bold the aesthetic that applies to your muse. italicize what can sometimes apply to your muse. repost. don’t reblog.
i was tagged by @cclkestis!! thank u <3
i’ll tag uuhhh @vamprose, @resoluteshadow, @callmeredhood and uuhh anyone else that has ocs?? i want to know about all of them...
florence abberline ♡
(tumblr destroyed the quality of this i am so sorry--)
𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐋.
tired eyes. coffee stains on the table. listening to the bustle of the city. unmade beds. ponytails. sunlight seeping through the curtains. chapped lips. walking barefoot across the floorboards. dusty dictionaries. black and white reruns. huge sweaters. the ticking of the clock. hearing birds in the morning. fireplaces. falling asleep during class.
𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄
freckles. the sun rising. watching the sea. taking shots of the city. historical museums. bright eyes. looking up at the clouds. walls covered in artworks. drawing in the middle of lessons. tracing your fingers on the sand. painting for hours. staying in uncrowded coffee-shops. worn paperbacks. messy braids. going to bed with your kneesocks on.
𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐐𝐔𝐄
dark hair. a little sophisticated. always observing the world around you. intricate designs. high ceilings. extravagant musical pieces. dim lights. colorless photographs. fancy furniture. pale skin. hearing soft footfalls coming from outside the room. mischievous looks. bitten nails. candlelight dinners. dark shades of lipstick.
𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋.
chandeliers. the clinking of a teacup mug. laced clothing. modern architecture. light hair. watching the view from the terrace. hidden birthmarks. drinking tea in the morning. wandering about in an empty building. botanical gardens. old films. ancient marble sculptures. expensive perfume. breakfasts in bed. reading stories about mythology.
𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂
compassion. short writings on scraps of paper. blushed cheeks. a bouquet of roses. reading collections of poetry late at night. loose hair. carpeted floors. attending operas. faint music playing in the background. staying under the covers until midday. the night sky. streetlights. picking flowers. dancing around in silk dresses. scented candles.
―; summary: getting ready for the dinner party is a lot more anxiety-filled than anyone had perhaps thought-- for good reason, too.
―; pairing: jacob frye x ofc
―; word count: 4.4k
―; warnings: light swearing. willard generally making me uncomfortable ksjdksj
―; A/N: They!! Them!! i had a burst of “let’s write” today and slammed out like half of this so please pardon any stupid mistakes kshdskd please do enjoy, however, bc i’m love Them and i want everyone else to too!
―; tags: @vamprose (bebbee) (p.s. do ask if you’d like to be tagged in the future!)
“Felicity!” Florence groaned, puffing out her chest perhaps more than was needed in order to prove a point. “The seams will burst if you--” Lace tightened again and she sucked in a sharp breath, “-- adjust the corset any further.”
Lissie ignored her, contemplating whether or not to tie it up or continue pulling. It appears she had decided on the latter. “Nonsense.” She unthreaded a portion of the lace, finally allowing Florence to take a deep breath, before simply making the section achingly tighter. “You’re having dinner with nobility, dear; we must accentuate those hips of yours else--”
“I think you forget that I have no plans on marrying Willard.” There was a pause. “He’s a prick.”
Lissie chortled behind her, finally tying the lace up and patting her back, making sure everything was in place. “Yes, but you have to look like you want to marry him and bear those beautiful, golden-haired children of his.”
Florence gagged, turning to collect her crinolette from the chair with a frown. “I’ll have nightmares for weeks if you’re not careful.”
The maid took it from her and gestured for her to lean over somewhat so she could shimmy it over Florence’s body. “Besides,” She began, watching on as Florence did a strange little jig, helping the crinolette settle over her hips and backside evenly. A dastardly curl tugged at the maid’s lips, “Jacob’s to be going with you, is he not?” Florence groaned, rubbing the space between her brows. “It’s not such a bad thing to make him look at your arse--”
“Lissie!” She hit the maid, stopping her from sliding petticoats over Florence’s head. Lissie did that dirty little giggle of hers before continuing with the task at hand. “I don’t-- I’m not going to--”
“Don’t lie to me, dear.” Lissie’s face was so deadpan that it made one wonder how desensitised she truly was to topics like this. Florence, on the other hand, had red-tinged ears and a twist to her lips that told of a loss of innocence. “He’s a handsome man. It’s only right that you might want to… butter the biscuit--”
“Felicity, no--”
“Perhaps a bit of dancing in the sheets?”
“I have no intention to seduce Jacob in the middle of Willard’s estate.” Florence huffed, turning to collect up her skirts and throw them over her head. “That’s… so many levels of sin and I,” Her nose upturned slightly, a certain amusement dancing about in her eyes, “am a woman of great virtue.”
Lissie pursed her lips, bending over to ensure that Florence’s dress fell properly around her ankles. “Well,” She straightened herself again, blue eyes meeting brown, “I would’ve at your age. The naughtiness makes it all the better.”
Florence’s lips curled into an inquisitive smirk, an eyebrow raised as she slid her arms into her bodice, slowly buttoning it with a look in her eyes that was enough to make any criminal confess. “I feel like there’s a story behind that statement.” She flattened the material down, spinning about in the mirror to check how she looked, before dragging her gaze back to Lissie. “Pray tell?”
Lissie rolled her lips inwards, contemplating. Then, with a sigh, she gestured toward that vanity table, encouraging Florence to sit. “Fine. I’ll tell you while I sort out your hair, though you mustn’t tell anyone-- especially not the leatherworker down the road.”
Florence gasped. “You didn’t!”
“It’s…” Lissie huffed out a laugh, clicking her tongue, “... probably not what you think.”
--
The sky had darkened outside, a mere strip of orange at the horizon and the beginnings of stars dotting the heavens. Florence had made a little home at the dining table, speaking with her brother about the possible events of the night. Every-so-often, he would have to hold one of her shaking hands or made a stupid joke-- as is the way of older brothers-- to calm her poor nerves. She’d end up ripping her hair out and no one wanted that; Lissie would kill him.
“When do you think the carriage driver will be here?” Her voice had a tinge of worry to it, words forced out a little faster than usual. Florence hadn’t stopped chewing her lips since Lissie had finished with her hair.
“Soon, I suspect.” Freddy had said this quickly, wanting to take a sip of tea to brace himself for the question he planned to ask next. “Why are you so… concerned about this whole ordeal? It’s unlike you, Florrie; where’s the girl that was spitting on kidnappers?”
Her mouth twisted into a smile at that, though one of her hands came up to hide it, eyes still proclaiming worry. “He-- Willard-- just feels so much more…” Her eyes dragged across the room as she searched for a word. Finally, her gaze met his again, “... serious. I’m tired of being two different people-- my name may as well be bloody... Margaret when I’m with him. Lying is harder when the prospect of marrying the villain is so very real.”
Frederick hummed, dark eyes glazed with thought. “Father wouldn’t want you to marry anyone you were opposed to. Besides,” The look he gave her was earnest, “all we need is a shred of evidence-- solid evidence-- against him and I can get him arrested myself. Speaking of which,” He turned slightly so that he could look toward the door, “where is Mister Frye?”
Florence clasped her hands together, trying to push the worry into the pit of her stomach rather than letting it loose in her heart. “I’m sure he’s nearby.” Freddy gave her an unconvinced look. “Jacob wouldn’t break his promise to me.”
“You trust him a lot.” Freddy clicked his tongue, stirring his spoon about in his tea. Then, he withdrew it from the cup and pointed it at his sister. “He’s an assassin, you know? They deal in lies and secrecy.”
“Freddy--”
He held his hands up, surrendering. “I’m just making an observation, Florrie. I don’t want you to put all of your coins in one pot only to later realise that it’s actually a tube.”
“Jacob is not a tube--”
A knock came to the door, along with muffled conversation. Freddy and Florence shot each other a look and he rose from his chair.
“It’s Jacob.”
“Or, the carriage driver.”
Florence’s expression soured and Frederick took that as his queue to leave her at the table. Good thing that he did too, else that pompous tie he wore would be strangling him.
Another two knocks rapped against their door and Freddy heard an exasperated sigh on the other side. He fiddled with the lock for a few moments before opening the door, revealing not one Frye but two. How wonderful. He felt his very soul shiver.
“-- you not tell me sooner? If you believe him to be a threat, you could’ve--”
“Evening, Freddy. Looking as handsome as ever.” Jacob squeezed in through the door, tipping his hat-- his top hat-- in greeting as he passed the police officer. Evie followed suit, too caught up in lecturing her brother to even say a quick ‘hello’ to Freddy, who looked like he’d been through a hurricane and a half without the night having even begun.
“-- warned me so I could sort it out. Aren’t you too busy doing that Pearl woman’s dirty work to be attending dinner parties?”
Jacob spun around on his heel, making Evie bump into him, which in turn only angered her further. “Why can I not do both? Didn’t you always want me to be more active in civilised society?” Florence poked her head around the doorway to see Evie clench her fist. Jacob’s head dipped to the side, as if he wanted to invade her space but didn’t want a black eye before the event. “Or, have you finally become aware that I’m the one doing all the work? God forbid that I take a night off, lest all of London fall, right, Evie?”
“You’re impossible!”
He blanked her and peered around his sister in hopes of meeting eyes with the sergeant. “Where’s Flor, Freddy?”
“Why must you always have your own agenda, Jacob?” Evie tried to interject to very little avail; her brother had no desire to continue their argument. He was there for Florence and, by God, he wouldn’t disappoint.
Frederick pointed loosely in the direction of the dining room, other hand raised to his forehead as if that might protect him from an oncoming headache. “Over there, anxiously eating this morning’s loaf, most likely.”
Florence, by this point, had hidden herself from view again, debating on whether she should barge into the kitchen to ask for comfort from Lissie or to suck it all up and face the rage of Evie Frye and the inevitability of tonight’s dinner plans. Just as she was about to decide on the former, hands fumbling with the door to the kitchen, three bodies turned the corner and stopped in place, watching her pat down her dress as though that was all that she had ever planned to do. Florence was a smart woman, but this was one of the occasions in which she certainly was not.
“Hello.” She said, voice wavering in such a way that she sounded like a prepubescent boy. Jacob’s lips tugged upwards.
“You look beautiful.” He replied. Freddy grimaced and Evie rolled her eyes to the side, disgusted by the prospect that their respective sibling might ever feel romantic emotions. Admittedly, however, neither could deny that Florence did look particularly dolled-up for the occasion-- what with a dress that almost matched her eyes in that golden-brown hue and loose curls framing her face. Not to say that she didn’t look nice enough any other day-- anyone who said otherwise would get a pointed look and a scowl-- but Florence had really gone all out for this dinner. There was a tiny part of his heart that felt a pang at this-- why had she put so much effort in for him?-- but he pushed it aside; she was doing what she-- everybody-- thought was right.
Florence’s lips tugged upwards and she took a few steps towards him, keeping them separated by a few chairs around the dining table. “You…” She took in his appearance, “... clean up nicely.”
He barked out a laugh. “Ah, thank you, dear Flor.” He took the liberty of moving towards her, throwing a glance at Freddy to assess how he felt on the situation. Her brother had a hawk-like glint in his eyes, sure to bat any wandering hands back to their respective owners-- whether Jacob’s or Florence’s.
Upon seeing this, she huffed a laugh through her nose and swept around the dining table-- a task that is not difficult to do when wearing such a dress-- to wrap Jacob into a hug. “I like the hat.” She murmured into his shoulder, careful to not mess up the hair that had taken Lissie so long to pin into place. Jacob’s hands hovered for a few moments, taken aback by this show of affection in front of her brother, but quickly threw all caution to the wind and accepted her embrace, planting a chaste kiss atop her head.
At that exact moment, Lissie opened the door from the kitchen, broom in hand, only to immediately coo over the pair of them, a hand pressed to her cheek and all. “Look at you couple of sweethearts!” Jacob and Florence pulled away from one another, though his hand lingered on the small of her back for a few moments before retracting. Florence’s look to the maid was filled with desperation-- a want for her to just stay quiet. Lissie was a loud woman, however. “See, Freddy?” She leant the broom against the dining table so she could take Florence’s face in her hands and squeeze her cheeks together, forcing her to face her brother. “You can’t stop young love.” When her eyes met Frederick’s, they shared a similar look of despair. Then, as her sight trailed to Evie, wondering what she might think of the whole situation, she was met with a look of confusion. Florence would’ve sighed, had her cheeks not been pushed together so tightly.
“Whve do lishen for dhe carrige drivuh.”
Everyone’s brows drew downwards in confusion.
Florence tried to huff to little avail and batted Lissie’s hands away. “We have to listen for the carriage driver.” There was a small chorus of ‘oh’s, to which Florence rolled her eyes. “It is as though I’m the only person here that has any worries about tonight.”
“I doubt he’ll-- what?-- poison us or anything.” Freddy said in an effort to calm. If anything, however, it merely made his sister angrier. The chance of him being strangled with his own tie was increasing once more. “For all intents and purposes, we’re simply going to a dinner party because this Willard bloke sees a future for you both. If he does anything-- this soon after his brother being arrested-- he’ll be throwing his entire family in the doghouse.”
Evie narrowed her eyes. “Willard Molyneux-Herbert? That’s the Willard we’re talking about?” All eyes landed on her, inquisitive, though Jacob’s gaze held a small inkling of annoyance too, borne from a desire for his sister to stay out of this business. “Mister Green has been looking into his family for a while. They’re incredibly guarded, despite being in the public eye so often, and their grounds often have Blighters loitering about-- Jacob,” Evie furrowed her brows, gesturing somewhere as if the entire ordeal was laid out in front of them like a set of blueprints, “if you had actually told me of this matter--”
Three knocks rapped at the door and an obvious sense of relief washed across Jacob’s expression. “Well, dear sister, duty calls--”
“Jacob, no--”
He shuffled himself behind Florence and began to bump her out of the door, Freddy having already gone to greet the carriage driver. With a sing-song lilt to his voice, he replied, “Jacob, yes!” and kicked the door closed with his foot, leaving Evie and Lissie alone.
The maid placed her hands on her hips. “I have a bit of stew on the hob back there, if you’d like some grub before you leave?”
Evie turned to look at her, fatigue the only readable thing on her face, and nodded, pulling out a chair and plonking herself down upon it. “That would be lovely.”
--
The carriage ride there was tense. Well, Florence thought it was, at least. Her thumbs wouldn’t stop fiddling with one another and even Jacob’s constant poking at her brother barely made her smile. There was just this… sickness in the bottom of her stomach that told her something wasn’t right-- especially after what Evie had said-- and Frederick appeared to be sharing the same worries.
“What do you think she meant?” Florence finally asked as they were carted down some bumpy, dirt road. “Why would Mister Green be looking into his family?”
Freddy chewed on his lip. “His brother was obviously a threat to society. Maybe Mister Green just wanted to keep tabs on a dangerous family?” Florence and Jacob shared an unconvinced look. “I don’t know! I don’t know. All we can do is be careful, I suppose.”
“Do you not know anything about them?” Her gaze turned to Jacob, concern so prevalent in her eyes that it was almost as though the emotion had weaved itself into her very being.
There was a small moment in which Jacob felt bad for not having told his sister about the ordeal earlier; she could’ve told him all they knew about Willard’s family and Florence wouldn’t have been so torn up about the situation. It was difficult not to frown upon seeing her so upset. “I don’t; I’m sorry. Though, I suspect Evie and Greenie know very little too. We’ve been too busy with the Templars and the Rooks at the moment to look too far into some… poncey upper-class family.”
Florence breathed a laugh out through her nose. “Let’s hope they’re merely that.”
The rest of the carriage ride was quiet, with the occasional complaints about the bumps in the road or Freddy trying to keep the lovebirds from becoming too chummy in the back of the carriage. Hand holding was not allowed in front of him! Besides, he would live and die by the fear of the driver somehow sensing that Florence, his master’s ‘beloved’, was fawning over another man.
When they finally arrived, none of them had expected the size of his grounds and the ornate decorations strung about his estate. Florence, in a manner very much like a long-lost princess being shown the home of her recently found royal family, peered out of the window with her mouth agape and a wondrous glint in her eyes. Jacob seemed to be doing something similar-- even with the princess-esque vibe-- to which Freddy was overcome with an immediate sense of tiredness.
“Honestly,” Jacob turned to her, a little quirk to his lips, “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to marry him.”
She hit his arm, the dimple appearing in her cheek for the first time today. He laughed, though it also sounded like an ‘ow!’, and plopped himself back down in his seat. Florence did the same, mischief in her eyes. “He’ll have to buy me a really nice horse first.”
“I have no chance, do I?” Jacob feigned hurt, holding a hand to his heart. “My own lady, betraying me for a stallion.”
“I suggest that we-- you-- stop with your… banter.” Freddy interjected, earning him looks of innocence from the other two. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Florrie, you’re in love with Willard. Jacob, you’re merely our… manservant--” Florence stifled a laugh at this and her brother shot her a sharp look, “-- which means no comments, no compliments, and none of your stupid comedy.”
“Okay,” Jacob huffed out a laugh, “No comments, no compliments, and no comedy: the three Cs. I’ve got it. I’ll be the best manservant the world has yet seen.”
Luckily for Jacob, the carriage slowed to a stop, preventing Freddy from trying to wring him out like a towel. Two thumps hit the side-- the driver signalling that they were finally there-- and Jacob pushed the door open, shoes crunching down on gravel. Freddy clambered out first and, much to Jacob’s disappointment, didn’t use their servant’s hand to help get out of the carriage. Florence, however, would never be beyond taking a chance to hold his hand and, as he helped her out, a little squeeze came to her fingers in an act of reassurance. She glanced around briefly, ensuring that no one was peeking at them through the many windows of the house and that the driver was on the other side of the carriage, before leaning up to place a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. He gave this little, conflicted smile, wanting nothing more than to reciprocate the gesture, but by the time that he would’ve made up his mind, Florence and her brother were already walking towards the grand doors of the house.
It was a beautiful estate and, honestly, Florence would be lying if she said she was unimpressed. Most people dreamt of living in such houses-- castles-- one day, though Florence refused to allow the thought of spending the rest of her days like a noblewoman to influence her image of Willard. He may be absurdly handsome and have that kind of wave to hair that made him seem like some sort of demi-god but he was a prick and Florence would try her best to remember that-- even if he does serve chicken fricassee. She narrowed her eyes. He would be a bastard if he served chicken fricassee.
“I have a feeling that me, being a police officer, and him, having a family now known for criminal activity, won’t be getting on particularly well.” Freddy leant to the side slightly so he could speak quietly to his sister. “I mean, what am I going to talk to him about? ‘Oh, yes, remember when I arrested your brother for mutilating his patients? Good times.’”
Florence’s lips twisted into a smile that suppressed laughter and a hand came to her brother’s arm. “I doubt he’ll be speaking much to you. Remember: I’m the subject of his affections, much to my own discomfort.”
Frederick grimaced at the thought. Why did all this happen to his little sister?
The carriage driver-- a short, middle-aged man-- hurried past both Jacob and the siblings to open the door and announce their arrival. However, it seemed as if their presence was already known; the door swung open to reveal Willard himself, all dressed up and hair slicked back, the colour of his suit a beautiful navy-- much like Florence’s favourite colour. She already felt uneasy and Freddy’s hand came to her elbow to gently usher her forward, though whether this was in an effort to comfort or to subject her to Willard’s greeting first she was unsure.
“Florence, it seems you have stolen the beauty of Aphrodite herself tonight.” He took a step outside, arms held outwards in a manner that was uncomfortably similar to someone beckoning their pet. “It is lovely to see you, sweet thing.”
Both men beside her tensed, for different reasons altogether, but it was comforting, nonetheless, to know that she wasn’t the only one that was feeling the weight of Willard’s words. However, despite the terrible feeling in her stomach, Florence’s lips curled into a polite smile-- dimple nowhere to be seen-- and walked toward him, steps unsteady beneath her skirts. “It’s been too long already, Willard. I must’ve spoken my maid’s ear off about tonight.” She placed her hands in his and he pulled her towards him in an embrace.
It was at this point that Willard seemed to grow cold, pale eyes boring into the manservant over Florence’s shoulder. They parted rather abruptly, her eyes wide, and Willard slid past her to regard the other two. “You must be Sergeant Frederick Abberline, no?” He held his hand out to shake, though his disposition was hardly as welcoming anymore. Freddy’s hand was shaken far more vigorously than he’d expected, shoulder jarring quite uncomfortably. He was barely able to get a word in lengthways, either; Willard had moved onto Jacob. “And, you, are Jacob Frye. I was unaware that others would be coming too.”
Florence’s fingers wrapped around Willard’s arm, her face appearing in the corner of his eye. “He’s paid to help us around the house and on outings by my father; the poor old man gets worried about the wellbeing of his youngest. It would send him into ill health if he knew that Mister Frye wasn’t here.”
“Well,” Jacob and Willard’s eyes were locked for far too long, manly pride likely being the reason for them staring the other down. Willard finally broke away so that he could look at Florence, an uncomfortable smile tugging at his lips, “he needn’t be there while we eat. There’s a parlour he can read in or perhaps the servant’s quarters are more fitting.”
Jacob bowed slightly. “Whatever the sir wishes. I aim only to serve.”
Florence pushed down a grin, her eyes meeting Jacob’s in a fleeting glance-- a brow raised just enough for him to notice-- before she was turned by Willard and escorted into the estate.
The house was pleasantly warm with the aroma of, what was most likely, their dinner wafting about the halls already. In that moment, Florence realised that she’d have to put dinnertime etiquette into use; she couldn’t gorge herself on potatoes like usual, she supposed. What a shame.
The interior was just as grandiose as the exterior, with plush red cushions strewn about on lounge chairs and golden-framed paintings on every wall she could possibly see. Florence was half surprised that there wasn’t ambient piano music echoing into every corner of the house. As they all turned a corner, they were met with the meek little smile of a worker who half-bowed and scurried away like a rat caught stealing bread. There was a strange sense of uneasiness in the interaction, though Willard paid it no mind, guiding Florence along the halls with a hand to her lower back.
Doors were pushed open with his free hand to reveal the dining room: a splendid interior with mahogany wood and a freshly picked vase of peonies, snapdragons, and daffodils. A pretty collection of flowers, she thought, though perhaps a tad too extravagant for her taste. Dishes clattered as cooks worked to lay out the table and-- what is that? Florence looked about for a few moments before meeting eyes with a pianist on the other side of the room. She could’ve laughed; there was the piano music she’d expected.
“I do believe,” Willard stepped to the side, an arm out to the side to welcome them into the room, “that our wonderful chefs have prepared a cream of celery soup for our starter.” Florence moved past him first, his body leant uncomfortably close to hers. The smell of him was overwhelming-- almost reminiscent of the feeling one gets by watching an urchin being given a shilling by a lord; nice but in an achingly condescending way. Then came Frederick, his nose leading him; the poor man hadn’t eaten yet today and was willing to disregard the anxiety weaved so deeply into every aspect of the room if only to get his hands on some of that soup they were serving. Jacob would’ve followed suit, had the lanky frame of Willard not stepped before him. Green eyes bore into hazel. “The rest of the workers usually spend time in the room just down that corridor.” He pointed over Jacob’s shoulder, though Jacob had yet to turn and look in that direction. “Someone will call for you when they’re leaving.”
The sheer amount of restraint that Jacob had to practice to not make it obvious he wanted to break Willard’s nose was quite impressive. Instead, his lips twisted into a tight smile and he nodded. “Of course. You won’t hear a peep out of me, Mister Molyneux-Herbert.” With that, Jacob turned on his heel and disappeared from sight. Satisfied, Willard closed the doors to the dining room.
Jacob rubbed his hands together, taking a swift left to go upstairs, a certain devilishness to his every expression and movement.
―; summary: Jacob introduces Florence to her soon-to-be favourite pub.
―; pairing: jacob frye x ofc
―; word count: 3.3k
―; warnings: light swearing.
―; A/N: they’re literally so baby together my heart cannot handle like?? i genuinely adore them and writing for them and sometimes i worry that i’m making this too long but then i remember that this makes me happy so ??? sucks to be someone who doesn’t like long fics i guess??
please coo with me about them!! i need to know i’m not weird for being so emotionally attached
The pub that Jacob had taken her to-- The Maiden’s Crown-- was far too busy for it only being early afternoon. Though, Florence did have to admit, a smile came to her face when she heard the haggard and out-of-tune singing of the patrons. There was something almost endearing in watching a crowd of grown men sing at the top of their lungs along to near-operatic songs but, on the other spin of the coin, Florence could-- with confidence-- say that Duncan could yowl the lyrics better than that.
It was a nice enough place, if one were to disregard the obvious disrepair. Green accents painted the pub and there was a rather lovely painting of the Thames of the far wall behind the bar; if you squinted your eyes, you could barely see the stain on the canvas, which was good, she supposed. All things considered, while it wasn’t as high-end as the one in Westminster that she and her brother frequented, it wasn’t the worst place for Jacob to have taken her. At least it wasn’t in Whitechapel.
She’d never been a lover of beer or ale on the account of it tasting like piss so she could only hope that this pub served a particularly flavourful sherry or sloe gin. Even the putrid smell of ale made Florence’s nose crinkle as herself and Jacob weaved through the mass of drinkers; she’d never understood how Freddy could stomach it when they drank together.
“Why does it seem like everyone here knows you, Jacob?” She asked just as they got to the bar. He squeezed between a few men, one of whom he said a brief ‘hello’ to, before shuffling her in alongside him. The barman, obviously pleased to see a lady who had at least washed in the past week, promptly swept over to them, to which Florence muttered that she’d like a glass of sloe gin and he went away to prepare it before Jacob could even open his mouth to ask for anything.
Despite that little problem, Jacob, now leaning against the bar, still shot Florence a grin. “Pubs are the best place to recruit. Or, to soften someone up so they’re easier to get information out of.”
“Oh, conniving-- I like it.” Florence gave him a playful side-eye before nodding a thank you to the bartender and taking a small sip of her drink. Her face soured slightly at the strength of her drink but the sweet aftertaste made up for it, making for an altogether amusing expression, to which Jacob’s lips tugged upwards.
“You like me for my schemes but not my devilish good looks? Or, my superb sense of humour?” He raised a brow, a smirk gracing his expression. Briefly, he pointed to a bottle on the back shelf and the bartender set it down before him.
Florence took another sip of her gin, holding the glass just beside her mouth, then replied with a simple: “Why can I not like you for all three?”. Her smile was small and amused but her eyes told of perhaps a larger confession. Jacob’s expression softened, melting from a cocky grin to a glint in his eyes that declared fondness. Did she still want to kiss him? For a moment that Jacob barely had time to pick up on, her eyes flickered down to his lips. Yes, she most certainly did still want to kiss him. The stammering in her chest told her, if the romance novels she always read had taught her anything, that perhaps now was the moment to make up for her hesitation the other night.
Their gazes remained locked for a moment then Florence, heart pounding, went to move forward to grab his hands. However, in an unfortunate turn of events, a hand-- that wasn’t hers-- clapped to Jacob’s shoulder, making his bottle of beer slosh dangerously. There was a half-shout of “Jacob, my boy!” before he could even turn to look at the offending bloke. “The lads and I haven’t had a chat with you for too long, son. You have to come over--”
“I’m a bit--” Hazel eyes flickered to Florence, who was staring into her sloe gin and scratching her nose in an effort to not draw the attention of the hulking man beside Jacob, “--occupied at the moment--”
“Nonsense! Come on, son.” The grip on his shoulder tightened and Jacob was tugged from his spot. He shot her an apologetic look but, before he could actually open his mouth to say anything, the bigger man began to ramble about… something or another; truthfully, Jacob’s mind was elsewhere.
Florence watched after him for a few moments before focusing her attention on her drink again, swirling the reddish liquid about in its glass. She took a bigger gulp than perhaps was usual for a woman of her stature, hissed through her teeth at the taste, and turned herself slightly so she wouldn’t be tempted to stare endlessly at Jacob across the room.
Damn whatever God had decided to put a stop in the cogs of her plan. Well, it was hardly a fully-fledged plan but, nevertheless, it would’ve been nice to have seen its outcome. Or, would it have been? Anxiety bubbled up within her; there was always the chance that she’d read Jacob all wrong and he didn’t actually like her. Then, as if she was watching a puppet show in her mind, a little image of Lissie popped up and pulled a stern face at her. Florence laughed to herself, sipping at her drink again.
In fact, she continued to sip at her drink until a body squeezed in beside her. Expecting it to be Jacob again, Florence turned with a smile. The smile continued to hold out of pure discomfort when she realised it wasn’t Jacob and was actually a man whose breath smelt quite terribly of beer. He was grinning down at her-- no doubt trying to be charming-- but the only thing Florence took from that was that she’d need to ask Lissie to wash her dress later on.
“Hello, beautiful.”
Oh, God.
Florence sipped her drink, using it as a few moments to switch her mind into ‘presentable lady’ mode, then placed her glass on the bar beside her. Her smile was sweet but her eyes screamed of annoyance. “Good afternoon, sir.”
The man, in an attempt to get closer to her without her noticing, pointed over her shoulder toward a bottle on the shelf, ordering the bartender to throw it to him. He did so, to which Florence had to duck, lest a bottle smash against the side of her face. Then, he popped the cork out of it with his teeth and spat it elsewhere. She suppressed a sigh.
“What’s your name, love?” He took a swig of beer and leant on the bar. “Benjamin Treadway, myself. Lovely to make your acquaintance.” He held a palm out and she placed her hand it in. This Ben fellow then kissed her hand, trying to maintain a sultry eye contact but, as soon as she could, Florence was taking a sip from her drink again. She wondered if she could ask the bartender to make the gin any stronger.
“I’m Florence Abberline.” Her joy was dissipating by the minute and, by chance, when her gaze trailed to the table Jacob had been dragged to, their eyes met and she shot him a small frown that pleaded for help.
A certain recognition crossed Ben’s face. “Right! You’re the sister of that bobby-- what’s his name? Frank, is it? Francis--”
“Frederick. His name is Frederick.”
“Ah, yes, that’s the one! I’m surprised, is all; never expected shared genes with him would make for a pretty lady.”
Florence furrowed her brows, quite visibly displeased at this. What was he implying? That Freddy was ugly? It was a wonder, really, how he expected to woo a lady by insulting her brother first. “My brother is handsome enough, thank you. Nor is he here to defend himself.” She tried hard not to spit this and, to quell her frustration, she covered her mouth with her glass.
A crooked little smirk pulled his lips upwards. “Oh, she’s a feisty one. Don’t usually find those about.” He took a swig of beer and set it down on the bar beside him, beady little eyes inspecting her features. “What brings such a posh bird to these premises? Don’t your type like to stay at home and… sew or summin’?”
As Florence tried to muster up a half-sensible answer, she could feel someone watching her; with luck, it was Jacob. To assume this would be correct. He, over his bottle of beer, was carefully studying how close the bloke was stood to Florence, where his hands would inch as their conversation continued, how he kept glancing down to the gap between the top of her bodice and her collar. He had a distinct look in his eyes-- one that tipped the other men off around the table to his growing concern. The man that had dragged him over, Richard, followed his gaze upon realising how Jacob had leant back in his chair, slumped and rubbing the top of the bottle against his bottom lip.
“You alright, son?” He asked, the clap on his shoulder gentler now but still enough to draw Jacob’s attention away from Florence for a few moments. “That bloke bothering you?”
“No.” He took a swig of his drink and gestured loosely to the pair on the other side of the pub. “He’s bothering the lady.” Just as Jacob said this, Ben went to play with a tassel on her shawl and Florence slapped his hand away, clenching her jaw and turning to ask the bartender to fill her drink up again.
Richard pursed his lips. “You fancy her?”
“You could say that.”
The boys around the table shared a laugh and Richard shook Jacob’s arm, amused. “Well,” His other hand pointed to Florence and Benjamin, “what’re you doing letting that scumbag chat her up?”
Jacob sighed, eyes flickering between the man at his side and the pair at the bar, trying to muster up an answer. “She’s not the type to want to be saved; I don’t want her to think that I think she’s incapable.”
They both looked back toward Florence, who necked half of her gin and raised her eyebrows at whatever the bloke was saying. He let out one of those idiotic fake laughs and placed a hand on her arm, to which her lips twisted into an uncomfortable smile and she threw her gaze in the direction of Jacob, silently asking him to hurry the fuck up with his business.
“That’s the look of a woman who’ll start scrapping in a minute if you don’t help her.” The boys chuckled, murmuring their agreement. “I don’t think she needs to be saved-- more so… distracted.” Richard gave Jacob a push and the younger of the pair set his bottle down on the table and stood up. A little nod gave thanks to Richard and the men sat around the table gave a quiet cheer, causing Jacob to huff out a laugh on his way toward Florence.
There were a few mutters of “excuse me” and “sorry” before she noticed Jacob behind Ben. A light tap came to the lankier’s shoulder. “Hello, mate. Sorry to be a bother but you appear to be stood in the only available spot next to my wife.” Jacob glanced down to Florence’s fingers-- her rings-- and she rather nimbly moved one to her wedding finger.
This would be fun.
Ben glanced back to her, down to her hands, then up to her face. His eyes narrowed. “Haven’t heard of the bobby’s sister getting married.”
“Small ceremony.” Florence mentioned, taking a sip of her gin to hide her growing smile. Jacob had to refrain from laughing but the way he exhaled sounded dangerously close to it. “We wedded in spring; it was just with my family and his. Beautiful occasion, really.”
“Indeed.” Jacob mentioned, pushing the bloke aside with a hand to stand just in front of Florence. To conserve space-- or perhaps to keep their act up-- he snuck an arm around her back, making sure that his hand was seen at the curve of her waist. “Lovely affair. Her bouquet had tulips in it; they contrasted quite nicely against her dress.”
Florence couldn’t hold back a grin so she used it to look up at Jacob and act like she was in love. However, when he mirrored her gaze, huffing out a quiet laugh, she wasn’t quite sure if it was entirely acting. Would now be okay to kiss him? It would simply be a part of the act if all went wrong. Oh, goodness--
“How lovely.” Ben’s voice was mocking, eyes narrowed and mouth pulled into a tight line. He gave her another look up and down. “Why’s her name still Abberline then?” He pointed loosely to her. It was almost like he was grasping at straws to try to win her back as if she was some kind of prize to be had.
She felt Jacob squeeze her side briefly, as if to tell her that he’d handle it. “I’m a Frye-- Jacob Frye.” Hazel eyes had a certain darkness to them and his smile held a challenge. Ben’s focus seemed to have finally pulled away from her, now staring quite dumbly at Jacob. His gaze flickered from the scars Jacob had to the gun that peeked out from behind his coat and he visibly shrunk back into himself. “It’s dangerous to have a name like mine in London these days so we decided that she’d keep to ‘Abberline’.” Jacob tilted his head briefly, narrowing his eyes and smiling, “For her own safety.”
Florence had never realised how much influence he had on others, though she supposed she’d never given him reason to be anything but kind to her-- mostly. By the way that his broadness all of a sudden seemed imposing and how the hand that wasn’t holding her curled into a fist, Florence could tell that Jacob was more than experienced at this. God, how she wished she had the same effect on people that she didn’t like.
“Now, mate,” Jacob hissed through his teeth, pointing a finger at a now very small-looking Ben, “I suggest you leave my wife alone. We don’t want any blood on her lovely dress, do we?”
Ben gave a little nod and, much like the rat he was, scurried away. Florence watched him with a pleased grin, nose upturned slightly and a happy hum beginning in her chest. The dimple was there again, which brought great joy to Jacob when he tore his gaze from the back of Ben’s head and finally looked at her.
“Good work, dear husband.” She was still smiling when she turned to him. He chuckled lightly, the sound pushed out by an exhale, and raised a brow. Florence, however, continued before he could say anything. “I hadn’t realised you could add any poison to your words; you’re always so… soft for me.”
Jacob rolled his eyes, though there was a little smile painted across his features that told her that she’d figured him out, and spun so that he was facing her. He replied with a simple “What? You want me to be hard for you?” and, when they locked eyes and he muttered a “wait--”, Florence began that dreadful laugh of hers.
“Certainly not in public, Jacob.” She, through a dirty little smirk, took a sip of her gin, though was having quite some trouble keeping it in her mouth.
Unfortunately for her, when Jacob began to chuckle-- a bottom-of-the-stomach laugh that made his head loll backwards, she had to cover her mouth lest the deep red of her gin spray all over him. Finally, she swallowed and took a deep inhale, trying to calm down her terrible giggling. Both her hands came to Jacob’s arms to keep herself steady and he could feel the remnants of her laugh shaking through her body. When Florence was able to straighten herself again, cheeks hurting from grinning, honey melded with hazel as their eyes met and both their smiles softened, her grip on his arms becoming gentler. Her gaze flickered across his face and a certain, sudden sense of worry sparked within her.
“Jacob, can I kiss you?”
His eyes searched hers, struck speechless for a few moments. Florence looked like she’d just taken a leap from the tallest building in the world and was bracing for the inevitable, messy impact. Was she even breathing? She wasn’t sure she could.
“What?” was the only word he could muster, though it was mostly because his brain was racing to catch up with the real world again. Jacob stumbled over his own thoughts, distracted by the growing redness to her face and the mere idea that she might even like him.
Florence cursed herself and the world. She’d fucked it. She took a shaky breath and let go of his arms. “I simply asked if you’d perhaps like to kiss me but I--”
Lips stopped her, calloused hands on either cheek. The sudden journey from shock to happiness happened so quickly that Florence worried that she might start crying. That feeling that began to bloom in her chest was something that no romance novel could have prepared her for. It felt like the rest of the world had suddenly ceased to exist and it was only him and his lips and his hands and his smell and--
Fingers weaved into Jacob’s dark hair in a selfish attempt to prolong the kiss, though he seemed to have no qualms with appeasing her. She could feel her heartbeat in her chest, in her ears, in her thumbs and neck. The fall was not so terrible; he had caught her just before she hit the cold, hard ground.
It was her who pulled away first-- the singing and chatter about the pub returning to her ears. Jacob could hardly complain when he saw the light of her smile and saw her shoulders shaking with the beginnings of a breathless laugh. The hands on her cheeks squeezed a little bit, squishing her grin back in on itself, so that Jacob could make sure that it was real and not a tormenting daydream. Fingers wrapped around his wrists, giggling only getting louder, to ask what he was doing without words. He mirrored her smile, pulling her forward so that their foreheads might touch, and muttered a “You have no idea how often I’ve thought about that.”
Perhaps her ego had danced a little at those words-- how long had he liked her for?-- but, even so, she felt this little worried, shaking part of her being click into its place for the first time in years. “I’d never realised.”
“You must be blind then.”
Florence moved forward to kiss him again, smiling against his lips. It was shorter than the other-- he barely had time to rest his hands on the curve of her skirts-- but it was so achingly sweet and normal that he didn’t mind that it ended when it did. Then, her fingers came to play with the collar of his shirt, straightening it and pursing her lips. There was such a distinct sense of contentment that he would be happy to watch her do that for the rest of his days. Her eyes seemed golden, melting under the pressure of her newfound feelings, when she looked up to him.
―; summary: An unexpected face pops up while Florence and Jacob are out and about; she should really expect these things to happen at this point.
―; pairing: jacob frye x ofc
―; word count: 5k (ooh, she’s a biggun)
―; warnings: light swearing.
―; A/N: okay so maybe this took me like a month to chip through but life gets hectic sometime im--
nevertheless!! i love them!! and this!! i’m finally getting into the writing habit again so hopefully you can expect to see this more regularly?? don’t quote me on that, though /:
please tell me what you think bc i’m in constant need of pointers and reassurance!! plus i love talking about this so :))
―; tags: @vamprose (ily <3) (p.s. do ask if you’d like to be tagged in the future!)
Suddenly, it seemed like the pub wasn’t so important anymore and, what with that Benjamin bloke still glaring daggers at the pair of them a few tables from the bar, the couple decided to shimmy their way out of the establishment and wander the streets for a small while. At the horizon, the sun was setting, painting a strip of pinkish-orange across the early evening sky. There was a chill in the air-- a reminder of autumn settling in-- that made Florence tuck her shawl more closely into her shoulders and encouraged Jacob to walk that little bit closer to her. Well, that required very little encouragement, truly.
There was this strange sense of joy lingering between them; it was the happiness borne from a returned confession mixed with the sudden fear that it had perhaps all been a mistake or some kind of terrible joke. However, the way that his thumb brushed over the back of their hands as they zigzagged their way down the backstreets made Florence feel a little better at least. Jacob found enough comfort in the memory of her smile back in the pub; he was almost certain emotion like that couldn’t be faked-- not even by a world-class actor.
“Jacob,” Florence spoke after a brief period of quiet between them. They’d been speaking idly of things, skirting over the surface of the kiss that had happened earlier and overall quite content with that. However, one might call Florence a cat and curiosity had killed her, “when we kissed…”
She paused to ponder her next words for a few moments but, before she could finish her own sentence, Jacob interjected with that cocky little smile of his and a quirk of his brow. “-- it was magical and you’ll often dream of doing it again?” She gave him an exasperated look but grinned regardless. “Well, dear lady,” Jacob bowed almost crookedly, as if to lower his face down to hers while they were walking, “I am always available.”
She hit his arm and scowled but the light in her eyes told of amusement. “You’re terrible; I’m trying to ask you something serious.” His demeanour softened and he dipped his head to the side slightly, as if to say “go ahead”, straightening his posture. Florence gave his arm a small squeeze in an effort to comfort him-- ensuring that she wasn’t actually bothered by his incessant jesting-- and, as her hand lowered again, he caught it in his own. A little curl came to her lips, gaze caught on the sight of their intertwined hands for a few moments; Thomas Langhorne had never made her heart do that.
Eyes, almost golden in the early evening sunlight, dragged up to his face once again. “What are we?” At this, Jacob’s face scrunched with confusion and Florence pursed her lips momentarily before she rephrased: “Are we doing some kind of… courting now?”
Her eyes glazed slightly at that dreaded word— so did Jacob’s. He opened his mouth briefly, only to close it again and hum, pondering. “Well, labels don’t have to be applied, do they?” Florence frowned, to which Jacob’s heart dropped suddenly, worried that he might’ve disappointed her. “Not those fancy labels, anyhow—“
“It’s just that I might worry about—“
“— because I’d definitely get bullied by Evie if I told her—“
“— exclusivity and the idea of sharing you because I think I—“
“— that I was ‘courting a lady’ but I wouldn’t mind it, if you wanted to call it that, since I—“
“— really like you.”
“— really like you.”
They looked at each other as those same words spilt clumsily from both of their mouths. There was a moment of quiet between them, then Florence made a ridiculous little snorting noise in the back of her throat and they both began to laugh. She admittedly felt like one of those flustered ladies in those hopelessly romantic books she always read but, for the first time in her life, Florence didn’t loathe that thought so much— in fact, it barely bothered her at all. It simply felt… nice to know that Jacob was experiencing the same things. Well, she assumed, anyhow, what with the gentle pinkness to his smiling cheeks.
Their eyes locked for a few moments as their laughter died down, honey melting into hazel, and Florence’s lips caught in a content, little smile— one that made Jacob feel, for a moment, like all was right with the world. Her gaze broke away from his and she shook her head, huffing out something that sounded like a chuckle through her nose. “My brother is going to keel over and die if he finds out.”
“So we won’t tell him.” Jacob replied, a small squeeze coming to Florence’s hand. “Not yet, anyway.” A certain amusement lit up his features, the kind that she’d come to realise always came before one of his remarks. “Besides, I’d only have you to bully if Freddy’s chucked out of the picture.”
“I’m the one who does the bullying here, thank you very much.” Proudness adorned Florence’s face, nose upturned in a way that made Jacob do a strange, back-of-the-throat chortle. “I learnt from the best—”
“-- me--”
“-- my sister, Emily.” Her expression deadpanned beside the tiny quirk to her lips that proclaimed humour. “I will… allow you to be just as proficient at bullying as me.”
“You’ll allow me?” His eyebrows raised in disbelief, open mouth threatening to break into a grin.
She giggled, nodding. “Yes, I’ll allow you--”
“You’ll allow me, eh? Will you?” One of his hands came up to poke at her ribs, breathing out impish laughter at Florence’s sudden squeal. She half-expected to barely feel his prodding fingers through her many layers but the sudden jab to her side was very much there and it definitely made her jolt to one side. Unfortunately for everyone in the immediate vicinity, Florence began that god-awful snorting of hers. Jacob continued with his assault, repeating his words through laughter, until she was wiping tears away from her eyes, cheeks hurting from smiling far too much.
Disaster came when she wiped the cloudiness away from her eyes and her vision met with a familiar crown of golden hair. She spat something that sounded like a horrible mixture of “shit!” and “damn!”, which froze Jacob up as he tried to search for whatever had so suddenly changed Florence’s demeanour. However, she had already decided to relinquish any control he might’ve had on the situation by bundling them both off into a nearby alleyway, the home of a few-- now visibly worried-- urchins.
Jacob’s brows furrowed and his mouth opened, ready to hurriedly ask her what had gotten her in a twist. Florence stopped him before he could speak with a thin finger smushed against his lips. She muttered a “Willard” and, against her front, she felt Jacob tense, though his face showed no real difference.
“Why is that such a problem?” He whispered back, perhaps a little too loudly for Florence’s liking, using his hand to lower her finger from his lips.
A myriad of emotions flickered across her expression-- all of which made Jacob frown-- and, in a moment of catharsis, she sighed. “You know why it’s a problem--”
“If he sees us, so be it. Maybe he’ll finally leave you be.”
“And, what? Proceed to kill my brother?” Florence spoke through gritted teeth, gesturing pointedly back to the street they had just been on-- the street where Willard was. “I’m supposed to be going to that… dinner party to entertain the idea of him and I being a couple; I doubt it’d still be going on if he saw me being friendly with you, Jacob.”
Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose, jaw clenched despite him trying his best not to seem angry with her. “How long will that go on for, hm? Until you’re both married? When will Florence Molyneux-Herbert’s first child be born, I wonder--”
“Don’t be such a prick, Jacob.” There was something in her eyes that screamed a strange sense of annoyance. “I’ll do what I have to; I need to find solid enough evidence of his plots to get him arrested.”
There was a pause in which the pair stared at each other-- a challenge. Then, Jacob sighed and nodded. “Fine.” Florence released a breath she was unaware she’d been holding, placing her hands on her hips and turning herself away from him, as if she was about to peek back into the street. “I’ll come with you to the dinner.”
“What? No, Jacob--”
“Listen to me.” He gave her a look, all too aware of Florence’s tendency to interject when she was particularly… passionate about a subject. She opened her mouth like she was about to disregard him, then her expression softened and she gestured for him to go ahead. “This Willard bloke-- he thinks I work for your family, yes?”
“I assume so.”
Jacob’s little smile counteracted her confused frown. In a way, his mere energy had formed this kind of… conniving, scheming hope in the pit of her stomach. “Exactly. I am Jacob Frye, your butler and bodyguard, rolled into one. I presume it’s cheaper that way.” He shrugged and Florence gave a laugh, stifled by the back of her hand; it was a shame that he couldn’t see her dimple. “I’ll accompany you and Freddy to his estate and, while you look all pretty and have a munch on whatever little entrées he serves you, I’ll have a nosey about his house--”
“He’ll have guards.”
Jacob deadpanned at her, then gestured-- to make a point-- to all the various weapons strewn about his person. With a nod, a hum, and a laugh breathed out through the nose, she conceded. He muttered something like a “thank you” before continuing on with what he would no doubt tout a ‘nefarious plan’. “-- and collect any scraps of ill-intent he might have lying about. Who knows? Perhaps I’ll even stumble across a secret room with drawings of your brother and little knife marks--”
“You really do test me, Jacob Frye.”
He let out a gleeful little laugh, loud enough for Florence to poke him in the ribs-- or was she serving comeuppance for his incessant jesting? Only God would know, one supposed.
With a small peek around the corner, Florence grimaced when she saw that Willard was still window-browsing at that poncey jewellery shop, rubbing his chin in a way reminiscent of some kind of statue of Adonis. God, why was he so pretty? Her eyes raked up and down the bluish ensemble he was wearing today and--
Jacob pushed her slightly, straight out into the open street and Willard’s attention. The blond turned, intrigued by the little ‘woop!’ and scuffle of shoes, and his expression shifted to one of surprised delight. “Darling Florence! What a gift God has given me for such a beauty to stumble back into my day.”
She stopped herself from frowning at this and wanted more than anything to throw a look over her shoulder towards Jacob; it would’ve either been a plea for help or a reassurance that she did, in fact, dislike being complimented like this. Well, complimented like this by him.
He all but swept over to her, the little cane at his side no doubt merely decorative-- a show of absurd wealth and status that made Florence feel inferior. As always. “What brings you here? Doing a bit of light shopping, are we? If you’d like, we could--”
“Ah, Miss Abberline, there you are! These backstreets are just nightmares to follow someone down-- oh.” Jacob, now having shown himself from the alleyway, drew close to her side, though not so close as to draw any attention. Hazel eyes met with Willard’s green and he bowed his head; Florence knew that, in his heart, Jacob was mocking the man but Willard seemed none the wiser. “Willard, is it? How lovely it is that you and my mistress have run into each other today.”
Florence had to stop herself from laughing at his formalities, lips twisting upward despite her best efforts to remain stoic. She could sense that Jacob felt the same way, no doubt having realised that he would certainly be made fun of later on for this.
It was even more difficult to fight back the desire to turn and look at Jacob’s face when Willard corrected him, a light sense of disgust in his voice, with “Mister Molyneux-Herbert.”
What a prick.
“It is, indeed, a lovely coincidence that our paths have crossed again today. In fact, I was just offering to peruse the shops with the lady--” A green gaze caught Florence’s and he smiled somewhat; that terrible, conflicting feeling began in her soul again, “-- so I suppose you might go home, Mister Frye.”
Jacob kissed his teeth, shrugging. “No can do, I’m afraid; Miss Abberline is due for a dress-fitting later today so we’re on a tight schedule. The dinner party you plan to host would be a far better opportunity to catch up.”
Willard, seemingly disregarding just about everything Jacob had said, took a step toward her, to which she shuffled backwards into Jacob’s arm. He briefly placed a hand on her lower back, though truthfully it did very little to calm her, before clasping his hands together behind his back. “I could perhaps help you pick out a necklace or brooch to compliment your dress for the dinner--”
“Flor-- Miss Abberline can’t--”
Florence’s hand brushed against Jacob’s stomach lightly, as if to ask him to back down so that she could handle the situation. Hopefully, the gesture went unnoticed by Willard. “It pains me to say this, but Mister Frye is doing what’s in my best interests. If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I get far too emotional when under tight time constraints; I get it from my mother.”
Willard made a little ‘ah’ noise and huffed out a small laugh. He looked to Jacob, gesturing to Florence, and joked: “Such a typical woman, eh?” Behind his back, one of Jacob’s fists clenched but his face told nothing of his annoyance-- rather his mouth shaped a grin, head nodding in agreement. Willard met her gaze again and took a few steps to the side, as if to let them both pass him on the narrow street. “Well, it was lovely seeing you twice today, dear Florence. I look forward to your presence this weekend.” Jacob was already walking past him when he held out a hand for Florence to place hers in. She did so, as she was expected, and he placed his usual kiss to the back of it, to which she began to feel almost guilty; leading a double life wasn’t for Florence, she had concluded.
Now released from the grasp of Willard, she hurried after Jacob, who’s tense shoulders told of frustration. When he heard the tip-tapping of her footsteps on stone beside him, he half-turned, a mocking smile painted across his expression. “Such a typical woman, eh?” The laugh he released was so hideous and fake that it made her begin her own horrendous giggling. Then, he shook his head, a very obvious frown pulling his lips downwards. “What a prick. Who raised him to be like that?”
Florence upturned her nose so she could achieve an appropriately posh accent. “The Earl of Carnarvon.”
“That would explain it then.” He sighed, rolling his eyes somewhat. “Well, at least you know you can catch the eye of-- what?-- nobility?”
“Oh, I doubt he would’ve even gone within a few feet of me if it weren’t for his murderous intent for my brother.”
Jacob did that kind of hum one does when they’re unsure of something-- the kind that changes pitch as easily as a cat flicks its tail. “I’m not sure if it’s just your brother.” Florence frowned and he elaborated. “To him, I am inconsequential-- a tiny little cog in a sequence that barely even affects him. I met him briefly once however long ago--”
“In the library, yes. He did give you a peculiar look.”
“Exactly. At the time, I assumed it was just because I was an inconvenience to him-- which, admittedly, I still am--” Florence huffed out a laugh and Jacob paused to smile, “-- but he still remembered me today. Bit strange, isn’t it?”
“You are overwhelming clad in weapons all the time and you have a tendency to gnaw at one’s mind.”
“Are you sure the latter wasn’t just you?”
Florence rolled her eyes but a grin broke her exasperated expression. “My point still stands, Jacob: you’re a memorable character.”
There was a pause. Then, he sighed. “Fine. I might be overthinking it. But, maybe my concerns are in the right place too. There’s always another side to the coin.”
“That was a lovely metaphor, Jacob. Have you been reading Evie’s books?”
His shoulder pushed hers and she stumbled to the side, laughing and trying to keep her dress from being trodden underneath her own feet. If she had fallen, he would’ve been dragged down with her regardless, what with how tightly her hand had taken to gripping onto his arm.
“You’re a bully, Florence Abberline.”
“Did I not tell you this earlier?”
He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head at her incessancy, but said nothing more; she had certainly proved her point from before, he supposed.
---
They had walked for a small while longer, trying their best to distract from Willard and his decidedly strange aura, before Florence decided it would be best for her to get back home, lest she have a small legion of police on the lookout for her. The way in which she’d mentioned this seemed specific but she denied Jacob any further details. Regardless, the thought of Florence having to evade police officers to stay out into the evening made him chuckle; she was a nightmare of a woman but he considered it one of her many charms.
They came to the red door of her home and, seeing that the curtains had been pulled closed, she gave him a chaste parting kiss, holding his face in her hands like she’d been doing it for her whole life. As usual, that little flush came to both of them: Florence’s ears tinged red and a pinkish hue gracing his cheeks. She could only hope that her brother wasn’t peeking between a gap in the curtains; she’d have a lot of explaining to do, if so.
“I’ll visit you again soon?” His voice was quiet-- as though he wanted to maintain a sense of intimacy despite the passersby-- and a hand lingered over her waist, testing to see if that was too much for her.
Florence didn’t object, instead reciprocating with a palm pressed to his chest. His hold on her became more definite and the feeling that rose in her chest made her smile. “The dinner is this Saturday--”
“I meant beforehand, Flor. Need to make sure that you’re not bending yourself over backwards to appease Willard, son of the Earl of Carnarvon.”
The dimple bore into Florence’s cheek-- a beautiful sight-- and she shook her head in that way of hers. “I won’t be; I already know what dress I’ll wear and all I need to do is consult Freddy about it.” Her hand moved from his chest to his bicep, squeezing it in reassurance. “I’ll be fine, Jacob. Don’t get all soppy with me.” She poked him now, little fingernail jabbing into skin, and he groaned, “You’ll remind me of Willard.”
“Don’t say that--”
“I should get inside. Goodbye, Jacob.” There was that cheeky smirk upon her lips as she trailed away, fingers dancing down the length of his arm and she took steps backwards.
However, his hand caught hers just before it left him and he pulled her back in for a delightful little peck. When they parted, it was almost as though her expression had moved from her face to his. “Just look after yourself, love.”
“I’ll try.” With that, she finally left him, sliding herself through the door, but not without looking back over her shoulder and shooting him a smile. As always, Jacob was stuck simply staring at the closed door for a while but that terrible missing feeling wasn’t there like it usually was. God, Evie was going to bully him when she found out.
The smell of chicken immediately overwhelmed Florence as she hung her shawl up. Cutlery clattered a room over and there was a muffled shout of “Hello, dear!” from Lissie. The older woman’s head poked around the corner, a smile on her face despite the napkins in her mouth, and said something that sounded like “Tea’s almost ready” but Florence couldn’t be sure. Nevertheless, she gave a little nod, mind already refocusing on the task of telling Freddy about their dinner plans for the weekend.
“Freddy?” She shouted in that way of hers. From the dining room, there was shuffling and stifled laughter from Lissie. “Fredd--”
“Florrie! Can you not bellow everything you say like a town crier?” He emerged from the dining room, hands tucked into the little pockets sewn into his waistcoat. He looked tired-- and eventful day at work, she assumed-- but he, despite his chiding, greeted her with a lopsided smile. “What is it?” With a hand, he beckoned her toward the table, shifting past Lissie, who was diligently trying to plate up their food.
Florence made her way to a seat-- across from her brother as always-- and clasped her hands together before her, careful not to keep her elbows on the table in an effort to appease Lissie. “Willard--”
“Oh, yes, you were due to meet him today, weren’t you?”
“Yes, I was--”
“Though I’ve also heard that, by the grace of God, you bumped into him another time-- by the jewellers.” Freddy leant back in his chair, thick eyebrows raised to the heavens. Florence pursed her lips. “I also heard that you were there with a man about my height, bit of stubble, flat cap, that had the same flighty disposition as a certain Jacob Frye--”
“Perhaps I was but that isn’t what I need to tell you.” Florence placed a hand on the table between them-- as if she was trying to calm a slowly angering beast. Much to her surprise, Freddy gave a little nod that asked her to continue, though the look in his eyes said that that conversation wasn’t over yet. “He has apparently heard rumours of his own ill-intentions toward you and wants to prove he doesn’t share the same will as his brother--”
“-- the doctor that was particularly nasty to his patients?”
Florence did a disgusted little nod, a sudden discomfort rocketing across her body knowing that such a monster’s brother could have similar intentions for her own family. “-- so he’s graciously invited us to dinner this coming Saturday.” She, mirroring her brother, slouched back in her chair, quite obviously at unease with the whole prospect.
Freddy hummed, nodding a thanks to Lissie as she placed a gravy boat in front of him, a little frown tugging at his lips. “Maybe we misunderstood him?”
With such certainty in her movements that Freddy fully believed her for a second, Florence shook her head. “He’s likely covering up; he lost that little note of his and now he has act particularly saintly lest I ruin all his plans.” She twirled her fork between her fingers then poked a breast of chicken. “Besides, Jacob thinks that he’s up to more than no good and, quite frankly, I trust his intuition.”
At the mention of the Frye, Freddy sighed. Florence went to speak before he could but he held up a hand to stop her. “Attending the dinner will be fine, if only to help us ease any worries we have. I have yet to meet the bloody bloke so maybe I’ll be able to draw some of my own conclusions about him.” A moment of quiet passed over them both, a thick cloud of questions travelling with it. Then, Freddy gave her a certain look-- the kind that desired a level of sincerity. “What were you doing with Jacob today?”
Florence pushed a roast potato about on the plate, slathering it in gravy, then took a careful bite out of it. It was almost like she was trying to avoid the question. Sometimes, Florence Abberline was a foolish woman.
“We ran into each other and--”
“Do not--” He paused, sucking a breath through his teeth, “-- lie to me, Florrie. I won’t be angry.” Florence looked unconvinced-- worried. Freddy’s expression softened; she was his little sister and he should be kinder. “I promise.”
She rolled her lips inwards and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear in that nervous way of hers. “Fine. The truth is that I might, perhaps, in theory--”
“Florence.”
“I like him. A little bit.” They both stared at each other for a few moments and she groaned. “Alright, a lot more than I expected.”
Much to her surprise, Freddy simply smiled. It was one of those strange, unreadable smiles but a smile, nonetheless. “That’s… alright. He’s been doing good work for me recently and, despite his incessant joking and insistence on calling me anything but my name, I trust him to not go out of his way to manipulate you. He’s too dopey, the poor lad.”
Florence had the kind of expression one would adopt if they were told they were the Queen’s long-lost sister. “What? Why are you-- hold on--”
Lissie moseyed on over to take the emptied gravy boat, a scheming little grin plastered across her dastardly face. “I told you that your brother would be okay, didn’t I?”
Puzzle pieces visibly clicked together in Florence’s mind and she uttered a furious “You”, finger pointing accusingly toward the housemaid. “You told him, didn’t you? Oh, you are such a--”
“-- treasure to society? Helpful friend?” Lissie pulled the towel from her apron and slapped Florence with it. “I am the mastermind behind this whole ordeal and, without me--”
“-- without her, I would likely not be as accepting of your choice in men, dear sister.” Freddy finished, hoping to quell any potential bickering between the two women. “She mentioned how torn up you were about telling me-- and him for that matter-- and it made me realise that I’m perhaps too harsh on you; your carelessness is one of your many charms, I suppose.”
“I also asked him if he’d ever govern Emily the way he does you, to which he begrudgingly replied ‘No’.” Lissie raised a brow at Freddy and, despite this being a jab at him, he huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head.
“Jacob Frye is not the worst choice in husband, I suppose. I think mum would prefer that you marry for love too; it’s not like the Abberlines have any immediate desire to become nobility.” Freddy dipped his head to the side in the way that one does when they decide to allow something, eyes lost in some distant vision of the chaos that an Abberline-Frye wedding would involve.
Florence huffed out something that sounded like a laugh. “I still have no immediate intentions to marry the bloke; calm down.” She cut into a slice of carrot with her fork, refusing to look her brother in the eyes while discussing marriage. “Jacob is just a… nice fellow that I wouldn’t mind spending more time with.” For a moment, it seemed like Lissie was about to say something horribly filthy so Florence quickly interjected to keep the conversation focused, “So… you’re okay with Jacob and I?”
“Yes, so long as he doesn’t become too forward and at least tries to follow the proper rules of courting--”
“Because we kissed today and--”
“Damn it, Florrie! Can you do anything normally?” Despite his words and the hands that rubbed across his face, she could tell that he was fighting back a smile.
Lissie erupted into satisfied giggling, clapping her hands together like she’d just watched a world-class play at the theatre. “That’s my girl! How was it? Was it as romantic as we’d discussed?”
“Well, there wasn’t any rain or flowers involved but--”
“Right, I’m off to bed.” Freddy rose from his seat, rubbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin. Florence smiled in that impish way of hers, dimple boring into her cheek when Freddy gestured between the two women. “I’m okay with the idea of you and Jacob being together but, I beg of you, I need no details; you should reserve those for letters to our sister.”
Florence and Lissie broke out into laughter, watching Freddy walk dejectedly up the stairs. Lissie collected up her skirts and plonked herself down beside Florence, grabbing the opened wine bottle from across the table and pouring some for herself and Florence. “Well, you have to tell me all about it now. I might die if not.”
A slap came to the maid’s arm. “Don’t be so melodramatic.” Then, there was a pause during which Lissie stared at Florence, swirling the wine in her glass. Florence looked just about ready to burst, a sudden grin splitting her face. “God, it was lovely-- he was lovely. Right, we were at the pub and we’d gotten our drinks when--”
Lissie listened to Florence’s babbling, a warmth in her chest that proclaimed pride, smiling at this tale of budding love. It was a wonder how, only a month or so ago, this same girl loathed the idea of romance; he had cracked her well and fully, much to both of their joy, it seemed. A gentle flush grew on Florence’s face, that little dimple of hers never disappearing, as she explained the events of the day.
Call it a psychic inclination or just a gut feeling but Lissie knew that he would be good for her. It was only a matter of time before she’d be making wedding preparations. Oh, the thought alone made her giddy.
―; summary: who knew that fight clubs could be so romantic?
―; pairing: jacob frye x ofc
―; word count: 3.3k
―; warnings: light swearing and a wee bit of violence.
―; A/N: good lord this chapter made my heart do the big !!! i just love them and i hope someone else does too :,,)) even as the writer of this i feel like im torturing myself so please take this and like... coo over it with me im begging--
To say that Florence Abberline had any idea how underground fighting rings operated would be the biggest lie of the century. The only thing she could correctly assume was that there would be blood and lots of noise. On both of these counts, she was right.
The building itself appeared to be some kind of disused warehouse, converted into a space for men (and the occasional woman) to tap into their more primal side and beat the ever-loving God out of another person. Honestly, she wouldn’t have expected anything less and, despite being perhaps the only woman here in a dress such as hers, Florence was simply itching to get in view of the ring. Nothing was more therapeutic than watching round upon round of fighting-- well, she assumed at least.
A shove came to her arm and man, waving a bottle of something in the air, swept across her peripherals. She grimaced, abstaining from passive-aggressively ‘bumping’ back into the man, and leant into Jacob-- a necessary gesture to be able to hear one another. “I feel like I’m going to be mugged.” Her eyes drifted to a woman dressed in red; she had been eyeing up the rings on Florence’s fingers since she’d walked in here. “I’m certainly not getting into the ring to fight for my possessions either.”
She felt a hand just above the hump of her hoop skirt and his body shifted to her side, obscuring Florence from the staring woman’s view. “I reckon you’d have a good chance in there.” When she shot a harsh glance at him, he was grinning back down at her. “You’d floor them with your looks alone.”
“By that you meant that I am dazzlingly beautiful rather than anything nasty, I hope?”
“Of course, dear Flor. I certainly didn’t mean that they’d take one look at the Hell in your eyes and piss their poor britches.”
Florence’s jaw shifted to one side, faux offended, and a laugh slipped past her lips. “You must have a bladder of steel then, Jacob, because the sheer amount of times I’ve had to look at you like that is astounding.”
“No. Actually,” He shuffled them through a particularly small gap, during which Florence realised Jacob didn’t smell half bad. Then, to herself, she cursed; what kind of observation was that? “my trousers are just very thick. Evie tends to have the same effect so they’re a needed precaution.”
She snorted when she laughed next, bordering on her hysterical pig squeal of a giggle. The curl of Jacob’s lips made him look like the cat that got the cream but, between manoeuvring them through the tight crowd and trying to ensure greedy hands don’t pick at Florence, he didn’t have the chance to glance down at her to see if that dimple was pressing into her cheek again.
The cheering became rowdier and more… animated the closer they came to the ring and, every couple of steps, either Florence had to duck out of the way out of an arm or Jacob had to move his body to act as a human shield. Despite it all, she didn’t seem dampened by the less-than-gentle hospitality and had taken to looking upon the fighting in wonder. Could Florence throw a punch? Certainly. Could she throw a punch like that? Most certainly not.
Blood splattered across the floor just as the pair reached the side of the ring, blending quite seamlessly into the already stained stone below. Florence flinched slightly, less in fear of the fighting and more in fear of getting anything on her dress and having to explain it to Freddy later. She could already imagine the look on his face if he saw her here, though she suspected that circumstance wouldn’t occur; Freddy didn’t tend to attend underground fight clubs for leisure.
When Jacob muttered something to a man in green, who had been whooping and hollering at the side of the ring, a small gap was made for himself and Florence. It was a… cosy space; Jacob was at her side now but had to tuck a portion of his body behind her, shoulder against hers and hand still on her back. At least it meant for easier conversation.
“Who’re you rooting for?” He asked, leaning down to her somewhat and pointing toward the ring.
Her eyes flickered between both fighters; one was a particularly tall bald bloke who seemed to employ brute strength over any other strategy, whereas the other was a smaller brunet-- a nimble man, it seemed. Just as Florence went to speak, the larger of the two landed a bone-breaking hit to the brunet’s nose and, through a sympathetic grimace, she pointed to him. “That one. It doesn’t matter how fast the other guy is; baldie’s tall so he has a long reach.”
Jacob hummed but Florence couldn’t hear it. Hazel eyes continued to watch the fight and, for the brief moment in which she gave a quick glance up to his face, Florence realised that Jacob had a particular passion for this sport.
“You really love this, don’t you?” She asked but Jacob, too captivated by the deadly dance going on within the ring, didn’t answer her. Two fingers, readied like a little spear, prodded at his ribs to get his attention and he made a rather unlikely yelping noise as a reaction. Holding back the beginnings of laughter, Florence asked again: “You’re quite enraptured, Jacob. Like a good bit of fighting, do we?”
He nodded his head, frowning as though he was weighing up his own opinion. “You could say that, what with me being the champion here and all.”
Although he didn’t yet allow his gaze to dart toward her to gauge her reaction, the squeeze to his bicep and the wide eyes in his peripherals told him all he needed to know. “You’re the champion?”
“Yep!” His eyes finally met hers and he couldn’t even consider keeping up his smug facade any longer, breaking out into a grin. “The majority-appointed king of the ring. See? I told you King Jacob had a lovely ring to it.”
Florence laughed, shaking her head. “Alright, your majesty, calm down with the ego-boosting.”
“You think calling me ‘your majesty’ will do anything to help that--”
“M’lord!” The pair turned to see a top hat swimming through the crowd. Florence gave Jacob a side glance but said nothing until the disembodied voice finally… well, became embodied. “It’s so good to see you here today.” A man appeared; he was a bit taller than Jacob but a lot lankier and seemed to hop towards them like a pleased little rabbit.
He was a performer then, Florence assumed.
“Hello, Robert. How are things in the ring this afternoon?” A hand came out to shake the man’s shoulder in greeting but his eyes flickered to Florence. At the same time, a wave of recognition crashed across her expression and she looked Robert up and down. As it turns out, Jacob was right; he did have a peculiar sense of fashion.
Robert sighed in perhaps the most dramatic way a man could, throwing his arms up at his side and walking-- no, floating-- around them to be closer to the fighting. “Terribly boring, Mister Frye. There’s no life in the ring-- no zest!” Behind his back, Jacob and Florence gave each other a look before Robert turned around again. “There is one way the afternoon might get more interesting?” He let his sight drag to Jacob, a light in his eye that hinted at his true intentions.
“I wasn’t planning on fighting today, Robert.” Jacob gestured to Florence beside him. “I was just introducing Miss Abberline to the glorious world of underground brawling.”
Robert looked from Jacob to Florence, sizing up how close they were standing with a smile. “There’s no better way to impress a lady than demonstrating your raw masculinity, m’lord! Imagine it:” He pushed between them, an arm slung over Jacob’s shoulder while his other hand swept across Florence’s vision, “he’s in the ring, all scowls and sweat and muscle. He lands another crippling punch and the crowd goes wild! He looks out into the masses and spots her-- his good luck charm. He may already be the champion of this ring but his only true desire is to be the champion…” He leaned closer to Jacob, pressing a hand against his own chest, “of her heart--”
“Woah, Robert, maybe we should slow it down with the whole--”
“Sounds splendid.” Florence interrupted, shooting Jacob a devious little glance as he removed Topping’s arm from around his shoulder. “I think I’d enjoy seeing you in the ring, Jacob.”
He huffed a small laugh out through his nose but had no time to retort. Robert broke out into a grin, gesturing with great vigour toward the ending match. “Wonderful! See, m’lord? Even the lady encourages it.”
Jacob opened his mouth once, closed it again, then looked between Robert and Florence, defeated. There was a moment in which they were both simply staring at him and he sighed. “Well, I’m not one to deny my adoring followers.”
Florence gave him a half-smile, amusement dancing in the honey of her eyes. “You’ll have to prove to me that you’re worthy of your title, King Jacob. I’ll be here, looking pretty and being a-- what was it?-- good luck charm?”
He laughed, already being ushered away by Robert, and pointed to her. “If I win, you have to call me ‘your majesty’ until I’m satisfied.”
The dimple in her cheek appeared, grinning at his daring, but he was now too far away for her to offer a definite answer. Florence only held her hands up, shrugging playfully, before Jacob disappeared into the crowd.
Oh, what fun this would be.
Before Jacob had even emerged again from that shady backroom that he’d been all but dragged into, Robert had begun to energise the crowd with promises of the champion and “life-changing bets”. Florence was glad that a few of the Rooks still surrounded her, keeping her safe from the rowdiness of the masses behind her-- and ensuring no fingers sneak toward her and snatch away her valuables.
There was cheering from one end of the room, presumably the reaction to Jacob finally making his way to the ring. Eyes narrowed and lips pursed slightly, Florence began to scour the crowd in hopes of spotting him. When she noticed a few men slapping someone on the back-- that someone being Jacob, she grinned and waved hoping to gain his--
Wait.
Wait.
Her smile shifted into a rather conflicted expression.
Was his chest bare?
Despite there being plentiful men here wearing nothing besides trousers and the hair on their chest, Florence had a strange feeling that seeing specifically Jacob like that was a level of intimacy that they hadn’t achieved yet.
However, before she could pull her eyes to a safer zone, her sight caught onto his-- what were they? Tattoos? She squinted again, subconsciously leaning closer to the ring that he’d just entered to figure out what they were. One was most certainly a bird of some kind but the other one was so small that Florence couldn’t quite--
It was then that she realised that the tattoos were slowly getting closer to her, which meant that Jacob was too. Her gaze snapped upwards to his face and she was met with a self-satisfied grin, one of his brows raised. With wide eyes, Florence shook her head, going to tell him that she wasn’t ogling she was merely studying his tattoos, but a bell began to ring and it drew Jacob’s attention away.
Damn it all. She wasn’t going to hear the end of it.
His usually relaxed demeanour hardened into something altogether far more intimidating as soon as the ringing stopped. Robert shouted something but Florence couldn’t hear it over the roar of the crowd, encouraging the other men to “get a good hit on Frye!”. The fight had started, she supposed.
Now, not to say that Florence had ever doubted Jacob’s abilities but… well, that’s exactly what she seemed to have done. She had presumed he had a good knowledge of weapons and how to use them-- not his bare fists. He was a lot faster than she’d anticipated and seemed to have a rather strange sense for when an attack came toward him; Jacob had not yet taken a hit, despite a few men laying, immobilised, on the cold floor below.
Speaking of which, surely it was unfair to pit one man against so many?
The crunch and crack of someone’s leg gave her the answer to her own question: one man wouldn’t stand a chance in the ring against Jacob and even those who fought in groups were fools.
Thanks to her wondering, Florence hadn’t realised she’d started to cheer for him, as though it were second nature, at the side of the ring. It had begun as a gentle clapping then evolved into a wide grin spread across her face. At one point, when Jacob had floored two men-- both taller than him-- at once, a loud cheer erupted from her, the root of the noise deep within her chest. The volume startled the rook beside her and Jacob himself, it seemed, since his eyes flickered over to where she stood.
At that exact moment, a skinny little man punched Jacob in the side, hoping that it would distract him enough to land a hit on his stubbled jaw. Unfortunately for him, Jacob caught the man’s wrist before it could connect with his face and slammed his own fist into the bloke’s gut, winding him. Florence didn’t even have time to feel a sting of guilt for pulling Jacob’s attention away from the fight. Hell, he didn’t even seem all too fazed by the hit he got before.
She continued to cheer, though perhaps more quietly this time, and she could feel her heartbeat through her veins. He was doing so well and the only way she could describe the bursting in her chest was pride. In a way, perhaps she’d become a bit star-struck; Jacob Frye, a renowned and celebrated fighter, was her friend, had decided to bring her here, went out of his way to speak to her-- it made her feel so very special. God, how stupid.
The next few rounds came and went in the blink of an eye. Florence wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline that was making the world go by so fast or if it was the fact that she was simply enraptured with the whole ordeal. By the time she got home, she’d likely still be shaking with excitement; she’d just have to tell Freddy that she read a particularly interesting book in the library-- one about fighting, as to drip a small portion of her actual day into the story.
Three rings of the bell marked the end of the fight and, as suspected, Jacob stood victorious with little more than a reddened cheek, a bruise forming below his collarbone, and bloodied knuckles. Robert hopped-- as is his way-- into the ring to declare that Jacob had defended his rightful title; Jacob seemed very pleased with himself, for want of a better word.
Moments later, he clambered over the barrier between the crowd and the ring, sweaty and breathing heavily, patting his forehead with a little rag to remove, at the very least, the sheen on his face. Despite all this, he broke out into a grin as he made his way to her. “How’s my good luck charm, then? Did you enjoy--”
In an act that surprised the both of them, Florence, without much thought, pulled him into a tight hug, balancing on her tiptoes slightly so she could comfortably bury her face into his neck. It was a gesture borne of gratitude or congratulations or… something like that. One half of her regretted making such an idiotic, rash decision but the other half felt Jacob’s hands on her back, a thumb rubbing gently across the fabric of her dress, and she smiled.
As she pulled back, hands gliding from the nape of his neck to his shoulders, Florence was grinning and Jacob seemed to mirror it. “That was glorious, Jacob! I mean, the precision of your hits was--”
God, the light in her eyes was beautiful.
“-- astounding and when you countered that blond bloke? Amazing! How did you know to--”
Would it be too forward to kiss her?
“-- dodge at that moment? It’s like you have some… superhuman ability. I’m still--”
Oh, he wanted to kiss her.
“-- shaking from it all and I--” She paused, sighing through a small smile and averting her gaze for a moment to think. Florence didn’t notice this but, at the same time, Jacob seemed to lean towards her, following the movement of her head. When she looked back to him, she became acutely aware of how close they were, how one of her thumbs absently traced the curve of his neck, how she could feel his breath on her skin.
Jacob’s gaze flickered down to her lips.
Florence felt her heart skip.
Did she want to kiss him?
Her lips parted and honey eyes searched hazel ones for any signs of dishonesty-- something that she should’ve looked for with Thomas-- but she found nothing besides warmth and a sense of... adoration?
Fuck.
Her hands moved from his shoulder back to their previous position on his neck. Using this as leverage, she pulled herself back into the hug and quietly hoped that he wouldn’t be able to feel the stammering beat in her chest.
Oh, God preserve her; she did want to kiss him. She wanted to take Jacob’s stupid face in her hands and kiss him.
What a predicament.
Florence Abberline was falling in love again.
“Thank you.” She whispered to him but she wasn’t sure why. For bringing her here? Perhaps. For making her feel special? Maybe. For prying her heart open again with little jokes and smiles? Just as likely.
A few moments passed in which they both felt like they had missed an opportunity but they found comfort in one another regardless. Then, Florence finally pulled away fully a soft smile forming on her lips. “Well, I do believe that I should be on my way home, lest Freddy start thinking Willard’s stolen me away.”
“Give me a moment to… well, dress--” She huffed out a laugh, dimple making its mark in her cheek, which encouraged Jacob to grin too, “-- and I’ll walk with you.”
“Oh, Jacob, you don’t have to. You’ve already done plenty--”
“I insist.” There was a certain genuineness to his smile that made her cave.
“Well, who am I to turn down a king, hm?” That devious little light reignited in her eyes again.
He breathed out a laugh and mirrored her impish smile. “Remember our bet? You have to call me ‘your majesty’ until I--”
“Hold on. I never agreed to this bet--”
Jacob had begun to back into the crowd and, thanks to this, he cupped a hand to his ear, “Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t seem to hear you, my loyal subject.” Florence’s jaw protruded in annoyance, crossing her arms beneath her chest, but a begrudging smile played at her lips. “I suppose you’ll have to wait until I return, eh?” Then, he turned and was swallowed by all the tightly-knit people.
She shook her head, watching after him with a certain look of disbelief in her gaze.
―; summary: Florence Abberline was a woman bound to get herself wrapped up in trouble. Trouble came with the name 'Jacob Frye'.
―; pairing: jacob frye x ofc
―; word count: 3.4k
―; warnings: light swearing.
―; A/N: i just think Assassin’s Creed: Syndicate is pretty neat. this is, if all goes to plan, a multi-part fic because i am obsessed at the moment (oops)!
i thought that i’d dabble in original characters for this and so forth came my lovely Florence. i do hope you all like her because she is indeed baby and i treasure her and her journey (that’s already mostly written out in my plans!)
do enjoy and please ignore any segments of terrible characterisation or inaccuracy; my writing hands are rusty.
―; part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10
― ❊ ―
“Freddy! Fredd-- shit!”
Florence Abberline was something of an abnormality when you consider the temperament of your average middle-class lady. She lacked the charm in her spoken word than some of her neighbours and tended to be far too intrigued in tasks that didn’t befit a lady of near-twenty. Though, it was hard to dislike the mousy-haired woman, what with that sweet smile of hers. She was often caught bumbling about the streets of London, doing sleuthing of her own.
She had a penchant for finding dark information about suspected criminals. Time and time again, Florence had helped her brother in making an arrest on someone unsuspecting. This was solely because she was unfathomably lucky in that field. It also helped that, despite her assumed airy-ness, she has a superb sense of one’s character.
The glint in her eyes of honey brown told that she had found something of good enough interest to share. That, and the letter that she was waving wildly in the direction of Frederick.
He, and the two others he was speaking with, turned to look at her as she stumbled over to them, wiping the dirt of Whitechapel off of the knees of her dress. “I have a--” she inhaled deeply and made a ‘hoo’ noise as she breathed out, “I have a letter here that might be of interest. It fell out of--”
“Florence!”
She paused, her face like a startled hare and her body still locked in its dress-patting position.
His mouth was drawn into a tight line. Then, he sighed and held out his hand. “It is as though,” He took the note from her and she rolled her eyes to the side, knowing that she was going to get a telling off, “you never give a few seconds to consider and filter your words.” When she finally looked back to her brother, he was pointing a finger at her, “You’ll never find a man to court you with a foul mouth like that.”
“I shall not marry a man who cannot bear to hear me curse when I desire to.”
Frederick sighed deeply, poking his tongue into his cheek for a moment, before glancing behind her. He gestured to his sister with the hand that held the letter. “I apologise for my sister; she can be so… brash.”
Finally, Florence turned to examine those behind her. A man and a woman of equal height-- give or take a small bit-- with the kind of likeness that only befitted siblings. A strange sense of fashion with regards to the lady, she thought, though perhaps she was envious of her trousers; she certainly wouldn’t have tripped earlier if she had dressed like that. Gaze flickering between them both, she observed they both had a very similar twist to their smile and the look in their eyes told of amusement.
“Well, she’s not the most peculiar character we’ve met in London so far, so you needn’t worry, Mister Abberline.” The woman mentioned, to which her companion nodded almost too enthusiastically.
Florence, having had her fill of trying to assume things about them both, held a hand out for either to shake. “I apologise for my interruption. I’m Florence Abberline-- the sergeant's sister. It’s lovely to make your acquaintance…”
As she trailed off, there came a shake of her hand and the introduction of “Evie Frye”. She couldn’t help but notice how firm Evie’s calloused grip was; it was all but too obvious that the woman wasn’t your usual ‘lady’. “This is my brother, Jacob.”
“A pleasure.” He said with the kind of sly grin that already gave her the impression that Jacob was the more lively of the pair.
They were both fighters, there was no doubt about that. Both grips were strong and, while shaking Jacob’s hand, her eyes had grazed over that strange gauntlet they both seemed to wear. Evie seemed more fluid-- gazelle-like-- even in the way she stood and balanced her weight from foot to foot. Jacob, however, was the opposite and appeared to be very content with making himself out to be a brick wall of a man. Ever intrigued, Florence began a bank of questions she would ask another time.
With introductions out of the way, Florence turned back to her brother, an eyebrow raised, gesturing toward the letter. He narrowed his eyes as he read along the last few scrawlings of ink. Clicking his tongue, he passed it back over to her and she gave him an altogether confused and offended look. “What is it?”
“It’s interesting, Florrie--”
A little hum came from behind her, alongside a “‘Florrie’: how sweet”. She heard Evie mutter something and the sound of a slap on an arm, to which Jacob chuckled out an ‘ow!’.
“-- but we can’t just make an arrest based on a scrap of paper and nothing else. We’d need to do a house investigation and we don’t have the men for that-- especially not with all these bloody Blighters.”
“Freddy! You can’t leave a man to do things like that; he’s a people-snatcher! And, he’s sweet on me.” Florence threw her hands up into the air, the curls in her hair wobbling. The woman was certainly animated; the twins had already come to that conclusion. “What happens if I’m next to be snatched? How would you explain that to mother and father, hm?”
Freddy stared over her shoulder into the distance, bottom jaw protruding in annoyance.
“‘Sergeant Stolen-Sister’-- does that have a nice ring to it, Freddy?”
While Evie stifled her laugh behind them, Jacob unashamedly chortled at Frederick’s vacant expression.
Florence huffed. “Don’t blank me when I’m asking you perfectly valid questions, Frederick Abberline!”
“You’re being ridiculous. I’m in the middle of business and you--”
“Oh, you are insufferably boring sometimes.” She folded her arms below her chest. There were a few moments of quiet in which they could all see cogs rotating in her head, her weight rested on one leg while the other bounced up and down. Chewing on her bottom lip, Florence pointed into the air as if to punctuate her next point. “If you won’t do anything about it, perhaps I will.” Honey eyes locked with her brother’s dark ones. There was a challenge somewhere in her gaze-- a blazing mischievousness that made his posture slump. Before he could say anything to object, she turned to the twins, who were highly entertained by the entire ordeal. “Meet me in the market at 2 o’clock, if either of you are so inclined to help a lady who worries for the well-being of her fellow people.”
With that, Florence was off, deciding to continue on her endeavour of wiping the dirt from the pale yellow of her dress as she went. The three of them stared after her, Frederick looking particularly defeated. Evie appeared appropriately confused and her gaze flickered between the alleyway and Freddy, who likely didn’t have the answers she would’ve liked. Jacob, however, seemed fairly amused; his lips had curled into the kind of smile that would’ve allowed a laugh had he not also been taken aback by the young woman’s nature.
He pointed in the direction that she had left and Evie gave him a side-eye. “I like her.” He grinned, earning him a deep sigh from his sister, though Evie’s own lips twitched upwards.
Florence Abberline could easily be described as a hurricane of personality.
As Freddy turned back to them, he was pinching the bridge of his nose and overall had the disposition of a man who had dealt with her for far too long. “Just…” He showed them his palm like he was warding away an incessant house cat, “... ignore my sister--”
“That’s what I tell most people too.”
Smack.
“Shut up, Jacob.”
“-- and do not indulge in her fantasies of adventure; she’ll only end up hurting herself.”
Jacob dipped his head to one side, clearly about to object, but Evie placed a firm grip on his arm and gave Frederick a reassuring smile, though her eyes screamed irritation at her brother. “Don’t worry, Mister Abberline. We--” a rather harsh glare was thrown at Jacob, “-- will not be seen at the market this afternoon. Besides, what with the work you’ve given us, among other things, we should be too busy. Isn’t that right, Jacob?”
A snide grin graced the younger’s expression. “Of course, dear sister.”
“Good.” Freddy said, nodding to himself somewhat.
Florence had been known to worry her brother to no end since moving to London. It wasn’t that she was a terrible sister, per se, it was just that she had such an overwhelming desire for her life to be… seen that it likely pained her not to be in the centre of some kind of attention or scheme. She would make a pleasant actress, he’d always thought, but Florence seemed insistent on real-life experience over anything in the theatre. Oh, how he rued.
“Well,” Jacob began, already taking a few steps away from their meeting place, “if we’re all done here I do believe I have one Homer Dalton to bring to you, Freddy--”
Frederick grimaced. “Sergeant--”
Jacob, unfazed his attempt at correction, was still walking away from the scene, a devilish smile playing at his features. “-- and, Evie, perhaps I’ll bring some fresh fruit from the market back to Greenie’s shop for us all to share later.”
If Evie could’ve rolled her eyes any harder, they would’ve popped out of their sockets. “Jacob, no--”
“I hear the pears are exquisitely tasty this time of year.” He was moving further still and had almost turned a corner.
“Jacob--”
“Don’t worry, Evie; I would never forget the red apples.” The rest of him disappeared, leaving them both with the terrible image of his grin.
They stood in silence for a few moments, both staring into the air like they wished they could evaporate into it.
Evie exhaled deeply. “I’m so sorry. My brother is such a--”
“I understand.” Freddy gave her a tired smile and brief raise of his eyebrows before toddling off down the alleyway, holding up the skirt of his dress.
Hoping that this had been a strange dream, Evie shook her head.
Much to her displeasure, nothing changed.
Perhaps she should’ve stayed in Crawley.
---
In the afternoon, the marketplace was quite the attraction. Most saw it as a place to not only collect the next few day’s groceries but also to have a good gossip. On a good day, Florence would accompany her household’s cook, a kindly older lady by the name of Lissie, to have a nice chat and treat herself to a gift or two. If Frederick was lucky, perhaps he would get a trinket when she returned home but it depended on if she deemed he had been a nice enough brother that day or not.
Today was not one of those days.
Having changed into a cooler, green dress for the afternoon-- free of marks of her clumsiness, Florence would’ve been quite content to stand near the woodworker’s stall for a good portion of the rest of the day. She’s always had an appreciation of the little wooden figurines he sold. They framed the mantlepiece in the lounge of her home and she was contemplating on filling a shelf in her bedroom with them too. The little bird sculpture she held was sweet enough. If she’d learnt anything from the nature encyclopaedias she read as a child, she believed it to be a sparrow: a bird that she found to be quite positively adorable.
A hand came to her shoulder and she tensed, juggling the figurine to keep it in her grasp. As she went to turn, a body slid in place beside hers at the stall and a familiar voice said: “It looks a bit like you.”
Her lips tugging upwards, she allowed her gaze to flicker towards Jacob, who was perusing through the other trinkets sold by the woodworker. Studying the profile of his face, she raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying I have a beak, Mister Frye?”
Though he wasn’t facing her, Florence could see that he was smiling. “Of course not, Miss Abberline.” His gaze finally met hers and he held his hand out. She placed the bird in his palm and he began to examine it. “I just think it has… pretty eyes.” Jacob had a certain glint in his eyes, as though he wanted to get some kind of rise out of her.
The young lady rolled her eyes and shook her head, though the exhale she gave sounded like a laugh, which satisfied Jacob enough. “While I am glad you trust me enough already to express your, perhaps intimate, liking for avian creatures, Mister Frye,” She began, to which he grimaced and she let out a pleased little laugh, “the man I-- we-- plan on arresting this afternoon is just over there and-- pass me back the bird--” He did so, “-- is glaring at our conversation.” Halfway through her speech, Florence had adopted a rather charming smile, looking through the stalls at a rather large man, though the way he carried himself told of a lack of confidence.
Jacob followed her gaze and, at the same time, Florence went back to looking over the trinkets on display. As soon as the man moved his sight from her and onto Jacob, he seemed a great deal more aggressive. It was an unfruitful effort to scare him away.
Jacob’s smile only seemed to infuriate him more and he went back to moving sacks of goods about to avoid the unwavering stare of the assassin. “What’s his name?” Jacob asked.
“Peter Fullmore.” She mentioned, placing the bird back down onto the stall. Jacob glanced at it, then her. “He’s the eldest son of the local butcher and his first wife recently passed—“
“— meaning he’s on the lookout for his next one.” He finished for her with enough intent in his voice that she knew that he was speaking of her.
Florence hummed uncomfortably. “Indeed. I’ve never truly been interested in him, what with his strange demeanour and grubby, grubby hands, but he appears enamoured with me.” They both stared at Peter for a few moments. During that time, the man managed to wipe his nose in a way that could make some ladies faint. Florence and Jacob shared an almost identical look of disgust, which she took as an opportunity to elaborate on her plan. “His liking for me might make it easy for me to… make my way to his home to hunt for evidence.”
Jacob pondered for not even a few seconds before he reeled back and gave her a look. “You plan on offering yourself to him?”
“Yes, Mister Frye, but I’m not going to… do anything!” Leaning closer to him, her voice lowered, “He’s a kidnapper! Do you really think I’m idiotic enough to fuck him?”
He raised his eyebrows and a smirk graced his expression. “I suppose not, Miss Abberline, what with your strong choice of words.”
“It’s commonplace for me; perhaps you should get used to it.”
“Implying that we’re going to spend more time together, are you?”
Florence grinned, the dimple making an appearance again. “If you’re lucky, Mister Frye. Now,” She gave him a tap on the shoulder, as to move him out of the way and walk around him, “I’ll whistle if I need your help inside the house. Try to keep a policeman nearby, if you wouldn’t mind?”
“So, I’m a bodyguard?” His brows knitted together, body shifting in her direction.
“Of sorts. You look like you climb,” she gestured to his hands, which he then looked at too. Jacob ran a thumb over his palm and fingers. He supposed, with a tilt of his head, that they were quite rough, “and I don’t intend for you to just waltz into his home with me; I don’t think dear Peter is that way inclined. So, you should stay to the rooftops with that lovely gun of yours,” Jacob narrowed his eyes, now realising that Florence was far more observant than she let on, “until something bad happens upon me. Oh, and don't worry; I’ll pay you for your troubles.”
“No need. I’ll do anything you ask to keep the law in check.”
Florence looked unconvinced. “I feel as though you are simply saying that to appear more saintly.”
He smiled. “Perhaps.”
“Well,” Her face twisted in disappointment, glancing away from him, “that's no fun, is it? To think, Mister Frye, that I was going to be getting up to no good with you.” When her eyes met his again, there was a mischievous light within them and her lips tightened to suppress a smile. He shook his head and gave a quiet laugh.
He was going to have fun with her.
“Right,” Florence gave a sigh and Jacob nodded, “I’m off to work whatever magic I may have. I’ll see you in a bit, Mister Frye.”
“Stay safe, Florrie.”
Over her shoulder, she gave him a look sharp enough to stab him but the little smile she fought away made him break out into that terribly satisfied grin of his.
As soon as Peter heard the determined little clicks of her shoes, he shot upwards and gave her a dopey smile. She returned the gesture, her fingers dancing along the wood of his father’s stall. “How’s the day been, my dear?” Her voice took a rather enchanting tone and the way that her posture straightened— no doubt drawing attention to her figure— made it clear why she was well suited to become an actress.
“Oh— uh— good, I suppose. Pa has been…”
His voice trailed into the background of her thoughts-- not that that was a difficult task; poor Peter’s tone had never been particularly invigorating. Rather, as she nodded along to the conversation, honey eyes raked along him for any signs of his criminality. It was a difficult task, what with him helping his father, the butcher, often and Florence failed in finding anything. Though, the way he frequently glanced over her shoulder as though he was looking out for something was suspicious and his tendency to wring his hands together only made him look--
“Miss Abberline?”
She jolted and the absent look in her eyes drained away. To recover, she smiled and huffed out a carefully practiced laugh. “Sorry, dear. My mind has been all over the place lately.”
Peter gave her a concerned gaze, to which her lips curled in a rather feline way. “Don’t worry, Miss Abberline. I was… I was only asking what your plans are for the rest of the afternoon?”
Ah. Splendid.
“I’m entirely free for the day, Mister Fullmore. Why? Did you perhaps want to,” Florence’s voice lowered and she leant over the stall, closer to him, gaze dancing between his lips and his eyes, “occupy my evening?”
Peter coughed, blinking rapidly.
Florence straightened herself again and gave a saddened sigh, “Though, I would understand if not. You’re always so busy--”
“No!” His voice cracked and he looked surprised. If one looked closely enough, they would’ve seen her jaw clench in an attempt to stop from laughing. Florence could almost feel Jacob’s amused gaze watching them. “No, Miss Abberline; nothing would make me happier. I just--” Peter swallowed and his eyes flitted away from her for a few moments. “Meet me at the entrance of the market. I just have to finish up here then we can… be on our way to my home, perhaps?”
A smile that could rival the Devil himself graced her lips and she nodded. “That sounds lovely, my dear.”
With that, Florence made for the main street, a flame of utter delight flickering within her eyes. Adrenaline had already made its mark on her body: her hands shaking and blood rushing in her ears. So many underestimated the might of a charming lady. How foolish of them.
As she passed the fruit stall, she locked eyes with Jacob, who was rolling a red apple in his palm. He gave her a knowing grin, a sense of approval hidden beneath his gaze. Florence had to stop from giggling like a madwoman.
―; summary: Florence grapples with far too many feelings and, as always, Lissie comes to the rescue.
―; pairing: jacob frye x ofc
―; word count: 4.8k
―; warnings: light swearing.
―; A/N: flor is too lovely for all of this and i just want her to be happy guys im :(( but also, can we start a felicity marlowe fanclub?? please leave applications below to become an official member bc everyone should love her she’s like a rockin’ older sister.
also, if i was okay with writing like 6k word chapters they would’ve kissed in this one so keep an eye out in the next chapter people
The walk back to Florence’s home was filled with light, cheerful conversation but brushes against the shoulder and moments of her simply studying Jacob’s face seemed far more frequent. Or were they like this usually? Florence was unsure; she’d begun to overwhelm herself inside her own mind, though she kept Jacob none the wiser. The last thing that she could afford right now was him, of all people, digging through her conscious.
“-- and I was trying to enjoy a pint but along comes Evie with this huge bloke’s head in her hands and she just slams him into my table. I tell you, beer in the eyes is painful but not as painful as the splinters that man had to pull out of his face.” Jacob grimaced, gazing into as though he was envisioning the wound’s that very moment. Then hazel eyes met hers, amusement mirrored in both of their eyes. “So, the moral of that story is to never go drinking with my sister.”
“Such a shame, that.” Florence’s brows drew together in faux disappointment. “To think, I was going to invite your sister down to the pub this weekend.”
“Without me?”
She shot him a little wink, a finger coming up to tap her nose. “Girl talk, Jacob; you wouldn’t understand.”
He huffed out a laugh, taking a familiar turn into her street. “I’m not sure Evie would either.”
Florence’s gaze fixed to the profile of his face for a moment too long, just watching the curl of his lips and the jovial light flickering in his eyes. Why did she find it so impossible that he actually wanted to spend time with her? Remnants of Thomas prickled at her heart, despite Jacob’s work to remove them. The thought that she might allow herself to fall fully for this man-- this assassin-- only for him to break her again terrified her more than Florence would like to admit. Yet, his presence had been lingering on her mind for longer than she’d previously realised.
His eyes dragged from the bunting strung above her street to her and the worried little crease between her eyebrows. Florence appeared to be in another world entirely. “Flor? Are you alright?”
She blinked once, then again, before refocusing on the world around her. A gentle smile tugged her lips upwards and she nodded. “Yes, of course. I was just thinking…”
… that I’d very much like to kiss you.
… of how you always seem to make me feel at ease.
… about you.
“... that we should perhaps part ways here, lest Freddy interrogate the both of us. You know how he is.”
Jacob chortled, nodding, his brows raised. “Indeed I do.” There came a little sigh, hardly noticeable, though gave the impression that he was almost sad that their time together had come to a close. The smile she gave him said the same.
Something heavy hung above their heads.
“Well, thank you for today, Jacob. There’s nothing like watching someone you know beat a crowd of grown men up.” Florence breathed out a laugh, shaking her head slightly.
There was a softness to Jacob’s face; the curve of his lips was gentle, the glint in his eyes screamed of something more than a simple care, and his gaze studied each of her features-- from that little mole on her bottom lip to the hump in her nose to the strands of mousy hair that had taken to resting on her forehead. The arm that had been hooked around hers moved forward but he paused before putting his hand on her hip. Instead, below her sight, Jacob’s hand balled into a loose fist-- a sign of a change of heart. “Florence,” her full name, “look, I really--”
Her hand came to his shoulder to stop him, heart roaring her ears. “I should really be getting inside, Jacob.” Ah, Christ Almighty, he looked like a kicked puppy. It was near indescribable how much her heart wanted her to push forward embrace him, tell him of all the tangled worries occupying her mind, but that very mind insisted that Florence had to make sense of it herself first. So, as to appease her heart enough to allow her a few hours of restful sleep tonight, she rolled up onto the tips of her toes, placed a hand to one of his cheeks, and gave a featherlight kiss to the other. She muttered a soft “Visit me again soon.” before turning and hurrying into the safety of her own home.
Jacob watched after her with wide eyes and parted lips. It was rare that Jacob Frye was speechless but, for a few moments, his brain was completely incapable of comprehending words. Was he blushing? His own hand came to his cheek and he frowned slightly. Maybe.
Bloody Hell.
London does have its surprises.
---
“A letter came for you while you were out, Florrie” was the first thing she heard as she walked in the door. Freddy, from the lounge chair, glanced over the newspaper he had been reading and to his sister, furrowing his brows at the red tinge to her ears and neck and the otherwise lost look in her eyes. “You look flustered.”
Florence hung her shawl beside the door and tucked a few strands that had come loose from her bun behind her ear. “Oh, it’s…” Eyes flickered over to the letter on the tea table before flitting to Frederick, giving him a reassuring smile, “... it’s nothing. I think Lissie made my corset a smidge too tight this morning and, well,” Her lips pursed and her brows rocketed toward her hairline, “I’ve already told you how overwhelming Willard can be.”
Freddy hummed, uncomfortable with the thought of a man being so shameless with his sister. The newspaper flopped at one corner when he gestured to the letter now in her hands. “What’s that about, then? Is it mother and father?”
She tapped the back of the envelope with her thumb for a second or two, having vaguely recognised the handwriting as most certainly not her mother’s, before tearing it open. It was an invitation to meet again the day after the next from--
“Willard. He’s asked to meet with me again.” She muttered, scanning over the contents of the letter.
Freddy frowned. “Couldn’t he have asked you that at the library?”
Ah, shit.
“He had to leave on ‘important business’ earlier than I expected so he must’ve just forgotten.” Florence had a talent for lying through her teeth, though whenever it was to her brother she did feel the need to pray to the Lord above at the same time.
Freddy was quiet for a few moments then sighed. Florence held her breath. “No doubt his ‘important business’ was--” The pitch of his voice heightened somewhat and it drew a smile up from his sister, “-- ‘collect my latest pomade shipment, make a fancy speech to parliament, plot the demise of Frederick Abberline.’”
She snorted, folding the letter back up and balancing it between her middle and ring fingers. “I’m sure he’s arranging the hitmen as we speak, dear brother.”
Freddy shrugged and raised his eyebrows in response, a motion that said “probably” before letting his eyes drift back to the newspaper. Florence paused for a few moments in her place, toying with the letter. She needed to speak with Lissie.
“When you see her next, can you tell Lissie to come up to my room? I’d like to get out of this corset and into a nice bath.”
“Of course.” Frederick gave her a little farewell smile as his sister made her way towards the staircase.
Lissie was something of an agony aunt and, goodness, did she need someone’s ear to chew off. In fact, merely thinking of it made her hands shake and breathing heavy. Even the gentle meowing of Duncan behind her bedroom door did very little to calm her nerves.
A gentle knock came to the door and Florence didn’t even have a chance to answer before the figure of Lissie bumbled through the door. She had two cups of tea in her hand and a concerned glint in her eyes; she already knew that Florence was worrying. Felicity was a good woman and Florence appreciated her very much.
Without a word, Lissie passed a cup to Florence and she began to blow over the surface of it, steadying it when the older woman took a seat on the bed beside her. There was a slurping noise-- how did she drink it while it was still so hot?-- then Lissie settled the tea into her lap, turning slightly so she could take Florence in fully. “What’s the matter, dear--”
“I like him.” She blurted out, honey eyes flickering from her tea to her maid. There was a look of desperation there-- as if she was hoping that Felicity could simple somehow magic away that clenching of her heart.
Lissie furrowed her brows. “You like who?”
“Jaco-- Mister Frye. We’ve been spending more time together recently and I-- and we--” Florence held her breath, keeping eye contact with Lissie for a few moments, before finally sighing. “He almost kissed me.” There was a pause. “I almost kissed him.” Another. She threw one hand up into the air and the cup of tea in her other hand wobbled dangerously. “I don’t know-- I don’t know! I just--”
“Lovely!” A hand came to Florence’s shoulder. “Lovely. Calm down.” Lissie’s smile was so kind that Florence actually felt her shoulders relax. Blue eyes met hers and, to reassure Lissie, she gave her a little nod. “It’s fine. He’s not a bad bloke, is he?”
“No, of course not. Jacob is… well, he’s really charming. He’s not a huge gentleman but he doesn’t have to be. I just--” Florence glanced to the corner of the room, where Duncan was watching them both, then back to Lissie. “I just think I really like him.”
That smile curled at Felicity’s lips and Florence stifled a laugh of disbelief. Before she could say anything though, Lissie was already speaking, “Oh, to be young and in love.”
“You’re lucky I need you, Felicity Marlowe.”
Lissie grinned, crow’s feet appearing at the corners of her eyes. “I know, I know. But,” The same hand that had been on her shoulder moved to her lap, giving Florence’s thigh a reassuring squeeze beneath her skirts, “you seem quite smitten with this Jacob fellow and, from the sounds of it, he likes you enough too. Is he why you’re always out?”
Florence took a sip of tea, avoiding the answer to the question for as long as she could, and flinched when it burnt her tongue. She swallowed once, with brows pulled downwards, then answered a simple: “Yes”.
“Do you enjoy yourself with him?”
A pause. “Yes.” Honey eyes met blue ones, remnants of the day swimming about in them. “Did you know he took me to a fight club today? I watched him fight; he’s the champion there.”
Lissie’s fingernails tapped along the ceramic cup and her lips pursed for a moment. “So, why is it such a dilemma that you fancy him, then?”
There was the real question. Why did it bother her so much that she liked someone-- liked him? It wasn’t like Jacob had done any wrong by her yet. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to make her happier. And, the way he had looked at her: as though she was everything that existed in the world at that moment. God, it made Florence’s throat tighten and heart swell.
“I should be looking for a wealthy husband. I need someone my father would benefit from.” Lissie looked unconvinced. Florence looked panicked. “Freddy wouldn’t approve either.”
Felicity set her tea down and held her hands out. Florence did the same and placed her own hands in the maid’s grip. A thumb glided over the back of her palm as an effort to comfort. “Firstly, you have never been concerned with such tripe. My Florence would rather die than marry into wealth.”
Florence’s lips curled into one of those smiles that said: “You’re right but I don’t want to admit that I was wrong”.
“Secondly,” One of Lissie’s hands came up to raise Florence’s gaze back to her, “in the politest way possible, fuck your brother.”
Florence frowned. “I’d prefer not to.”
Felicity groaned, rolling her eyes and giving a slight pinch to the back of Florence’s hand. “Hush, you terrible woman.” She huffed out a laugh, allowing Lissie to continue. “Freddy would disapprove if you got with the son of Queen Victoria herself. He might yap on about you needing to marry a ‘good man’ but all he cares for is your happiness, lovely. He’s probably just worried about Jacob’s intentions.”
Florence sighed, teeth gnawing at her top lip. She was right. Lissie was always right.
“What is it that’s really worrying you?”
That clenching in her chest began again but it was sadder this time-- scared. When she looked back up to Felicity, there were the beginnings of tears in her eyes. “I’m frightened he’s going to break my heart or--or--” One fell down the curve of her face and Lissie was already pulling Florence into a hug, burying the younger’s face into her own shoulder, “-- if he might leave me because I’m too b-boring and I--”
A gentle ‘shh’ came to stop her blubbering and stuttering. “Florence, lovely, you’re one of the most interesting, lively women I’ve ever met and anyone would be blind to not see the same.” Florence hiccuped into her shoulder, pulling away slightly to rub her eyes. At the same time, Felicity’s hands cupped her cheeks to ensure that Florence was looking at her. Red circled honeyed eyes, lashes thick and dark with tears. Lissie frowned slightly and moved forward to plant a kiss on her forehead. “If he’s gotten into your heart, it’s because he tried. I reckon Jacob wants you as much as you want him.”
God, he had tried. Jacob was so kind to her-- so willing to help her outside of this little box she’d been put in by her class. He wasn’t afraid to show her new things in fear that it’d ‘ruin her innocence’. He’d tell her horribly lewd jokes because they made her do that silly snort of hers. He, despite his sister’s words of concern, always went out of his way to see her.
Florence’s heart calmed down a little bit.
Maybe this all wouldn’t be so terrible after all.
Through a small sniff and her hands coming up to wipe away the moisture on her cheeks, Florence sighed but it sounded somewhat like a laugh. “That sounds terribly dirty, Lissie.”
Obviously pleased with how Florence had stopped crying and now had the beginnings of a smile playing at her lips, Felicity released her face and grinned, pointing an accusing finger. “I’ve seen the bloke’s shoulders-- nice and broad. Don’t lie to me and tell me you haven’t thought about him above--”
“Felicity Marlowe!” Florence slapped the maid’s arm, stifling a naughty little giggle. There was a wonderful sense of joy in the genuine smile of someone who had just been sobbing. It was their emotion in its rawest form-- walls torn down by the breakdown moments before. Despite her eyes and the red around them, light shone in her pupils eyes again. “Just go and sort me out a bath, please.”
“What? So you can think of all his muscles alone?”
Florence shot her a sharp look but the dimple in her cheek made an appearance, her head shaking. “No.” Then, a playful little smile graced her features and she glanced away briefly. “So I can plan on how I’m going to kiss him.”
Lissie’s grin was proud. “That’s the spirit.”
---
The park she’d been due to meet Willard in was quaint enough, with a little gazebo in the centre that a band played in. It was mid-morning, so the soft chirps of birds accompanied this melody, which calmed Florence’s heart to some degree, she supposed. In the light of the rising sun, it wasn’t difficult to spot Willard’s golden crown of hair. The mottled sun painted gorgeously against tanned skin and, when he heard the small clicks of her footsteps, he turned, green eyes appearing almost icy in the light.
“Dear Florence!” He stood from the bench he’d been sat on and took a few steps towards her. His head bowed and his hand took hers, placing a featherlight kiss upon the back of it. “I hope nothing terrible happened to your brother, hm?”
Florence’s smile was courteous and sweet but the sickness in her stomach remembered Willard and his feelings toward Freddy-- how he planned to use her. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know that he was fine.” Willard raised a brow, asking her to elaborate. She did, hooking her arm through his so they could walk together, “He had ripped my favourite dress accidentally and had begun to panic far too much-- the poor sod. Oh, sorry for the language. I’m--”
For once, Willard seemed to smile genuinely, breathing out a laugh. “It’s charming, Florence; you shouldn’t apologise. I have siblings, so I know it’s not always so easy to refer to them nicely.” He had leant into her somewhat to say this, as though it was a little known secret. Much to her own surprise, a little grin tugged at her lips. “If you’d like, I can put some money in toward reparations? I would hate for you not to feel as gorgeous as you always look.”
Here start the compliments again.
“No, it’s fine; I’m unsure on if I’d even fit into it anymore. I’ve had it for far too long so it’s about time I chose another.” Did Florence have actually have a preferred dress? No. She chose all of her dresses because she knew that she’d look good in them. There was no purpose in her having one particular ‘favourite’.
“Well, perhaps you should make the one you’re wearing now your new favourite. If I might say, blue is a beautiful colour on you. It really brings out the paleness of your skin.”
Great. She supposed blue couldn’t be her favourite colour anymore.
Florence’s previous thought that her conversation was going quite swimmingly with Willard, although brief, flew completely out of the window. In an effort to hide her growing grimace, she turned as if to look at the birds in the trees above them. “Thank you, Willard. I’ll keep that in mind.”
They walked in silence for a while, following a path lined with flowers. The quiet was welcome for a time until the realisation that Willard was never quiet for this long hit Florence across the face. She finally shot a glance toward him to find him looking less-than-happy with the world.
“You seem troubled, Willard. Is there something you wish to speak with me about?”
His eyes met hers after a few moments. Then, he gestured for them to sit on the bench just beside the gazebo. “What is your opinion of me, Florence?”
Genuine confusion washed across her expression. “Nothing bad, Willard. You’ve only been nice to me. Why?”
“It’s just that there have been… unsavoury rumours going about with concerns to my intentions with you.” Willard shifted in his seat so that he might hold her hands. Florence allowed him to, upholding that look of bewilderment. “I simply hope for this to be the start of something grander and I would hate for you or your family to think of me in a bad light.”
What did he know? What had he heard?
“What rumours might those be?” The speed of her speech made her seem panicked but, if he had picked up on it, he didn’t comment.
Willard frowned. “After Sergeant Abberline arrested my brother, some people have this sick idea in their minds that I’m out for revenge. What my brother did--” He swallowed, appearing quite disgusted. A terrible feeling began to stir in Florence’s stomach. “What he did was… horrible and I am ashamed to have the same blood as the wretched man.”
Was he lying? He must be. A barrage of doubt slammed into her. Maybe he was being truthful and the note was a set-up of some kind. But, on the other spin of the coin, perhaps he’d noticed he’d lost the note and wanted to cover up his tracks. There was a flashing memory of the look in his eyes when Jacob introduced himself. None of the puzzle pieces were connecting and Florence was beginning to feel quite light-headed.
She blinked once. Then, twice. Her hand came up to tuck a few curled strands of brown behind her ear in an effort to self-comfort. “I have never thought such a thing and nor has Freddy.”
“I’d still feel horrible to just leave it at that; I feel like I must prove that I’m not the creator of some dastardly plan. So,” Was that a shy smile? From Willard? “I’d like to invite you and your brother to dinner at my manor at the end of this week.”
What had she done to the Lord above for Him to invoke such wrath upon her?
Florence felt like her body had frozen, bar the heavy swallow she took. Dinner wouldn’t be… so bad. Yet, there was this pang in her chest that told her that living this double life-- split between being this Florence for Willard and the real Florence to Jacob-- would be her downfall but she felt that she had very few options in the matter.
“That sounds lovely, Willard. I’ll be sure to tell my brother when I return home. Speaking of which--”
“Oh, don’t say you must leave, dear.”
Florence’s lips tugged into a sad smile, patting Willard’s shoulder to comfort him. “-- I must leave to go home. Our maid is due to do the shopping soon and I must go with her; my cat has a very specific diet.”
Willard huffed out a laugh at this and stood up with her. “Well, I look forward to seeing you again this weekend. Do say ‘hello’ to this diva cat of yours from me, too.”
At that, Florence grinned and said her goodbyes. Beneath her, her feet went a little faster than usual.
---
The door was unlocked when she got back, Freddy obviously having forgotten to lock it on his way out to work. As soon as she stood on the creaky floorboard near the entrance, the door closed behind her, Florence let out a heavy sigh, shoulders relaxing somewhat. She set her little purse down on the little table beside the coat rack but stays there to lean on it for a small while, simply gathering her thoughts.
Her opinion on Willard was much like a metronome; sometimes, he was delightfully charming and today told that he had at least some sense of humour but, other times, he was like the wolf to her rabbit-- ready to consume everything she had ever stood for in a grapple for power. It made her feel weak either way; she didn’t want to kneel for any man.
Her breathing was deep and slow-- an attempt to comfort-- and one of her hands had begun to work on undoing the bun on her crown. Florence had had enough of today and it was barely the afternoon. She would write her parents another letter, read, and wait for Freddy to get home; she didn’t have the emotional energy for much else.
“A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.”
Florence jumped, all of her muscles tensing in one go to look toward the source of the voice.
There was Jacob, all amused at the sight of Florence so surprised, holding Pride and Prejudice in his hands. “Who knew books could have such profound words? Now I know where your fancy vocabulary comes from.”
Florence, despite her racing heart, laughed softly, shaking her head. With a brow raised, other hand out to ask for the book back, she asked: “How did you get in, Jacob?”
He took a few steps forward, around the lounge chairs, to give her the novel. “That maid of yours-- Lissie, was it?-- let me in just as she was leaving.”
The image of Felicity’s dirty little smile came to the forefront of her mind and Florence bit back a grin. “If Freddy had come home, you’d have been killed.”
“Oh, yes-- because your brother is capable of murdering me.” Jacob narrowed his eyes at her, snark dripping from his voice, and plonked himself down onto the nearest chair, playing with the fabric beneath him. Florence sighed, amused, but said nothing more, going to hang up her shawl. Jacob soon noticed the tension in her movement and the tiredness in her eyes. “What’s got you in a twist, lovely Flor?”
Of course he’d notice. He noticed everything. That feeling arose again when she turned to look at him, concern in those hazel eyes, but she swallowed it. “I met with Willard again today--” The slight frown Jacob adopted was nearly missable, “-- and he’s invited both me and my brother to dinner this weekend.”
He made a mock ‘ooh-la-la’ noise, despite there being a little part of him that hated the whole idea. “Sounds like a date. Perhaps he’s courting you and you don’t even know it.”
“Oh, I know it; he makes it all too obvious. I just don’t want to be… courted.” Florence paused, rolling her shawl in her hands. “Not by him, at least.”
Jacob’s little grin never left but there was something in his eyes as he asked: “Did you have anyone else in mind?”
Blood rocketed through her veins. She could hear it in her ears-- feel her pulse in her neck. Their gazes locked for a moment too long and his expression softened into one reminiscent of the other evening. Florence broke the moment by dragging her eyes away. “The only thing I have on my mind is alcohol; I need to relax.”
“I could help with that.” Briefly, she looked back to him only to be met with a cheeky wink. Her shawl flew through the air and landed on his face, muffling his chuckling.
“You’re terrible, Jacob.” Try as she might, she was unable to keep the dimple in her cheek away, facing away from him for a few moments so he didn’t get the satisfaction of seeing her laugh. When Florence finally looked back to him, he was still grinning, now wearing her shawl like a pretty scarf. “You can stay and share some wine, if you’d like--”
“No, no. Certainly not.” He stood up, shuffling around the table to get to her. “Come on.”
She frowned, confused. “What?”
“You’re not going to drink wine and mope at home. If you want to drink, we’re going to go to the pub.”
“Jacob--”
One of his hands were already on the doorknob, tugging the door open. The other he held out toward her like an invitation. “I won’t hear it. It’ll cheer you up.”
Florence bit her cheek, arms crossed beneath her chest, unconvinced.
“I want to see you happy again-- like the other night.”
Felicity’s word from earlier echoed about her head. Jacob did only want to make her happy.
Florence’s resolve broke in the form of a tilt of her head and a little smile. “Fine.” She placed her hand in his and he helped her step out of the door. “You have to give me my shawl back.”
Jacob, closing the door behind him, hummed. “You know what?” The hand that wasn’t holding hers stroked the fabric of the shawl. “I don’t think I want to.”
Her jaw dropped in mock offence and he half-shouted when her hand came up to try to pull the damned thing from his shoulders. “Give it back to me, Jacob; that thing cost me a pound!” Florence’s words came out through laughter, drawing attention to the pair of them from people strewn about the street.
“Alright, alright! I’ll give it back--” She went to grab it again and he leant away. That gooey feeling in his centre returned when she pouted, “-- if you promise to hold my hand on the way there.”
Florence sighed. “People will talk.”
“Damn them.”
She frowned-- thoughtful. Then, honey eyes melded with hazel.
Damn them.
“Deal.” Jacob didn’t have a moment to react when she tugged it off of his shoulders and draped it over her own. “Thank you.”
He stared at her for a little too long, the beginnings of a certain smile curling at his lips. “I think it looks better on you, anyway.”
Florence gave a little grin, unable to keep the red twinge away from her ears.
Their fingers stayed interlocked for the short journey there and Florence, it seemed, had underestimated how much more it made her love him--
“Wait, the tears are good tears?” for Jacob and Flor, the cuties!
thank you thank you!! my internet has been horseshit today so this was a fun way to bide my time!
also, i would like you all to know that this:
is how i envisioned jacob while writing this ksjksjdksjdk i literally cannot stop thinking about this image im--
i’m also determined to get one of these below 1000 words bc i write too much for everything sigh
― ❊ ―
Florence had been feeling tired lately. She was unsure on why she’d felt so fatigued all of a sudden, though simply chalked it up to her busily preparing for a trip to Dorset to meet with the family again. Worrying had a tendency to tire out her mind, which in turn made her body want to laze in bed all day. Briefly, she’d thought that maybe all her trips to the chamber pot in the night could be adding to her weariness but Florence dismissed it and simply decided to lay off of all the tea.
Then came the sickness. It was the kind of bottom-of-the-stomach queasiness that made her grimace whenever she heard that familiar growling. She’d dealt with such things before (stomach bugs were a far too prevalent part of her childhood) and, despite Freddy’s initial worrying, she refused to waste the doctor’s time with something that would pass in a few days.
It did not pass in a few days.
Upon Lissie having to hold her shawl back while Florence threw up in a backstreet near the market, she all but ordered her to go and see the doctor. Florence fought against the idea at first, joking that Lissie must’ve put something in her cooking that had made her so ill. This, in itself, earned her a slap on the arm from the older woman, to which Florence had grinned cheekily, secretly hoping that that would be enough to make Lissie let her off of the hook. Of course, Lissie could not be shaken off so easily and asked her to go again, a knowing glint in her eyes.
Florence was in and out of the damned clinic as quickly as possible, wanting nothing more than to get back home and curl up with Duncan and a good book. When Freddy had asked what the doctor had said, his sister had told him that “it’s a simple stomach bug; nothing to be worried about” and hurried upstairs.
Why had she hurried upstairs?
Because she was lying.
What exactly was she lying about?
Florence was--
“Lissie told me you’ve been throwing up again.” Her bedroom door opened without much warning and, instinctually, Florence gathered up her now undone hair to try to keep her from looking indecent. It didn’t work, however; she had far too much of it to just hold in her hands. As soon as honey eyes met with hazel, her locks dropped back down her back and she sighed quietly, rubbing the space between her eyebrows. The door clicked shut behind Jacob and Duncan yowled at him in greeting, to which he gave the tomcat a brief scratch behind the ear. “What did the doctor tell you?” He glanced about while shrugging off his jacket, “Where’s your medicine?”
Florence swallowed once and rolled her lips inwards to let her chew at them. She inhaled so much that she could feel the strain in the lace of her corset. “You should learn to knock, Jacob. I could’ve been nude.”
From the bed, her eyes met his and he raised a brow, the corners of his lips tugging into an amused smile. “Yes, because I certainly haven’t seen that before.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head in a feeble attempt to keep back a laugh. The toes of his boots touched her own and he collected her hands up in his hands, playing with them as if to draw attention to him. “What’s wrong?”
A riot began in Florence’s mind and her gaze dipped away from his briefly, hands limp as he moved them about. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. It was just… some bad food.”
“What? Bad food for the past two weeks?” Jacob narrowed his eyes at her. “I’ll tell Lissie you said that.”
Florence huffed out something that resembled a laugh but it was dry and worried and muttered something like: “That will be the very least of her concerns.”
At that, Jacob’s brows drew together and the playing with her hands stopped. Instead, he just held them, that worried glint growing in his gaze. “Flor, love, what’s going on? I need to know so I can help because, if you--”
“Jacob, I’m alright--”
“-- end up horribly ill from something I could’ve prevented, I’d never--”
“I’m pregnant.”
He paused.
She looked vacantly at the wall behind him.
His grip on her hands disappeared and they fell into her lap.
Florence’s mouth opened then closed again, accompanied by the first tear of many beginning its descent along the curve of her cheek. “Jacob, I’m sorry.” He said nothing but there was a twitch in his lip that she couldn’t make sense of. “If you want to--” God, she felt like she was choking, “-- to leave, I’d understand. I can-- I can give the baby to--” Florence hiccuped, one of her hands coming up to press against her own chest as if doing so would calm her breathing, “-- one of my sisters or-- or maybe--”
Arms enveloped her and she began to sob, muttering weak apologies until it was the only thing she could bear to think of. Her arms were trapped against his chest, hands balled into fists, and her face was buried into the crook of his neck. Jacob pitied her-- that’s what it was. One last embrace before he left. It was for the better, she told herself; he had things to do. He was busy-- too busy to marry a woman and raise a child that he didn’t want.
Hands cupped her face when he pulled away, her tears rolling past the curve of his thumb. Jacob’s eyes were red too, cheeks wet with… tears? Had he been crying too? A little grin cracked across his features and it was like seeing sunlight again after years stuck in the dark. “You glorious, glorious woman.” He muttered, pressing his forehead to her own. Wasn’t he unhappy? The kiss he gave her told her the answer.
Through a rather ugly sniff, she laughed, tears still careening down her face. She didn’t hate them this time though because they were borne of a lovelier emotion entirely. “The tears are good tears?”
“Of course they are.” Jacob was still smiling, gaze cloudy. It made Florence feel miles better about her crying. “Well, mostly.” His expression became more serious and one of his thumbs stroked along her cheek to keep her attention on him. “It hurts me to know that you’d think such things.”
She frowned a little but it was more out of a sense of guilt than anything else. “You’re… well, you.” Florence put on a voice that made the both of them chuckle, “Sir Jacob Frye: leader of The Rooks, her Majesty’s saviour--”
“You think I’m not yet grand enough to raise a child of the Abberline family?” He raised a brow and she grinned, that dimple appearing in her cheek that made him feel like all was right with the world. “I’ll get a couple more titles, if you’d like? How about: Sir Jacob Frye the railroad baron?”
Florence began to laugh, shaking her head. “Jacob, that’s not what I--”
“If I became a doctor, would I be Sir Doctor Jacob Frye, do you think? Or, would it be the other way around?”
“Jacob--”
“How about I try to switch about some documents to become a duke? Would that be good enough for my lady?”
She had started that terrible laugh of hers-- the one that sounded like a pig’s squeal-- only this time some sniffs and coughs were there too. There was a pause in which he was just grinning at her, searching her expression for any signs of doubt or worry. “You’re terrible.” Florence said somewhere between a snort and a giggle, her wide grin calming into a smaller, more delicate smile. One of her hands came up to cup his cheek like he had done to her and their eyes met. “I love you, Jacob Frye.”
