the move was meant to intimidate. To shake them both up, loosen the grit impossibly hidden under the finer clothes and fragrances from their borrowed, sponsored society homes.
The bait had been left untouched. Damien carried on with pacing himself through the many rounds of drinks. The boat, the crew– these were pieces of a machinery for his escape out of London. For Caroline, the excursion meant so much more. A trade of all the prior months of dancing, performative smiles, curtsies, tolerating condescending parlor conversations, and fending savage commentary from the ton.
Damien followed her lead. Even the suggestion of downing drinks to see who might approach the navigator– he could not miss a beat. He lifted his cup level with hers. A small smile shared with only Caroline. “I’ll drink to that. On your–”
The interruption came from the bar. The nameless navigator had turned on his stool to watch the table. Before Caroline’s cup could reach her lips… “ ‘Ey! Now then!” A shout– gruff, textured by rum and too many late nights in the tavern halted Damien’s attempt to drink. The voice did not match the youthful person it came from. Tall, thin and spindly like an overgrown teenager. Large blue eyes, a thick honeyed head of hair. “Dutch courage ain’t gonna help with the… negotiations. But fightin’ me will. I ain’t steppin’ foot on board a ship with two passengers like you two. ‘Less you prove you can hold yer own.”
A scrap of benches and chairs pushed away from tables criss crossed the room. The tavern began to empty. The barkeep disappeared like smoke. Damien set his cup down with more of a pause than he had previously displayed. But he nodded. “I assure you that we are not merely passengers.” A quick glance to Caroline. May I tell them? Oh, please. Let him tell the others.
-
Caroline shook her head. Wherever that statement was about to lead, they still had several weeks to get through. Preparations to make. If they ever showed their hand, they had to mind the timing. Right now was too soon. She set down her cup - though one more sip would hardly make a difference - and waited for the room to settle. For the weak-hearted among them to scamper off into the shadows.
“It’s two to one,” she whispered, knowing full well that anyone who remained in this room intended to join in the fray. Between drink and ignorance, injuries were inevitable. But so was the need to establish a hierarchy.
Pushing her chair back, Caroline slowly stood. She reached across the table. Picked up a bottle by the neck. She weighed it in her hands a moment, and glanced over at Damien. She wondered, then, if he could read her thoughts as often as she felt she could his. They were about to find out, she supposed, and she flipped the bottle around in her hand.
She slammed it down on the table. Smashed off the bottom half, and lifted up the jagged edge as she kicked the chair out from behind her. Taking the sound a cracking glass as a cue, what was left of the crowd erupted into a terrible din: cursing, cheering, and the clink of a cup hitting the wall after being tossed across the room.
He blinked, uncomprehending of her words – surely it was for him, the gentleman, to be-be solicitous of the lady’s well-being? – yet she was the one asking. Yes, he had been-been perhaps burning the candle at both ends the past few days – week – what with-with preparations and that damme house party – how poorly did he look to have elicited that concern?
“No, no – I-I thank you for your concern, but I am – I am quite well, I assure you.” A pang of regret that – perhaps, an earlier version of himself, earlier this Season – he may have welcomed such gentle concern; as it was – “Begging your pardon, was carried away for a moment – and – well, I am certain each and every one of us knows someone lost in this-this war; certainly I would not presume to be-be the sole person affected.”
The wood of the siding behind him was reassuring in its solidity; he inhaled – the familiar scent of the sea and the polish on the deck grounding him once again.
“And – I say, Miss Fenn – a-a word of caution on your comments just now. In these times – at this particular location, why – they could be misconstrued as-as positively revolutionary, if you take my meaning.” He pointedly glanced around; the docks in this part of the harbor were not quite as crawling with his Britannic Majesty’s men – but there were still a good number of navy coats – Marines in their scarlet at drills – and any number of eager ears waiting for whispers.
He cleared his throat then, looking away. “In any event, order is-is particularly important when it comes to management of a crew – without it, why, any anarchy is possible once out of sight of the shore. You yourself, Miss Fenn, will find the natural order – your sole means of security, once away at sea among a crew you do not know – who, given the exigencies of a sea voyage, may well turn to-to desperate measures.”
-
“You’re quite right. I’ve spoken out of turn. I shouldn’t wish anyone to think I’m... well, I admit, I’ve been reading perhaps too many novels lately. I am but a woman, and you know how silly we can be at times.”
Every word she spoke felt like a small paper cut, unexpectedly sharp and tediously unpleasant. Caroline bristled behind a look of concern. Her brow knit, and her lips pressed together. No, indeed, she should wish anyone here to find her revolutionary. Not yet. That seemed a surefire way to find Jack Ketch on her dance card.
Caroline moved toward the side of the ship. Stepping lightly. She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the side, and looked out at the docks. The more time she spent out here, the further away society seemed until it almost disappeared. Freedom quite nearly within her reach. But whether she was of the ton or not, there would always be men who needed to be told what they wanted to hear.
What an unpleasant thought.
“As to desperate measures, my cousin had me take a lesson in pistols this summer,” she remarked. Not for that purpose, but providence once again favored the prepared. Learning new skills always came in handy eventually.
“I don’t think it will come to that.”
Not when there were so many better, more creative ways to put one’s foot down. A pistol was a last defense; a brutal lesson was a deterrent. She ran her fingers on the railing.
“And I will be accompanied by Mr. Keyes. I trust him to see me safety to my destination, whether there is order or not.” She paused. “Have you ever experienced anarchy on one of your voyages?”
How did they first meet? They were brought along on “jobs” that their fathers worked on together. Damien was there to learn, and Caroline was there to fit into places no one else could reach. When not needed for the work, they were left on their own, together, which lead to a friendship. They kept in touch as they grew older via letter.
What was their first impression of each other? She thought he was more pleasant than his father. He thought she was okay for a little kid.
Did any of their friends or family want them to get together? Neither of their families were involved enough to be aware. (If they had known, the fathers would have gotten into a feud over dowry, and Caroline’s mother would have wavered between supportive and unsupportive depending on her mood.)
Who felt romantic feelings first? Same time.
Did either of them try to resist their feelings? Not initially
If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think? Caroline doesn’t believe in soulmates.
What would their lives be like if they had never met? Damien’s might have been a bit shorter since Caroline saved his life once when they were younger. Caroline would be living out the most mediocre version of her life somewhere in England.
GENERAL
Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go? Mutual flirting began the first time they ran into each other as young adults. Both were interested. It ended up being a wrong time, wrong place, mismatched goals kind of situation.
Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like? A very long walk along the shore while Damien explained in great detail the next “job” he would be undertaking.
What was their first kiss like? Highly anticipated
Were they each other’s first anything? Heartbreak
What’s their height difference? Age difference? He’s taller, and 6 years older.
What’s their relationship with each other’s families? They try to avoid their families when possible, but it’s generally amenable.
Who takes the lead in social situations? They defer to each other when it seems socially appropriate for the other person to take the lead.
Who gets jealous easier? They are both prone to envy.
Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear? Both
LOVE
Who said “I love you” first? Neither. They don’t need to say it.
What are their primary love languages? Trust, although they both like gifts as well.
Who uses cheesy pick-up lines? Neither
How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA? Engaging in PDA can be a good way to provide cover during a heist.
Who initiates kisses? Both
Who’s the big and little spoon? They usually face each other rather than spoon. More like one person on their back with the other pressed up against their side, someone’s head resting on the other’s chest.
What are their favorite things to do together? Acquire money, and Caroline likes to listen to Damien play the pianoforte.
Who’s better at comforting the other? Damien
Who’s more protective? Both
Do they prefer verbal or physical affection? Physical, neither has been particularly adept at putting their feelings for each other into words.
What kind of nicknames do they call each other? They don’t do nicknames, but they are good at remembering each other’s aliases.
Who remembers the little things? Both
DOMESTIC LIFE
If they get married, who proposes? Damien
What’s the wedding like? Who attends? An exchange of jewelry while in bed with no witnesses or officiant. The only reason anyone even knows is because they start referring to each other as husband and wife all the time, not just when they are pulling a scam in port. If they need to prove it at some point, they will forge documents.
How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like? One, by accident. The child will be clever, nimble-fingered, and exceptionally pretty. If they decide they like the first one enough, there may be a few more.
Do they have any pets? Unlikely, but you never know when a stray might follow someone home.
Who’s the stricter parent? Neither had particularly good parenting role models, and it’s probably a toss up depending on the situation and who is in a bad mood.
Who worries the most? They trade off.
Who kills the bugs in the house? Both
How do they celebrate holidays? Drinking, shopping, general carousing
Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning? Damien is more likely to try, and Caroline is more likely to be successful.
Who’s the better cook? They are both adequate when they need to be.
Who likes to dance? They like to dance with each other.
How did they first meet? In the aftermath of a carriage accident.
What was their first impression of each other? Caroline thought he was extremely helpful, if not a particularly willing to engage in conversation.
Did any of their friends or family want them to get together? Caroline’s cousin pushed her to endear herself to any man with a title. The Howard St. Johns questioned her heritage in the Whistledown almost immediately after her arrival.
Who felt romantic feelings first? Archie
Did either of them try to resist their feelings? Archie was too preoccupied with other women and personal affairs throughout the season to follow up with her despite his attraction.
If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think? Caroline doesn’t believe in soulmates.
What would their lives be like if they had never met? Caroline wouldn’t had such a terrible time at the Queen’s luncheon.
GENERAL
Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go? Archie asked to court her at Vauxhall, and she said yes.
Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like? They spent an afternoon in the park. Archie got robbed.
What was their first kiss like? n/a
Were they each other’s first anything? Archie was the first person she met in London.
What’s their height difference? Age difference? He’s taller, 7 years
What’s their relationship with each other’s families? They don’t have much of a relationship with each other’s families.
Who takes the lead in social situations? Caroline is usually the one to initiate conversation between the two of them. Archie likes to take the lead for whatever activity they’re doing.
Who gets jealous easier? They both get jealous easily, but for different reasons.
Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear? Caroline, if the relationship were to ever progress that far.
LOVE
Who said “I love you” first? Archie
What are their primary love languages? Spending time together
Who uses cheesy pick-up lines? Archie
How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA? Occasional cuddling in private. Anything in public, no.
Who initiates kisses? Both, but Archie’s overtures are always preceded by a long-winded monologue that eventually leads up to asking if he can kiss her. Caroline might not let him finish.
Who’s the big and little spoon? Archie is the big spoon, and Caroline is the little spoon. They think about switching positions from time to time, but never actually discuss or take the initiative to do so.
What are their favorite things to do together? Sailing
Who’s better at comforting the other? Caroline. Archie never seems to say the right thing.
Who’s more protective? Probably equal, but Archie would say it out loud more.
Do they prefer verbal or physical affection? Verbal, everyone likes a compliment.
What kind of nicknames do they call each other? The closest they would get to nicknames would be calling each other by their first names.
Who remembers the little things? Caroline
DOMESTIC LIFE
If they get married, who proposes? Archie
What’s the wedding like? Who attends? Pretty traditional. Select members of their families would be in attendance, as well as close friends, and fashionable members of the ton.
How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like? This is a question for Archie. He is the one always thinking about it.
Do they have any pets? Any animals already present at Polesden Lacey.
Who’s the stricter parent? Caroline
Who worries the most? Archie
Who kills the bugs in the house? Caroline when no one is looking. Otherwise the staff.
How do they celebrate holidays? Depends on the holiday, and who is around.
Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning? They both like to be up in the early morning.
Welcome to Meme Friday at The Season! 🌸 Each Friday (usually), we’ll post one or two memes for characters to reblog on their accounts. Reblogging the meme indicates that you are accepting asks from it, and that you’re also sending asks out to others. Enjoy!
Send me a ship and I’ll fill out the questionnaire.
— SHIP QUESTIONS
PRE-RELATIONSHIP
How did they first meet?
What was their first impression of each other?
Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?
Who felt romantic feelings first?
Did either of them try to resist their feelings?
If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?
What would their lives be like if they had never met?
GENERAL
Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?
Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?
What was their first kiss like?
Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?
What’s their height difference? Age difference?
What’s their relationship with each other’s families?
Who takes the lead in social situations?
Who gets jealous easier?
Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear?
LOVE
Who said “I love you” first?
What are their primary love languages?
Who uses cheesy pick-up lines?
How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?
Who initiates kisses?
Who’s the big and little spoon?
What are their favorite things to do together?
Who’s better at comforting the other?
Who’s more protective?
Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?
What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?
What kind of nicknames do they call each other?
Who remembers the little things?
DOMESTIC LIFE
If they get married, who proposes?
What’s the wedding like? Who attends?
How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like?
Do they have any pets?
Who’s the stricter parent?
Who worries the most?
Who kills the bugs in the house?
How do they celebrate holidays?
Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?
Yes, fain exhausted from the effort – precisely the reason for this very ship, also why he needed her off of it post-haste, lest she discover something, hrm, incriminating – not that there was any evidence of those particular preparations he could recall, but – well.
“Wh-why, the devil do you mean, t-tire of-of the done thing? It is – is simply the way things are; the-the way things are-are meant to be – one might as well fault the sun for-for rising in the east; or-or cats for their penchant for mice –”
Strangely, now that he had started, he found himself oddly fervent on the topic – impassioned, even, in defense of a system – nay, the only system he had known all his life, albeit one that had then betrayed him.
“One might say not doing the Done Thing – why, that is what caused the mess in France. Only think! Peasants and-and tradesmen, thinking they can govern? Is it any surprise as to-to where that led? – the overthrow of the-the natural order – this damme war and-and all the damme unnecessary death –”
Too much. His mouth snapped shut, turning white at what he had almost let slip.
-
“War and death are a given, no matter who is in charge.”
History had proven that many times over. What he called the natural order, seemed altogether unnatural to her. Why should a handful of men, usually far from the front line, be the ones to decide the fate of so many? Particularly when the only qualification for the position was the circumstance of one’s birth.
“I think everyone should have a say in their own life. Especially peasants and tradesmen. The world is built upon their backs, and we would not fair well without them,” she said, over her shoulder. Then, finally, she looked back.
Something had changed between the start of their tour - a loose definition of the term, indeed - and her having taken several strides across the deck. The man appeared ill.
“Forgive me.”
Caroline cast a quick look about for something, anything, that might break his fall should he suddenly keel over. Coils of rope did not make a good cushion, and there wasn’t much else to choose from. He’d been ever so insistent they remain up top. She raised her hands. Um.
“You’ve... lost someone? A brother-in-arms?” she ventured to guess. It seemed the logical conclusion of speaking on war and unnecessary death. If she could keep him talking, perhaps that would help. Or it might make things worse.
“Oh, oh I-I see.” And he could, he realized – finding himself smiling at the thought of a-a smaller, even more elfin version of Miss Fenn – sitting with all the solemnity a child could summon at the foot of her father by the fire; somehow in his imaginings, the father was in uniform – and then, his traitorous thoughts jumped to what her children might be like – completely out of line and inappropriate, of course –
It was in this dazed state that he watched – stupidly fond grin on his face – Miss Fenn sweep by him – up the gangplank, and on to the very boat he had been determined to bar her from.
“I-I say – Miss Fenn, I-I must protest – this is not – this is not at all the done thing, you see –” He found himself scrambling, in thought as well as in deed; at least she had remained on deck rather than below – had he put away the maps and charts? Bother.
“And the-the foodstuffs will be loaded later, closer to the date of the-the departure – not that you would know, of course – why, there is a great difference between the-the provisioning of a merchant vessel as compared to a-a ship o’ war – and-and –”
Finally, he had caught up – gotten ahead of her – and was this not the sad tale of the entire Season, that he was constantly giving chase and losing sight of her, only to be confronted at the most inexplicable moments?
His arms were spread out side-to-side, as if to bar her from any further progress – suddenly conscious of the ridiculous image he must be painting, he cleared his throat, lowering the arms as if he had – had meant to gesture broadly in explanation instead.
“If-if it is a brief tour of-of the deck – and the deck only, mind – I-I would be happy to oblige. As you yourself noted, it is indeed the Bermuda rigging; speed, of course, is the greatest strength of-of such a schooner – in addition to its far shallower draft –” He paused mid-gesture. “You do know what draft is, in reference to a sailing craft, yes? It is – it is –”
Her ship, she had mentioned previously – a simple statement that was almost proprietary. How odd, especially coming from a young miss.
“I say,” he said instead, now thoroughly distracted, “Did – did you mention what kind of ship yours was – that you came today to see?”
-
Caroline might have likened him then to a great bird of prey. Massive wingspan reaching out, appearing as if he might take off from right there where he stood. Much to the shock (and horror) of anyone watching. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, bringing a hand to her mouth to hide any amusement.
Now the only question worth asking was if her presence on this supply ship was really that much of an offence to delicate sensibilities - not the done thing, he had said - or if there was some other reason to be flapping around. Distracting her. Men did get so uppity about their ships, though, it was hard to say.
“It’s the same, actually, which is what drew my interest to this one,” she answered, turning her head away to see what little she could from her limited vantage point. “Mine is gaff-rigged. A Bermuda is fine too, of course. Though I suppose it doesn’t make much difference to you.”
She paused.
"Being as this is only a supply ship.”
Caroline offered him a small smile. She gestured across the ship.
“I accept your offer of a tour. Shall we walk from one side of the deck to the other then?” Rather than waiting for him to take the lead as she usually did (as she had been once instructed, gentle manners and all), Caroline turned, and began walking.
“I do wonder, do you never tire of the done thing?”
She was lighter on her feet than expected, was his first thought – then, damme it, perhaps not the-the best of ideas to permit her onboard –
He swiftly side-stepped; when that failed – hastened ahead to block off the gangplank.
“It-it would be my pleasure to – only, given the-the fact that preparations are still being made – this schooner too is to be-be in service; as a supply vessel to the larger frigate you mentioned earlier – perhaps best that we not, hrm, compromise the security of naval preparations.”
He cleared his throat; straightened his jacket. “I would be delighted to-to discuss the particulars from – from where we stand. And –”
Schooner, she had said, and then correctly identified the-the rigging.
“Might I express my compliments on your extensive knowledge of your ships, Miss Fenn? I say, it is – it is one thing to have identified the-the knots used on the ropes back at the-the Regatta – another altogether to-to know the rigging here.” He eyed her curiously. “Remarkable, really – I beg your pardon if I had already asked, but – might you have family in the service? How came you by such expertise?”
-
Caroline pulled up short. Stuck in a very unintended dance, she halted when he placed himself between her and the vessel. She took a step back. Glanced past him toward the crowd on the dock. His explanations were at the ready, and she supposed a captain would have to check on his supplies.
“No family in the service. Just a home near the sea.” The question had been asked before, and her answer remained unchanged. Polite, vague, and oh who cared anymore.
“Much of it I learned from my father,” she admitted. When others spoke, she listened, and the man had done a lot of talking on the subject. “He found it amusing for a child, a girl no less, to be able to recite off more about ships than some of the men of his acquaintance. They were less amused.”
Particularly if there was any betting involved. Caroline looped around the spot where he stood, guarding the gangplank with his life on behalf of their Majesties. Then she began to walk toward the other end of the ship.
“Do you really believe that my seeing what foodstuffs shall grace your captain’s table is going to compromise the security of the royal navy?”
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