Miss Narracott and The Captain, Part Four (Capt. James Nicholls x fem! Reader Miniseries)
Fandom: War Horse
Series Summary: It is 1912-1914. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...
Chapter Word Count: 7K (one of the bigger ones)
Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five Coming Soon!
Chapter Warnings: Angst and Fluff. Reader being thirsty (can you blame her), but no smut. Jealousy. It's a light, Diet Slow Burn. I choose violence by selecting a cliffhanger for the ending. Attempts at historical accuracy and Cottagecore vibes.
A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad
A/N: Comments, Reblogs, DMs, and Asks about my work are always appreciated! Feel free to ask to be tagged in this and/or my other stuff! Thank you!
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Autumn 1913
That Sunday, You and Albert went about on one of your typical Sunday walks. As usual, Joey trotted next to you. The long grass was turning brown. The sky was so bright, yet the air was very crisp. The trees were growing orange with the harvest.
“And how was sitting in that rowboat with Lyons?” he asked, recalling the church picnic yesterday.
“Dreadful. I thought I’d fall asleep from how he droned on!” you recalled.
Joey shook his head and let out a neigh. You patted his nose. Then reached up a hand to run through his mane.
“He agrees with you on that one!”
After a beat, Albert asked.
Y/N, have you ever ridden him?”
“Oh no! Not even tried! I don’t know if I can!” you cried.
“Come on, try it!” Albert suggested, handing over the reins.
“But Albie, I could get hurt! I’m not the type to gallop!” you objected.
“Oh, he won’t! He only gallops if you urge him on! Or some loud sound spooks him! Come on- have some fun, Y/N!” Albert argued.
Albert did it all the time. He made it look so easy. And you were curious. You never rode horses. No one taught you how. Usually, the horses on your farm were for plowing instead of riding.
"Just once, Y/N! Save your feet!" Albert suggested.
You wanted to feel less afraid of things. You heard of people dying when they fell off horses. You wanted to feel in control. You envied Albert's freedom in private to run around after farmwork. And his bravery in training and riding a galloping horse. You wanted to know what it was like...and there was only one way how.
Not that you hated Joey- oh no! By now, Joey was a member of the family. He had grown bigger than the colt your family's future depended on to a gorgeous stallion. He even had a special saddle, bridle, and reigns for him. The dear horse would even sometimes trot up to you as you left the house for work. He'd nuzzle against you and sometimes let you brush his mane. One time you and Albert put your gloves on Joey’s ears for fun. Then you both roared into laughter at how his twitching ears moved the gloves like eager hands on his head. And wasn't that why many people kept horses as pets? To ride them?
“Alright...I’ll ride him. Just show me how,” you said.
“Wonderful! He can sense if you’re nervous, so just calm yourself! I won’t make him go fast!” he promised.
Albert was big and strong for a boy of sixteen now. He put his hands around your waist and hoisted you up on the saddle. Joey only let out a small sound at the feeling of your weight on him. But the horse kept still and even moved his head to glance at Albert. You swung your legs to be on one side like you noticed ladies doing. You held onto the reigns tightly.
"You see how he stood still when you got on him? That's proof he likes you!” Albert informed.
"Lead him, Albie. He doesn't really listen to anyone else," you advised.
"Come on, Joey! Let's give Y/N a ride back home!" he ordered, clicking his tongue as he gestured to the horse.
Joey began to move on the path back home, and you gasped some. You were on a breathing, living thing that could throw you off!
Balance your weight, Y/N...and be sure to keep your heels down,” Albert taught you.
You shifted to make sure your body was even and secure. Your leg stretched as you pointed your heels down.
"Good boy, Joey! Gentle…gentle…" You urged as he walked forward.
You felt Joey’s body relax under you and you relaxed on Joey. With the slow pace, you did release one hand to briefly pet him. It wasn't too far from home. You both had walked down the usual path- you and Albert had been perhaps- at most- ten miles down. And the meters were flying by. You heard the clop-clop of his hooves beneath the ground.
You got used to the pace. It was a pleasant day. The sun was shining, and one could hear the birds whistling at each other. The grass only dipped with the gentle wind. Autumnal colors painted the few trees that formed lines across the green fields.
Although it was a hilly area, Joey was used to it. Any larger rocks were stepped over or avoided. The slope on the path was slight. Though you did eye the side of the hill nervously. If you fell, you'd be rolling all the way down the hill like a wheel barrel until you landed among the sheep in the valley. You placed a hand on Joey's skin to note his temperature. If he was getting hot, he'd be slow and it was dangerous to ride a hot horse, according to Albert. But he didn't feel bad. Probably the cool air that kept him happy.
"We can go a little faster," you suggested.
"Alright!" Albert complied.
He then walked a little faster and clicked his tongue. Joey picked up speed to prance. You found yourself smiling. The Narracott House and farm appeared in the distance. Albert then looked up at you.
"You think you can ride him back?" he asked, pointing to the farm.
"Yes, I think I'd like to try!" you answered, feeling braver.
Albert then picked up his pace to a light jog and clicked his tongue.
“Okay Joey-little faster, boy!” he said.
Joey’s prance became a light run. You let out a squeal at the speed.
"Y/N! Don't scare him! And tug the reigns when you want him to slow down! Or click your tongue!" he instructed, though he was jogging next to you and getting breathless.
You smiled, feeling the sun on your skin and the clean, fresh air. You felt buzzed with movement, nature, exercise, and life. Joey passed Albert to head home. Why- in fact- it was fun! It felt like flying! You could feel how Joey’s black mane would tickle you. The air in your face was like a kiss. Albert was laughing as he kept up behind you. You were not worried about anything for once. You could enjoy the feeling of air and of your weight not touching the ground but moving. Beneath you, everything was smaller and flying faster, quicker by you. You couldn't help but giggle at it despite yourself. And sooner, sooner the farm was in view.
"Let’s keep walking home, alright boy? Keep this up, and I'll give you a whole apple from the tree! All for you!" you promised.
Once you approached the farmland, you tightened the reigns. And then clicked your tongue too for good measure.
"Slower, Joey, slower!" you urged.
Joey did slow his gait down to a mere trot. You pulled the reigns to lead him to walk through the yard to the horse area in front of the stable.
"Good boy, Joey. You're the best boy out there!" you said.
Tugging on the reigns (as you saw Albert do) Joey stopped. You then petted him.
"You're far better than half the boys in Devon! And far more handsome too!" you whispered with a giggle.
Joey brushed his lips in response. Harold the Goose let out a honk as you made your way back into the circular field in front of the stables.
"There, Joey! What a good boy! Who's the best boy?" you cooed. "You deserve an apple and a carrot too for good measure, don't you! Yes, you do!"
You hopped off. You began petting him. Albert caught up behind you. You looked into Joey's eyes, wrapping your arms around his head. Cuddling him as you would a cat. You heard Albert exclaim.
"Why- sir! Hello sir!"
"Albie, I’m not a sir-"
The rest of that phrase was cut off as you turned to see Captain Nicholls in his coat with his sketchbook. You jumped.
"Captain Nicholls! We weren't expecting you!" you cried.
"It's alright! At least your mother had plenty of leftovers for lunch!" he replied.
“What are you doing here?” you asked.
“I only hoped to draw the horse and the other creatures on the farm! What, may I ask, are you doing on Joey?” Nicholls teased.
“I…I only just rode him for the first time!” you explained.
Albert strolled up with a grin.
“Did you see that sir?” he asked Nicholls.
“Indeed, I did! I saw her gallop in from inside the house as I was done eating!” he replied.
“And how did she do?” Albert asked.
The captain turned to you.
“You did excellent Miss Narracott! You’re a natural!” he praised.
“I’ll keep that in mind, sir. You think I have a horsewoman in me?” you asked.
“If not already!” he quipped.
The picture of him and that girl at the Goose Fair snuck into your brain. You excused yourself and walked inside the house. Mum was already in the kitchen, watching the oven.
“Mum, tell me- where’s the feed? I want to make sure the animals have their lunch! Or the floors- they need a scrubbing,” you chatted. It was better to immediately distract yourself.
“There’s some dry laundry that needs folding!” she noted.
You ran out and got the dry laundry basket, bringing it to the table to fold.
She got a pan out of the oven. She set the hot, baked loaf on the windowsill, opening it up to cool. Mum then glanced out the window. James Nicholls could be seen out on the field with Joey already got his pencils and chair out and was starting to draw. Albert opened the door to the fence and then returned to talk with the guest.
“He sure does come around here, often, Captain Nicholls…” Mum commented.
“Yes…he does…” you agreed.
She turned around and sat down. Getting a fresh shirt from the basket and putting it on the table. But she paused. She glanced at you with a smile.
“Y/N, I will let you know…he has been perfectly nice to us and to your father. We…we do like him…” she prodded to you.
You set down the skirt you were working on.
“What are you implying?” you asked.
She glanced outside. Once it was clear that the men were far away, she leaned into you, placing a hand over yours.
“Y/N…if he’s showing up here often, I doubt it’s just for the animals…” she whispered with a smile.
You jerked back, shaking your head.
“It is for the animals. He’s seeing a girl!” you objected.
“How do you know?”
“Saw them together at the fair!”
Your mother blinked, her shoulders drooping.
“Oh…well then…there’s that…but don’t you think he was talking to her, nothing more?” she muttered.
Tears stung your eyes. False hope was not something you could afford. You grabbed the laundry basket with a grip.
“I’m going to do this in my room now…” you dismissed.
She put a hand on your shoulder to stop you.
“You…you have feelings for him, don’t you?” she asked.
You paused.
“Yes…that’s why it hurts…” you confessed.
She squeezed your shoulder.
“I’m glad you told me, Y/N; we can deal with your broken heart together…”
The laundry basket was placed on the table. You reached over to hug her. Quiet tears poured out of you for only a minute.
Though the sound of hooves made you look up. Then you gasped and jumped.
Joey was leaning his head through the windowsill to try to sample the cooling bread. You got out a tablecloth, batting it at him as Mum burst into laughter and so would you. Yes, bit by bit, day by day, your feelings for James Nicholls would pass…
Winter 1914
January arrived- cold, bitter, gloomy January. Thank goodness for the snow. It turned everything white and crisp and beautiful. It was one of those snowy days that saw her again. The slender blonde all the way from the summer. You knew in your stomach that it was her. She walked in with another fashionable coat and hat that you had eyed in a high-end catalog.
“Good day, welcome to Mrs. Snow’s shop,” Mary greeted, professional as always.
“The same to you,” she replied.
She only half-nodded at you as you looked about. Alice then turned the corner. She spoke in her chirrupy voice.
“Can I help you, Miss…”
“Corbyn. Sarah Corbyn,” the blonde lady introduced herself.
“Miss Corbyn, what are you looking for?” asked Alice.
“I am looking for scarves. The ones from Mrs. Valerie makes.”
“Those scarves? Oh, we just sold our last one, I’m so sorry!” Alice lamented.
“Oh, well, that is too bad…I know things run out for you here,” Sarah said with a smile.
“We will inform you when they are in stock! Ask any time!” Alice encouraged.
“How good! Thank you!”
Sarah sauntered around. Looking through items with a smile on her face. She then turned to you with a smile. She held up a bar of soap.
“Could I please have this Miss…”
“Narracott.”
“I should like to buy this lavender one, please,” she said.
She handed you the money and bought the soap. Shop bag around her arm, She then wandered over and got a newspaper, returning to you.
“Miss Narracott…there is a dance in two weeks, correct? There is the advert for the town hall…”
She pointed at it, and you glanced at it.
“Yes, yes, it is…Two per month,” you confirmed.
“I must ask you a favor. I am quite nervous despite myself! As a fellow woman, may I confide in you?” she cajoled.
“Yes. At least before Mrs. Snow arrives,” you said.
“Do you happen to know a gentleman named Captain Nicholls?” she asked.
Your eyes never left hers. You placed your hands on the counter to keep steady.
“Yes. Yes, I do.” You answered.
“My father invited him and a few of his men on a walk through the country this past Autumn. I joined them. It was a rather long walk all over. I do enjoy jumping from high places. I got to a tall rock, jumped off like so and Captain Nicholls caught me! It was the most thrilling moment of my life! And he’s quite strong too! Fathers invited him to call sometimes for tea- but I hope it’s for more than that! Miss Narracott, I believe I have affection for him and him for me! I do hope he likes me!” she voiced.
The ears floated in your brain. Never landing. Never processing. The images stuck to you, and you wanted to wash them off. But politeness and the fact you were at work forbade you.
“Other than the catching, what makes you think that?” you asked.
“Well, last Friday, I told him how I never usually go to dances. He asked why. I said, among other things, I tend to prefer better things to do with my time and I never have partners. He promised me two dances! Two! That’s a sign if ever!” Sarah continued. Her smile never drooped.
“That’s very…very good. Good for you,” you replied.
You desperately wished there was new cloth to fold or items to restock this minute.
“Well, do you think my father would approve?” she whispered.
There was a glint in her eyes. A thin eyebrow of hers arched up.
“He has no reason not to,” you answered.
“Oh, how kind you are! How good of you!” she replied.
It did not sound like a genuine compliment. She reached into her bag and retrieved her purchase.
“And I do like this soap! I advise you to buy it yourself! It helps keep away smells- especially that of farms,” she added.
It hit you like a slap. You forced your jaw shut else it’d hinge off. She then said her goodbyes, placed her soap in her bag and flounced away. Gripping onto the counter, you turned away to try to collect yourself. The three others all grimaced at each other and began to gossip about her.
“And she seemed so nice!” Mary cried.
Ida went up to you.
“I heard that last sentence! The nerve of her! Don’t you listen to her, Y/N! If she sets foot in this shop again, I’ll slap her! Mrs. Snow would fire me, but it’d be worth it!” she encouraged, rubbing your arm.
You stayed quiet.
To think this was the girl James Nicholls liked!! Other than her beauty and money, what did he see in her? Could he end up married to someone like her? All this- finding you, singling you out. Rubbing everything into your face. Why was she doing this? Had Nicholls somehow mentioned the Narracott farm? Then no doubt she found out that you- a single woman-lived there. And she wanted to make sure you knew she had her claws on him.
You let out a sigh. It would feel good to complain about her to Mum and perhaps Albert too.
When you returned home, you ran upstairs. You stared at the rabbit drawing. It was still pinned up against the wall. You didn’t have the heart to tear it to ribbons or burn it. James was never yours, to begin with. So, you only settled for keeping it in the first drawer of your desk. It was too tender. It was too kind. You could always fold it up and look at it. It was a gift that showed kindness and appreciation. Even if not specifically to you, but to your family.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
That winter there was more ice than usual. It sleeted all over the ground. Poor Joey couldn’t break into one of his famous runs about the yard. He’d have to be careful or slip. A blizzard swept over for a week, keeping everyone inside and closing businesses. When it calmed down, men poured salt onto the ground. Everyone could walk around again like normal. Animal or human.
When the shop reopened, customers filed in, each one more demanding than the last. More than once you had to fetch Mrs. Snow to reason with them. Even your co-workers were all complaining.
“I don’t know if I can talk to another Mrs about hat pins now,” Ida groaned.
“I’d like to sit for a bit for once!” you sighed.
Everyone was quite grateful when the last customer left, and the hour struck for closing. Mrs. Snow turned the sign on the window to say “CLOSED”. You gathered your basket, and put on your hat, dark coat, and gloves. You managed to get yourself a new pair for winter. But you didn’t want to discard the single one- it was too pretty. You began to head out.
“Goodbye, Alice! Ida! Mary!”
They all wished goodbye to you.
But as you began to walk out, the wintry air bit you. You shivered with the snow falling down like sprinkles.
But after a few steps who should run into you but Captain Nicholls in his long coat walking about town. You did not notice any lady near him. He grinned and approached you. You fought the bitterness in your heart. You greeted him with a smile.
“Captain, it is good to see you. It’s been a while since you graced our farm!” you greeted.
“A certain storm provided quite the obstacle. May I walk with you, Miss Narracott?” he asked.
“Thank you… you may,” you permitted.
You kept walking on. His own long stride was slowed. Some leftover ice had stretched out to the roads. Motorcars and carts had to be slow. Not to mention people.
“You have lived here over a year, what do you make of it? Country life too quiet for your liking?” you asked.
“Oh no- it’s perfectly fine and comfortable to me!” he chatted.
“And the people?”
“Oh, everyone has been splendid! Quite splendid! All the men agree!”
You didn’t want to mention the women. Lips shut, you would not play the game of manipulation and false sweetness Sarah did.
“And how have they been?” you asked.
“Good and jolly. Not that the storm stopped training or patrolling.”
As you turned over one corner you realized that the road was slipping beneath your feet. Looking down, you saw ice below your feet. You even let out a gasp and held out a hand to regain balance.
“Miss?” asked Nicholls.
“I’m quite alright!” you tried to assure him.
There was ice right before your path for several feet. And as you tried to take another step, you felt yourself wobble. If you didn’t solidify your footing, you would trip. Nicholls looked over and saw you were swaying with your arms still open. He walked slower and heavier, side by side in his gait.
“Here Miss Narracottt-allow me!” he proclaimed.
He held out his hand and took your hand. Gloves on gloves.
“Let me help you, how does that sound?” he asked.
You nodded.
How warm his hand felt. Even beneath the leather - the only thing keeping you from the contact of his bare skin against your bare skin. You felt the air in your lungs pause, only to rush out for want of air. You became nervous and excited at once- fearful and thrilled. He smiled gently at you as he held your hand. How handsome he looked- a shining star in the sky, an angel in a uniform. Letting all petty thoughts of jealousy melt away if only for a few minutes.
He guided you on the ice. He advised you how to walk slowly. Side to side with full weight on each foot. The way a duck waddles on land.
You curled your fingers over the base of his hand. You could tell he was strong like Miss Corbyn said. He seemed unbothered to lend the support you needed to keep from falling. And how gentle his hands were despite their size and strength. The leather was kept clean, and his touch did not squeeze you, but it was the right pressure. How safe he made you feel. You lingered, enjoying the touch until you made it to the not iced sidewalk. Then he let go of your hand. Your own remained in the air until you retreated it back.
“There- are you alright?” he asked.
You blinked, coming back to reality. Feeling a bit of air where you missed his touch. Even covered in gloves.
“I am,” you confirmed.
“Is there anything else you need, Miss Narracott?”
“Well, no. There’s nothing. I only ask for a safe passage back home.”
“Then, do you need me to walk you back there? Is it icy?”
“It’s not as bad…but it’s there…”
“Then let me walk you back. I wouldn’t want you to fall and get hurt.”
Through the white, thick snow, he walked you there. Only holding your hand again if it seemed the only path forward had ice on it. It made you wish that the men of the town poured less salt about the ground.
Spring 1914
Finally, Spring arrived with pomp and splendor. With the turnips and crops blooming, you could use your wages to have a ticket for a dance and a new dress to go with it. But Dad insisted Albert accompany you there and dance too. Your brother grumbled when he heard.
“You’ll never meet any girls if you stay cooped up with Joey!” you teased your brother.
“Neither will you meet any fellows!” he retorted as you both cleaned up the dishes.
He looked around. Mum and Dad were relaxing by the fireplace. Then leaned in.
“But…will Lyons be at the party?” he whispered.
“I don’t know…don’t think so. Said he hates dancing. He told me he likes to spend evenings checking his accounts with brandy.”
The evening of the dance, you checked your mirror to make sure your hair looked nice. When it met your approval, you looked at the new dress on you. In its pink with shortened sleeves, it was the nicest one you could afford to splurge on. The color’s shade looked flattering on you. Just like the ones in your garden. You wanted to forget work, the family’s rent, Miss Corbyn and Nicholls, Lyons's interest in you…and there were plenty of men in town. You only wanted to have a good time while you still could. As it matched the season, you wanted to be like a flower. To enjoy being in “bloom” when you still had it within you.
Entering the dance hall, all was happy and astir. Though this time paid for and hosted by the local militia. It seemed every young person in Devon had arrived there. No Mr. Lyons but his son, David, was gulping down glasses of punch. It was a large place with the walls painted light green. There was an open space with chairs shoved to the side for the dancing. There were two long tables filled with refreshments and drinks. It was brightly lit with the new electricity running through the place. The crowd flocked inside, and many among them were the green-uniformed soldiers.
It felt warm already. You heard the cacophony of a thousand conversations appearing at once. Many held plates and ate standing or sat in a chair. Flowers, fresh with the season's arrival, decorated each corner. A string quartet and piano, played by locals, were getting their music books in order, and warming up. You didn't know which would intoxicate the partygoers faster. The wine and champagne, the music, the dancing, the thrill, or the flowers.
Then the host went forward and said that the first dance was about to begin. Men selected their partners. They brought the ladies, blushing and smiling, out onto the floor as the musicians turned their music books to the first page.
“I barely remember any of the steps!” Albert complained.
“Oh, please! The ladies will thank you later! There are never enough men in the dance hall! They’ll always appreciate it,” you replied.
“Well, where’s dinner? I’m starving!” Albert complained.
Both of you walked over to the table. As you began helping yourself to a plate, Albert went over to talk with his good friend, Andrew Easton. You did notice out of the corner of your eye was Sarah Corbyn. She dressed elegantly in purple. The richness complimented her blonde hair. A silk ribbon tied about her waist, accentuating how tiny she was. And of course, she was talking to all the soldiers. You turned your head. You didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want it in your face. No- you would do your best to smile and be charming. Do all you can to win over as many dance partners as the evening allows.
"Oh, Y/N! I am so glad! How much we missed you!" cried Alice, running up to give you an embrace. She was decked in a lovely yellow complimenting her brown locks.
"Alice! I've missed you too! Especially seeing every man in Devon fight to be your partner!" you said.
"Oh, stop it!"
"It's true and you know it!"
"Oh, you should see Mary- she's already on the floor!"
In one corner, talking to other soldiers, you saw Captain Nicholls. He had removed his hat and placed it under his arm. You even could make out his laugh as one made a joke with him. How striking he looked even among them. And his smile made you smile as well. The gentleman pointed to his silk cap and took it off, showing it to Nicholls. He inspected it, looking at it thoroughly with his handsome hands. Then he handed it back. Nicholls said one thing that was indistinguishable, which broke the group into laughter. When his head turned, you looked away.
Once you finished your plate, you met your friends. Beaming and smiling, you managed to find a partner for the next dance through a mutual friend of Alice’s. As you went over to a table to get a glass of lemonade, two soldiers walked by, chatting. Not once did they glance at you, engrossed in their conversation. You heard the tenor voice of the first one clear as chimes.
“…I would say I should be shocked, but I’m not…. always had a bit of the romantic in him…” the first gossiped.
“Hard as he keeps it in, he does, Old James. A romantic wouldn’t have that sketchbook…” the second said.
You paused. Realizing you wanted to overhear. Before you could stop yourself.
“He’s mad about the girl! He’s a Romeo but you’d never guess it when he charges…”
“Jamie says he lights up whenever someone asks about her…”
“You don’t think…he’ll make an offer, sooner or later? I bet her father would lose his head to have a Captain as a son-in-law!”
“Oh, it’s only a matter of time. I doubt it’ll be long…they say things are getting tense. With every alliance Britain got itself into…it won’t be long then…he’ll hurry her to the altar…”
Swallowing back tears, you promptly turned away. You would not, no, could not listen further. You joined Albert and Andrew. You would distract yourself, you would…
Besides, you were determined to move on. To distract yourself. To meet with every young, eligible man you could. To give yourself options. Before the next dance began, you turned to Andrew.
"How about a dance? You must break out into there!" you prodded.
"Why, sure thing, Y/N!" he agreed.
As you began to dance as he discussed how his dad was doing. Talked about Joey. About the Easton family dog. Andrew was a stiff and awkward dancer, but as he talked, he relaxed some. You then went to your friends.
"Ida...how many of the soldiers and officers have you met? Could you please introduce me?" you requested.
Ida's face lit up like it was her birthday.
"Oh, I know some!" she bragged.
"I want to spend as much time dancing as I can!"
"To make up for the lost time?" she asked.
"Yes," you replied.
It was mostly true. You were not going to tell anyone other than your mother how you felt about Nicholls. She kept secrets better than anyone.
"Then, let me show you one gentleman! Booker's his name and he's a wonderful dancer! Oh, and Mister Smith, too!"
Ida couldn't have been better. You found out you had plenty of young officers to meet and chat with. And some of them danced with you! Though often you had to sit down and rest your feet. Even to admire everyone. There was a good balance of sitting and resting with dancing. And with a full crowd, there were plenty of other handsome faces to focus on.
Even Albert himself was smiling a little. He danced with several girls. He blushed bright red when he missed steps but kept dancing anyway. You did notice David Lyons and how smooth new his grey suit was. There was a red-haired girl, very pretty, who danced two in a row with him. It looked like she was the one to endure his sneering.
“Ah, the Narracotts!” said a low, familiar voice.
Turning around, you saw Major Stewart. He bowed in his uniform, and you returned the gesture. And right next to him, there was Nicholls. Your heart leaped into its chest.
“Why, haven’t seen any of you yet! How are you gents this evening?” Albert asked.
“Oh, just fine! The men here- we’re all happy to have some fun!” he responded.
“I hope you’ve been well, Mister and Miss Narracott! We haven’t seen the two of you all evening!” Nicholls queried.
“We have been,” you replied.
“And Albert, how’s Joey?” he said.
“Fit as can be! And gallopin’ every day, sir!” Albert declared.
“Don’t overwork him so he cannot plow,” Nicholls advised.
“Oh no sir, only after the plowing’s done! You should have plenty of time to draw him again if you want,” Albert responded.
“I shall be glad to!”
His eyes softened. They turned to you.
“Then…Miss Narracott, could I have the next dance?” he asked.
You had no partner. You could think of no excuse. You felt stupid just standing there looking at him. Part of you swallowed a scream of joy. The other part cried “No!” There was no polite way to turn him down- ladies had to dance whenever a gentleman offered. You replied.
“Yes…yes you may,” you permitted.
He offered his hand, and you took it, swallowing. Realizing you felt his bare palm on yours. It was calloused by his work with weaponry. You felt both enthralled and relaxed from his tender touch. You let him lead you on as other couples made their way around.
Just like when he helped you when the road was icy. You can indulge in it. Let him take your hand. Enjoy only one dance with him. Just one.
You let him put one hand on your back. Feeling the light pressure. You could see his thick lashes and the blueness of his eyes. You put a hand on his arm, feeling the texture of the uniform. He smelled like light sweat from dancing and cologne. You felt his breath and could even tell the slight lift in his muscles when he inhaled.
“I hope you forgive me. I’m rusty at this. I used to go dancing all the time. With work, not as much…” you explained.
Other couples gathered on the floor around you. You looked directly at him and him at you.
“I can understand. I used to avoid them,” Nicholls confided.
“How come?”
“I was too shy when I was younger. Couldn’t gather the courage to ask a girl. Then when I did, I did the wrong steps. I’d crush a girl’s toe. They all will tell you as proof!”
The violins put their bows on the strings. And you started to dance with him. Moving with his lead.
“You’re keeping out of mine just fine…I think you’re a lovely dancer, Captain…” you encouraged.
“Really?” he asked.
“Like your drawings…you should enjoy it. You should be here…”
He led you to sway as you stepped your feet into a square pattern. You accepted it. Letting him start to pull and push you with the music.
“And Miss Narracott?” he said.
“Yes?”
“You look pretty as a picture tonight.”
Your mouth went dry, and you felt the racing of your heart against your chest.
“You’re very kind, sir,” you replied.
You continued the dance. Feeling the step of the music’s downbeat. He kept turning you around and you danced with him. Let the music take you both. You could almost hear his heartbeat from how close you were.
He took a step back and you took a step forward. When he stepped sideways you followed. It was all so simple. You clutched onto his hand and let his hand on your back press you closer. The waltz was at a moderate tempo. You felt eyes look directly into yours. You couldn't peal your eyes off Nicholls either. He gave a small smile. The way he would step into the downbeat was natural, and you found that you followed.
A glimpse at the crowd showed Stewart smiling, crossing his arms. But Albert's eyes were wide, staring intensely at both of you. He hadn't done that with your previous partners. Nicholls, as always, was dashing in his green uniform. His closeness made you notice details. You can see each button on it. How pressed and perfect it was. Smooth as the round buttons ran down his chest. The four pockets- two on top and two on the bottom are like windows on a building. His lighter green shirt contrasted with his darker green tie. The lovely and ornate cream decorations on his sleeves. The more obscene part of your brain wondered what he looked like underneath it.
It felt natural to dance with him. Natural as eating, as blinking. It was like there was a crook on your body, a niche, that only he could fill. He held you with both confidence and gentleness. He didn't throw you around like a ragdoll. His rhythm met yours. Each step you moved in tandem. Looking at him was as close as one could get to feeling drunk while completely sober. You became aware of how your breath must smell of the refreshments. You only saw slight sweat on his brow from the movement and the heat of so many bodies packed into one space. You felt your own breath become ragged and short. Being so close to him, almost like an embrace. He was quite a tall man, but he was not intimidating. If not, there was a delicacy in his touch, his stature. He could break you but chose not to. It was only a gentle press to keep you steady. You realized it was your fingers curling over his. There were several other couples dancing with you. But with him, that was easy to forget.
His hands even sweated a little. But you saw he was smiling. Your own lips parted, but no words came out. It was a gentle dance. He would sometimes glance at his toes to make sure he didn't step on yours. Then they returned to you. The movement was never forced. And you found the pattern too easy. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.
After the dance, you both paused, catching your breath. You felt as though you were coursing with fire through you looking at him. You could feel your chest heavy with each intake. It felt too soon for that dance to end. People clapped.
“Miss Narracott…are you-“
“Oh, dear Captain!”
In cut in Miss Corbyn. Blinking, you took a step back.
“Miss Corbyn! I hope you and your family are well,” he greeted.
“Couldn’t have been better! How kind of you to ask!” she chirruped.
She then turned to you.
“Ah, Miss Narracott, how good to see you,” she greeted in acknowledgment.
She then promptly ignored you back to him.
“Captain, you promised me two dances. Two!” she pouted.
“That was at the one in January!” he corrected.
“And what about this one!? Will you leave me without a partner?”
She turned to you.
“It is bad for a lady to be without a partner, isn’t it, Y/N?” she asked.
“It is bad…” you said.
She whipped her blonde hair back to him.
“Well, we can have a dance?” she pleaded.
“Then, I…I, Uhm, excuse me. Goodbye,” you replied, turning around, and leaving them.
You stomped to the corner to have some dessert and another glass of lemonade. The burning, hot sensation in your body from movement and his skin's touch required it. The unspeakable, shameful things you’d let him do to you as well as the gentle, loving things. And not to look at them. Anything to keep you from looking. You even turned around a chair for two dances and kept your face focused on the wall.
You then danced with one more bloke. Then another. Just to wash Nicholls from you and invite men to call for tea. And to end the night on a good note. Especially about how he was the best partner. How you could still feel the touch his hand burned onto you in the morning.
Summer- 1914
It was such a nice, sunny Friday all that afternoon. Perfect weather. But out the shop window, there were dark clouds. Thunder boomed ominously as your shift reached its last hour.
Returning home, you walked at a quick pace. The bright sun contrasted with the darkening clouds. There were some sheep in the middle of the path. You waved your arms and shooed them off. As you hurried towards your farm up the hill, it started raining. As you walked in, you saw your own parents inside for shelter.
“Where’s Albie?” you asked.
“Out riding!” your mother answered.
The rain turned to torrents. Lightning reached like a large, terrifying finger right through the clouds. It beat against the house in a never-ending fury. The rain broke through the roof and opened the windows. Gusts burst the door open.
Albert arrived, his shirt, boots, and overalls were drenched. Dad got out a tall pole to adjust the roof, so water didn’t break out. You and your mother went about to close and secure windows that the gusts blew open. Running upstairs, you saw that each of your rooms had some rain from the open windows. You shut them closed and secured them. But the rainfall punched against it, like a burglar insisting on getting in. Downstairs, you even saw that the Goose had broken into the house, shaking his white feathers dry.
“Shoo, Harold, shoo!” Mum scolded, pushing him aside.
But the defiant Goose honked in protest and went to a corner to tuck himself in for the night.
It was hard not to shake like a child at the sound of the thunder. It rattled the house when it boomed. But eventually, you managed to crash to sleep. Glad that Dad managed to seal the hole allowing your room to remain dry. In fact, as you lulled, the rain was beginning to sound peaceful.
The next morning, you discovered that the peace of the rain was only in its sound. The bottom field was flooded. You and your family drudged around, the muddy water up to your ankles, trying to save what turnips you could. Only a meager few in the whole field survived. But it was all a muddy, destroyed mess. It would be too late to begin to plant something else.
Albert ran off to check the rest of the farm. You and Dad sat by the fire. Mum fixed all a cup of tea, blankets wrapped around you. Dad only looked sadly into the hearth.
“I know what I can do. I’ll talk to Mrs. Snow. Ask for longer hours. I’ll work earlier or later. Or both. Whatever I must do…” you promised them.
But that Monday, Mrs. Snow said flatly that you were working the maximum hours. And that there wasn’t any need for early or late work.
It was that Friday you hurried home, your paycheck in your basket. Thank goodness it was pay week! With that, it would cover part of the rent. You would do it. You would gladly give every guinea. What need did you have for dance tickets or other indulgences now? If it gave everyone (including yourself) peace of mind, if Dad stopped drinking and staring into space with tears in his eyes, you’d do it. The choice was made when you first got the job! Even if it couldn’t cover all the rent, it was something! Then, you’d scrap up the turnip sales and rely on the animals. Yes, dinners would shrink. But your family would keep the house!
But you noticed a shiny red motorcar parked right outside. As you walked into the front yard, Albert was pacing about. Mum was trying to feed the chickens, pouring feed out from her apron.
“How long have you been out here?” you asked.
“About a half hour,” Mum answered.
“Where’s Dad, what’s going on? What’s Lyons doing here?” you asked.
As if in answer, the door opened. Out walked your father and Lyons. Albert took a step forward, then his steps froze. Mum glared at Lyons, her face red.
“Y/N, come on in the kitchen,” your father urged.
Today was not the Fifteenth. Not the usual day for paying the rent. His son and servants were nowhere in sight. Why you and not your mother and brother too?
“Mr. Narracott, may I have your permission to speak in private with your daughter?” he asked.
The answer hit you.
Terror gripped you. Nausea soured your stomach, and your legs and hands were shaking uncontrollably. You felt as if you could get sick in the yard. Or as if you could faint. You wished you could faint. Just so you could black out, and escape into nothingness. Then awaken in your room to a new day with nothing expected other than the usual. But no, you were in your body. You folded your hands.
“Yes sir, you can talk to her.”
Your father looked up at you. His eyes had both sadness and hope inside them. You clutched at his shoulder, urging him to stay. Stay with you. Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, please don’t leave me. He can talk with both of us, please.
“We’ll be right outside, my girl. He said he won’t talk long,” He said. He then put your hands down, walked outside, and closed the door, leaving you alone with Mr. Lyons.
*screams* Ahhhh, I love this SO much! 😍 But ugh... I hate Mr. Lyons and Sarah, though... 😠 Especially Sarah... Keep your filthy hands off James! 🤬 And oh gods, I hope Mr. Lyons isn't going to ask Y/N to marry him! 😨 Please don't, ahhh! 😭 She needs to marry James! 😭 Poor Y/N... 😭 James has to make a move! 🥺 Please, please, please they need to kiss - or finally admitting their love for each other. My heart can't take it! 🥺😭
Ps. Harold is the best. 😂💚
