Haha! Thanks! I'll think of something, or if you want maybe we can add side characters to this RP.
Good luck with your new job! :)
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“Oh. You really planned a trip for us? Did you organize it, or did your father?”
“Of course I did!” He answered in a matter of fact manner. He did plan and worked out reservations for the two of them. It was supposed to be a short five-day trip to the capital of France, where he was going to exchange information with his counterparts while. However, as the day went on, it was getting clearer to Nick that he was not going to France.
“All the same, I appreciate such a luxurious trip but I would much rather just go home. You really don’t seem like the traveling type with your business. I have plenty to do myself such as arrange all my belongings, work on the landscaping.”
Nick opened his mouth to protest – because a good husband would want to spend the first few days alone with his new wife – nevertheless Claire continued talking. She offered to be their scapegoat, to pretend to be ill, but then she noticed his complexion and commented on it. “I’m quite well, thank you for asking. Paleness is in fashion this season, or so I heard,” he assured her, though he hadn’t touched any of the food on his plate and he was leaning heavily on the cushioned backrest of his chair.
After Claire left with her maidservant, Nick was immediately approached by Timothy. The tall Frenchman crouched from the back of Nick’s chair and whispered, “Nicholas, you are most certainly not looking well. Mr. Bennett is worried.”
“As I am,” Nick whispered back. “I’m afraid I have underestimated the damage of the injury,” he admitted then pushed his frock coat a few inches, just enough for Timothy to see a blotch darkening the material of his friend’s lower left side of the waistcoat. “How is everything going?”
“Hell and damnation! The four of us is here. I was with Jonas earlier, he has engaged his target. Will you stop worrying about our mission?” He looked around at the colorful crowd enjoying themselves at breakfast. Only a few of these people were personally acquainted with Nick and although breakfasts after the wedding were supposed to honor the bride and the groom, it was a generally accepted fact that such gatherings were attended by the upper class as an excuse to socialize. It didn’t matter who the couple were, what mattered was how grand the event. “Will you be able to walk? Let us get you in the carriage. I will ask for your wife as soon as she is done changing. Looks like Paris will have to be cancelled for now.”
Timothy did hand signal for Lawrence Bennett who looked happily conversing with a minor lord. Upon seeing Tim’s signal, the older gentleman excused himself and searched for Lord Abbott.
*************
Mr. Bennett’s news brought a mixture of disappointment and concern to Lord Abbott. He watched his new son-in-law together with his father and cousin as they exited the ballroom discretely, avoiding as much conversation as they could. Nicholas was still popular among the women even though this was his marriage that they attended. The blue-eyed gentleman managed to walk upright, though with obvious difficulty which Lord Abbott failed to notice that morning.
Nick’s father explained that his son earned a bullet to his abdominal area the day before the wedding. Apparently, their personal carriage was robbed and Nick was shot as he fought back against the group who attacked them. They did not really want to disclose the event to the public, fearing that it might cause doubt as to the capabilities of the Rochfords to safeguard their assets.
Then finally he saw his daughter enter the ballroom again now wearing a dress that was in the height fo fashion. She was speaking with two of their guests, but his daughter didn’t appear to be genuinely happy that these people were talking to her. He approached her, but before him, a servant stepped up beside her and passed her a note with instructions to meet with urgency with her contact at nightfall in Belgrave Square. Also on the note was the emphasis not to get out of London in the next few weeks.
“This is from one of the guests,” informed the servant as he held up the folded piece of paper to Claire.
“Claire, will you speak with me for a moment,” The duke requested, ignoring the servant. “My apologies, my lord and lady.”
When they were a safe distance away, he informed her of the condition of her husband and that he was waiting in their carriage.
“Of course I did!” He answered in a matter of fact manner. He did plan and worked out reservations for the two of them. It was supposed to be a short five-day trip to the capital of France, where he was going to exchange information with his counterparts while. However, as the day went on, it was getting clearer to Nick that he was not going to France.
“All the same, I appreciate such a luxurious trip but I would much rather just go home. You really don’t seem like the traveling type with your business. I have plenty to do myself such as arrange all my belongings, work on the landscaping.”
Nick opened his mouth to protest – because a good husband would want to spend the first few days alone with his new wife – nevertheless Claire continued talking. She offered to be their scapegoat, to pretend to be ill, but then she noticed his complexion and commented on it. “I’m quite well, thank you for asking. Paleness is in fashion this season, or so I heard,” he assured her, though he hadn’t touched any of the food on his plate and he was leaning heavily on the cushioned backrest of his chair.
After Claire left with her maidservant, Nick was immediately approached by Timothy. The tall Frenchman crouched from the back of Nick’s chair and whispered, “Nicholas, you are most certainly not looking well. Mr. Bennett is worried.”
“As I am,” Nick whispered back. “I’m afraid I have underestimated the damage of the injury,” he admitted then pushed his frock coat a few inches, just enough for Timothy to see a blotch darkening the material of his friend’s lower left side of the waistcoat. “How is everything going?”
“Hell and damnation! The four of us is here. I was with Jonas earlier, he has engaged his target. Will you stop worrying about our mission?” He looked around at the colorful crowd enjoying themselves at breakfast. Only a few of these people were personally acquainted with Nick and although breakfasts after the wedding were supposed to honor the bride and the groom, it was a generally accepted fact that such gatherings were attended by the upper class as an excuse to socialize. It didn’t matter who the couple were, what mattered was how grand the event. “Will you be able to walk? Let us get you in the carriage. I will ask for your wife as soon as she is done changing. Looks like Paris will have to be cancelled for now.”
Timothy did hand signal for Lawrence Bennett who looked happily conversing with a minor lord. Upon seeing Tim’s signal, the older gentleman excused himself and searched for Lord Abbott.
*************
Mr. Bennett’s news brought a mixture of disappointment and concern to Lord Abbott. He watched his new son-in-law together with his father and cousin as they exited the ballroom discretely, avoiding as much conversation as they could. Nicholas was still popular among the women even though this was his marriage that they attended. The blue-eyed gentleman managed to walk upright, though with obvious difficulty which Lord Abbott failed to notice that morning.
Nick’s father explained that his son earned a bullet to his abdominal area the day before the wedding. Apparently, their personal carriage was robbed and Nick was shot as he fought back against the group who attacked them. They did not really want to disclose the event to the public, fearing that it might cause doubt as to the capabilities of the Rochfords to safeguard their assets.
Then finally he saw his daughter enter the ballroom again now wearing a dress that was in the height fo fashion. She was speaking with two of their guests, but his daughter didn’t appear to be genuinely happy that these people were talking to her. He approached her, but before him, a servant stepped up beside her and passed her a note with instructions to meet with urgency with her contact at nightfall in Belgrave Square. Also on the note was the emphasis not to get out of London in the next few weeks.
“This is from one of the guests,” informed the servant as he held up the folded piece of paper to Claire.
“Claire, will you speak with me for a moment,” The duke requested, ignoring the servant. “My apologies, my lord and lady.”
When they were a safe distance away, he informed her of the condition of her husband and that he was waiting in their carriage.
I tried to look up how long it takes to get to Paris from London during the mid-19th century, but there are varied answers. I made Nick suggest Paris, but they can totally stay. He's very sick anyway. And I feel bad for Claire :( Poor girl
As soon as they left the privacy of their carriage, they were once again the happy couple that they wanted everyone to believe. However, Nicholas refrained from opening his mouth to speak to his wife. He focused his attention instead on walking and to the other people – lords, ladies, friends, and the house staff – who greeted the newlyweds as they walked towards the ballroom.
The grand ballroom was as he envisioned it to be. The room was bright with the morning light, the tables were set in perfection with centerpieces so divine and the lined up in precise arrangement. Flowers were present in strategically artistic locations, on columns, windowpanes, and even the ceiling. He had nothing to do with the reception breakfast, but he was impressed by what the Abbotts did.
People were already present and were enjoying their time mingling with each other when they entered the venue. He already saw Tim with one of their associates. By that time, it was already clear to him that he needed help and there was no way of getting any without attracting unnecessary attention. They couldn’t disclose his current situation to the general public in fear that the cloaked man from the other night, whoever he may be, might suspect Mr. Rochford as the blue-eyed disguised noble man from the previous night. It was too risky, which was why Bennett was willing to cancel the wedding that morning if Nick’s ego was not as huge as it was.
Claire was quick to disentangle herself from him to find her friends and relatives. Nick followed close behind, but was intercepted by the Marquess of Bristol and the Baron Ashburton who were among the gentlemen who he gambled with at White’s. A pair he didn’t really want to converse with, but they seemed to enjoy his company.
“Isn’t she a lovely bride, Mr. Rochford,” mused the marquess.
“She is, indeed,” added Baron Ashburton. “If her reputation has not been tainted with the scandal, I might have asked for her hand.”
Smiling weakly, Nick patted the baron lightly on the shoulder. “Ah, my lord. You see how I am favored by fortune not only in placing bets, but also in matters involving women.”
“I heard her father was in a hurry to marry her off. Poor girl, even her family is ashamed of her. You must, Nicholas, keep your eye on that one at all times or she will drag you down.”
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Nick tilted his head to the side, his smile turning cold. He was a head taller than the marquess, but the noble man clearly had the advantage of his title. “I will have to ask you to stop referring to my wife with such thoughtless remarks or--”
“Nick!”
Timothy walked up to the three of them. “What time will you be leaving with your wife?” Then, seeming to notice the other gentlemen for the first time, he bowed slightly and greeted the two.
“Ah! Timothy. Let me introduce you to Lord Hervey, Marquess of Bristol. And this other good looking gentleman is my fried, Lord Baring, Baron Ashburton.” He stole a glance at Claire who was speaking with her friends not too far from him. “We will not waste the daylight, dear cousin. As soon as she has changed into her traveling dress, I suppose we are ready to leave. Why did you ask?” He narrowed his eyes at his friend.
“The horses needed some rest. Apparently there was a mis--”
It was at that time that Claire called him to come with her. “Much as I would like to stay, my new master calls,” he joked leaving the two lords laughing and Timothy staring at him with a look that says Nicholas was a fool and it was not Tim’s fault if he fell dead before the day ended.
Nick knew that, but he had already started the game, he might as well finish it. One hand pressed on his injury as if for support, he stood beside Claire. His eyes were filled with warmth as he looked at her. “What is it, my dear?” he asked, placing his free hand on the small of her back as he led them both to the wedding cake. “What you wanted is indeed not traditional. I will buy all the cakes you want later, just let this one slide.”
When they reached the table, she looked up at him with a smile playing on her lips. She was smiling, but it felt like she just stabbed him in the heart with a knife. It was better when they were not together, then they could separately pretend to love the other person. It was infinitely more difficult to pretend when they stood so close together. “Do you like fruit cake?” she asked, but immediately took it back as she spoke behind a gloved hand. ”Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to talk of something so…pointless and silly. I know you aren’t dandy or like me.
Claire said it in a light-hearted voice, but he sensed the venom in her words. Well then. He ignored the last sentences. What he did as a response was to gently take the hand she used to cover her lips and in front of the important people in London, brushed his lips against her knuckles. At the same time, he extended his other hand to the maidservant holding the knife. When he raised his head to look into her emerald eyes, a playful smile was on his lips. Then he pressed the knife’s handle on the palm of her hand and closed her fingers over it. “The cake, Mrs. Rochford.”
No more whispered flirting, she said, which was why he was not whispering. He was flirting with her with his actions. Nick let go of her hand and allowed her to cut the cake then they sat in their designated table to actually have breakfast. Their parents and entourage sat on the same long table with the couple at the center.
“I have planned for us to go to Paris,” he said talking to her, hoping she would answer. “However, if you wish to be somewhere else…” Perhaps she didn’t want to leave too. He hoped she didn’t want to leave London as much as he. There was work to be done in London. They now have one of the spies who needed to be questioned and Nick was excited to hear his secrets.
The grand ballroom was as he envisioned it to be. The room was bright with the morning light, the tables were set in perfection with centerpieces so divine and the lined up in precise arrangement. Flowers were present in strategically artistic locations, on columns, windowpanes, and even the ceiling. He had nothing to do with the reception breakfast, but he was impressed by what the Abbotts did.
People were already present and were enjoying their time mingling with each other when they entered the venue. He already saw Tim with one of their associates. By that time, it was already clear to him that he needed help and there was no way of getting any without attracting unnecessary attention. They couldn’t disclose his current situation to the general public in fear that the cloaked man from the other night, whoever he may be, might suspect Mr. Rochford as the blue-eyed disguised noble man from the previous night. It was too risky, which was why Bennett was willing to cancel the wedding that morning if Nick’s ego was not as huge as it was.
Claire was quick to disentangle herself from him to find her friends and relatives. Nick followed close behind, but was intercepted by the Marquess of Bristol and the Baron Ashburton who were among the gentlemen who he gambled with at White’s. A pair he didn’t really want to converse with, but they seemed to enjoy his company.
“Isn’t she a lovely bride, Mr. Rochford,” mused the marquess.
“She is, indeed,” added Baron Ashburton. “If her reputation has not been tainted with the scandal, I might have asked for her hand.”
Smiling weakly, Nick patted the baron lightly on the shoulder. “Ah, my lord. You see how I am favored by fortune not only in placing bets, but also in matters involving women.”
“I heard her father was in a hurry to marry her off. Poor girl, even her family is ashamed of her. You must, Nicholas, keep your eye on that one at all times or she will drag you down.”
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Nick tilted his head to the side, his smile turning cold. He was a head taller than the marquess, but the noble man clearly had the advantage of his title. “I will have to ask you to stop referring to my wife with such thoughtless remarks or--”
“Nick!”
Timothy walked up to the three of them. “What time will you be leaving with your wife?” Then, seeming to notice the other gentlemen for the first time, he bowed slightly and greeted the two.
“Ah! Timothy. Let me introduce you to Lord Hervey, Marquess of Bristol. And this other good looking gentleman is my fried, Lord Baring, Baron Ashburton.” He stole a glance at Claire who was speaking with her friends not too far from him. “We will not waste the daylight, dear cousin. As soon as she has changed into her traveling dress, I suppose we are ready to leave. Why did you ask?” He narrowed his eyes at his friend.
“The horses needed some rest. Apparently there was a mis--”
It was at that time that Claire called him to come with her. “Much as I would like to stay, my new master calls,” he joked leaving the two lords laughing and Timothy staring at him with a look that says Nicholas was a fool and it was not Tim’s fault if he fell dead before the day ended.
Nick knew that, but he had already started the game, he might as well finish it. One hand pressed on his injury as if for support, he stood beside Claire. His eyes were filled with warmth as he looked at her. “What is it, my dear?” he asked, placing his free hand on the small of her back as he led them both to the wedding cake. “What you wanted is indeed not traditional. I will buy all the cakes you want later, just let this one slide.”
When they reached the table, she looked up at him with a smile playing on her lips. She was smiling, but it felt like she just stabbed him in the heart with a knife. It was better when they were not together, then they could separately pretend to love the other person. It was infinitely more difficult to pretend when they stood so close together. “Do you like fruit cake?” she asked, but immediately took it back as she spoke behind a gloved hand. ”Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to talk of something so…pointless and silly. I know you aren’t dandy or like me.
Claire said it in a light-hearted voice, but he sensed the venom in her words. Well then. He ignored the last sentences. What he did as a response was to gently take the hand she used to cover her lips and in front of the important people in London, brushed his lips against her knuckles. At the same time, he extended his other hand to the maidservant holding the knife. When he raised his head to look into her emerald eyes, a playful smile was on his lips. Then he pressed the knife’s handle on the palm of her hand and closed her fingers over it. “The cake, Mrs. Rochford.”
No more whispered flirting, she said, which was why he was not whispering. He was flirting with her with his actions. Nick let go of her hand and allowed her to cut the cake then they sat in their designated table to actually have breakfast. Their parents and entourage sat on the same long table with the couple at the center.
“I have planned for us to go to Paris,” he said talking to her, hoping she would answer. “However, if you wish to be somewhere else…” Perhaps she didn’t want to leave too. He hoped she didn’t want to leave London as much as he. There was work to be done in London. They now have one of the spies who needed to be questioned and Nick was excited to hear his secrets.
I just read from the internet that it's customary for the couple to go on their honeymoon on the day of their wedding. There are even some superstitious belief about shoes thrown into the carriage. I didn't foresee that and now where should they go?
Lord Abbott couldn’t have chosen a better morning to forsake his unwilling daughter to wed a man she thoroughly despised. Truth be told, he hadn’t even thought of her that much in the past weeks that they had not seen each other. He poured himself out to the major tasks at hand, which were the preparations for their wedding and his assignment to flush out the traitor among them. It was true that she was a major part of his cover, but it didn’t mean that he had to thoroughly concern himself with her and her thoughts. At the end of the day, although he would not have married her if he were to be asked, she was just a tool that he was using to reach his goals. Just the same, he was a tool that she would use to save her reputation and standing in the society.
Nicholas watched London pass by from his seat in the carriage. His right hand was unconsciously resting over his left side, just below the ribs. It was very painful to move, much more when the carriage jolted as it crossed the uneven streets. He refrained from making any further attempt at communication, and instead concentrated on not wincing or fainting. Besides, his bride was certainly not charmed by his presence. Silence was good enough for him, until she broke it.
“Well, we’re halfway through it,” she said, turning to look at him for the first time. The masquerade would begin again. “When we get there I’ll cut the cake before handing it off to someone else. I, of course, am ready to leave whenever you are, so just let me know. Until that moment I would appreciate no more meaningless whispers of flirting. If you wish to speak aloud to me for show then so be it, but I will not be subject to another one of your charming, breathtaking lies.”
“Breathtaking?” he repeated with a raised brow, but his face remained serious. There was no point teasing her at this state.
“Then after today you can go back to your busy, busy life. Nick, if there is another woman who has your heart, and apparently your time, then fine, I don’t care. You do not have to tease me to play the loving wife at home who doesn’t know. So will you please, for the love of all that is holy, stop acting like you care?” She continued, not even letting him speak for himself. Then her voice broke and her real emotion seeped through a crack in her perfectly controlled calm mask. ”You will not make me cry in front of all these people, Nicholas Rochford, do you understand me?”
He continued to stare at her even as she was finished talking. “Claire, listen to me.” Nick said in a wry tone. “I will never be the perfect husband you might have dreamed about when you were younger, nor will you be the wife I have always hoped to marry. We were both forced into this and now you are my wife and I am your husband. No, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry. I don’t want to see you cry.” He cupped her cheek with his free hand and lowered his voice as if he was telling her the deepest secret of his heart. “But I want to see you allow me to be a husband to you. I have nobody else, Claire. Nobody has my heart. My time, yes, but not my heart. I’m not like you.” He swallowed hard, surprised at the words that spilled out of his mouth unintentionally. His day was just getting more and more wrong. Perhaps he should just die and leave all of the mess behind. “I-I mean, I’m not like you-r average dandy.”
Of all the stupid things to say to his wife…
Nick withdrew his hand and looked out into the vast garden of Lord Abbott’s property. Carriages were already lined and he imagined the household was very busy tending to the coming guests, not to mention the bride and the groom.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered under his breath, but he couldn’t look at her. Was she glaring at him? Was she crying? Did she want to slap him? Any of those were justifiable, but not in the view of the public’s eye. “We will go through this together for the sake of our families,” Nick added, his voice very serious. “Ms. Abbott, just a few more hours of this foolish masquerade.”
Just in time as the carriage was drawing close to the front entrance to the house, Nick took a breath not too deep as it hurt his injury, closed his eyes then smiled. He turned to his wife and kissed her on the cheek. “Just a few more hours,” he repeated before he braced himself and slowly stepped out of the carriage. Nick nearly stumbled as he descended, but one hand on their vehicle steadied him. When had it been so difficult to step down from a carriage? His vision swam in a pool of colors and distorted images. His flesh felt like it was being forcibly torn. He shook his head to clear it then stood up straight and offered his hand to Claire.
Nicholas watched London pass by from his seat in the carriage. His right hand was unconsciously resting over his left side, just below the ribs. It was very painful to move, much more when the carriage jolted as it crossed the uneven streets. He refrained from making any further attempt at communication, and instead concentrated on not wincing or fainting. Besides, his bride was certainly not charmed by his presence. Silence was good enough for him, until she broke it.
“Well, we’re halfway through it,” she said, turning to look at him for the first time. The masquerade would begin again. “When we get there I’ll cut the cake before handing it off to someone else. I, of course, am ready to leave whenever you are, so just let me know. Until that moment I would appreciate no more meaningless whispers of flirting. If you wish to speak aloud to me for show then so be it, but I will not be subject to another one of your charming, breathtaking lies.”
“Breathtaking?” he repeated with a raised brow, but his face remained serious. There was no point teasing her at this state.
“Then after today you can go back to your busy, busy life. Nick, if there is another woman who has your heart, and apparently your time, then fine, I don’t care. You do not have to tease me to play the loving wife at home who doesn’t know. So will you please, for the love of all that is holy, stop acting like you care?” She continued, not even letting him speak for himself. Then her voice broke and her real emotion seeped through a crack in her perfectly controlled calm mask. ”You will not make me cry in front of all these people, Nicholas Rochford, do you understand me?”
He continued to stare at her even as she was finished talking. “Claire, listen to me.” Nick said in a wry tone. “I will never be the perfect husband you might have dreamed about when you were younger, nor will you be the wife I have always hoped to marry. We were both forced into this and now you are my wife and I am your husband. No, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry. I don’t want to see you cry.” He cupped her cheek with his free hand and lowered his voice as if he was telling her the deepest secret of his heart. “But I want to see you allow me to be a husband to you. I have nobody else, Claire. Nobody has my heart. My time, yes, but not my heart. I’m not like you.” He swallowed hard, surprised at the words that spilled out of his mouth unintentionally. His day was just getting more and more wrong. Perhaps he should just die and leave all of the mess behind. “I-I mean, I’m not like you-r average dandy.”
Of all the stupid things to say to his wife…
Nick withdrew his hand and looked out into the vast garden of Lord Abbott’s property. Carriages were already lined and he imagined the household was very busy tending to the coming guests, not to mention the bride and the groom.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered under his breath, but he couldn’t look at her. Was she glaring at him? Was she crying? Did she want to slap him? Any of those were justifiable, but not in the view of the public’s eye. “We will go through this together for the sake of our families,” Nick added, his voice very serious. “Ms. Abbott, just a few more hours of this foolish masquerade.”
Just in time as the carriage was drawing close to the front entrance to the house, Nick took a breath not too deep as it hurt his injury, closed his eyes then smiled. He turned to his wife and kissed her on the cheek. “Just a few more hours,” he repeated before he braced himself and slowly stepped out of the carriage. Nick nearly stumbled as he descended, but one hand on their vehicle steadied him. When had it been so difficult to step down from a carriage? His vision swam in a pool of colors and distorted images. His flesh felt like it was being forcibly torn. He shook his head to clear it then stood up straight and offered his hand to Claire.
”Bite your tongue.”
There it goes – the wrath of a lady wronged by a man. Nick flinched at her words. He could try and fake innocence then ask her what he had done wrong, but knowing Claire such an act would only fuel her apparent hatred for him. They both knew what he did wrong. Although looking at the bright side, her anger was a good indication that what they had when they last saw each other got into her head. She did believe his intentions and might have had hoped that there existed a future where the two of them could coexist in perfect romantic harmony.
Then again, letting her real emotion to get the best of her was the quickest way to shred the remainder of her reputation. He admired how he handled herself and her emotions in the middle of the biggest turning point in her life. She was giving her life away to a man who had flowery words and no real substance, a man who so easily gave away promises but had no intention of fulfilling any of it.
And yet, like the heartless bastard he was, he answered affirmation to the clergyman that he will love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health, and that he will save himself only for her. She did the same with a smile on her lips but her beautiful emerald eyes downcast and avoiding him. They both know they could not keep such promise, at least not at that moment when she was angry at him and he didn’t have much willpower to try and appease her.
The ceremony ended with the clergyman pronouncing them married under the laws of God and of Great Britain. With joined hands they faced their guests who clapped their hands most vigorously. Lord Abbott and Bennett wore almost identical grins, while Queen Victoria together with her husband Prince Albert applauded with the crowd. The queen caught Nick’s stare and nodded in acknowledgment.
Nick let go of her hand and instead offered his arm. He took advantage of the noise and whispered in Claire’s ear as he led them towards the exit. He walked slowly not for her but for himself. “Whatever it will take for you to forgive me, dear wife, tell me,” he said in a low voice emphasizing that she was indeed his wife. “Should I bite my tongue?” he asked, eyes twinkling with mischief, “Or should I let you tonight, when we have our house to ourselves?”
They reached the end of the aisle that was to Nick the longest aisle he had ever crossed. Relatives and new found friends congratulated the beautiful couple as they passed by. Nicholas nodded his acknowledgment like a mechanical doll programmed just to do that. All he wanted was to get out of that place and take a seat somewhere – anywhere. The strain of standing and kneeling and standing again, and then walking and talking, was starting to take its toll. Breathing, though he was still struggling to keep it even, was beginning to be such a laborious task. Even standing straight was not as easy as it should have been.
Finally, he was separated from Claire by the crowd of her relatives who wanted to greet her more personally. He was, in turn, met by Mr. Bennett and Timothy who both wore a worried look on their faces. A few of his new noble friends and “business partners” were also present to congratulate him.
“How are you faring?” asked Tim, clapping Nick on his back.
Nick grinned despite the beads of sweat forming at his brow. He would blame it to the relatively hot morning. “Still able to stand, but I feel like trading my new house for a place to sit or lie down right at this moment.”
The blonde French man looked thoughtful for a moment. “I know of such a place. What about I let you sit down and you let me have your new wife instead of your new house?”
Nick shrugged. “She’s mad at me anyway.”
The crowd parted for the queen and Prince Albert. Timothy sobered, while Nick and Claire found themselves standing in front of Great Britain’s monarch. Nicholas bowed. “Your majesty.”
“Such a lovely couple, the two of you,” she announced, her thin lips curving into a genuine smile. “I will not be satisfied if I did not personally congratulate you, Mr. and Mrs. Rochford. May God bless this union and may you fall in love with one another every single day.”
“Thank you, your majesty,” the groom answered.
“Well then, this is only the beginning. We shall see each other again at breakfast.” the queen turned to her husband. “Lead us to our carriage, my lord?”
With that, the queen and her husband left. The carriage of the newlywed waited at the foot of the abbey. It was a black open carriage pulled by four brown horses. He helped his wife up and followed after her, taking the seat beside her. He breathed a long sigh of relief as soon as he was settled. He would much prefer to lie down, but sitting was a much better option than standing or kneeling.
The wedding breakfast was going to be at the estate of Lord Abbott. It was their turn to showcase their wealth. The grand ballroom was equipped with long tables and flowers everywhere. Everything was neat and undeniably feminine. Tea and coffee were served at a side table and the wedding cake was the centerpiece of the occasion. It was on a table of its own in front of a rectangular table prepared for the couple.
There it goes – the wrath of a lady wronged by a man. Nick flinched at her words. He could try and fake innocence then ask her what he had done wrong, but knowing Claire such an act would only fuel her apparent hatred for him. They both knew what he did wrong. Although looking at the bright side, her anger was a good indication that what they had when they last saw each other got into her head. She did believe his intentions and might have had hoped that there existed a future where the two of them could coexist in perfect romantic harmony.
Then again, letting her real emotion to get the best of her was the quickest way to shred the remainder of her reputation. He admired how he handled herself and her emotions in the middle of the biggest turning point in her life. She was giving her life away to a man who had flowery words and no real substance, a man who so easily gave away promises but had no intention of fulfilling any of it.
And yet, like the heartless bastard he was, he answered affirmation to the clergyman that he will love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health, and that he will save himself only for her. She did the same with a smile on her lips but her beautiful emerald eyes downcast and avoiding him. They both know they could not keep such promise, at least not at that moment when she was angry at him and he didn’t have much willpower to try and appease her.
The ceremony ended with the clergyman pronouncing them married under the laws of God and of Great Britain. With joined hands they faced their guests who clapped their hands most vigorously. Lord Abbott and Bennett wore almost identical grins, while Queen Victoria together with her husband Prince Albert applauded with the crowd. The queen caught Nick’s stare and nodded in acknowledgment.
Nick let go of her hand and instead offered his arm. He took advantage of the noise and whispered in Claire’s ear as he led them towards the exit. He walked slowly not for her but for himself. “Whatever it will take for you to forgive me, dear wife, tell me,” he said in a low voice emphasizing that she was indeed his wife. “Should I bite my tongue?” he asked, eyes twinkling with mischief, “Or should I let you tonight, when we have our house to ourselves?”
They reached the end of the aisle that was to Nick the longest aisle he had ever crossed. Relatives and new found friends congratulated the beautiful couple as they passed by. Nicholas nodded his acknowledgment like a mechanical doll programmed just to do that. All he wanted was to get out of that place and take a seat somewhere – anywhere. The strain of standing and kneeling and standing again, and then walking and talking, was starting to take its toll. Breathing, though he was still struggling to keep it even, was beginning to be such a laborious task. Even standing straight was not as easy as it should have been.
Finally, he was separated from Claire by the crowd of her relatives who wanted to greet her more personally. He was, in turn, met by Mr. Bennett and Timothy who both wore a worried look on their faces. A few of his new noble friends and “business partners” were also present to congratulate him.
“How are you faring?” asked Tim, clapping Nick on his back.
Nick grinned despite the beads of sweat forming at his brow. He would blame it to the relatively hot morning. “Still able to stand, but I feel like trading my new house for a place to sit or lie down right at this moment.”
The blonde French man looked thoughtful for a moment. “I know of such a place. What about I let you sit down and you let me have your new wife instead of your new house?”
Nick shrugged. “She’s mad at me anyway.”
The crowd parted for the queen and Prince Albert. Timothy sobered, while Nick and Claire found themselves standing in front of Great Britain’s monarch. Nicholas bowed. “Your majesty.”
“Such a lovely couple, the two of you,” she announced, her thin lips curving into a genuine smile. “I will not be satisfied if I did not personally congratulate you, Mr. and Mrs. Rochford. May God bless this union and may you fall in love with one another every single day.”
“Thank you, your majesty,” the groom answered.
“Well then, this is only the beginning. We shall see each other again at breakfast.” the queen turned to her husband. “Lead us to our carriage, my lord?”
With that, the queen and her husband left. The carriage of the newlywed waited at the foot of the abbey. It was a black open carriage pulled by four brown horses. He helped his wife up and followed after her, taking the seat beside her. He breathed a long sigh of relief as soon as he was settled. He would much prefer to lie down, but sitting was a much better option than standing or kneeling.
The wedding breakfast was going to be at the estate of Lord Abbott. It was their turn to showcase their wealth. The grand ballroom was equipped with long tables and flowers everywhere. Everything was neat and undeniably feminine. Tea and coffee were served at a side table and the wedding cake was the centerpiece of the occasion. It was on a table of its own in front of a rectangular table prepared for the couple.
Congratulations! :D I like staying at home though. I love weekends!
Mr. Bennett advised Nick not to leave their townhouse one day before the most talked about event of the season. It was the time for Nick to relax, Bennett explained, referring to the gruesome and very feminine wedding preparation arrangements. To this, Nick responded with a smirk and a comment about him not requiring a beauty rest to look good. In other words, Nick disobeyed his handler.
The publicity was a success, every person in London was excited about the wedding of Lord Abbott’s daughter and one rich untitled man from Yorkshire. A few conservatives had questioned among themselves the duke’s decision to marry his daughter off to an untitled man, but then there was Claire’s reputation to consider. On the other hand, some called Nick and his father an opportunist for taking advantage of the said lady’s unfortunate circumstances. Nevertheless, it got Nick where his handler wanted him to be, plus he was told that the Queen was pleased.
Her majesty was most possibly pleased by the latest development, wherein there were no reports of missing documents, English forces in Crimea led victorious campaigns against Russia, and her secret service intercepted malicious messages before it reached the wrong ears.
This was how Nick found himself in another disguise instead of going out drinking scotch with his new found acquaintances the night before he was wed. He posed as a middleclass working man walking on Covent garden wearing a beard to protect his face from the chill of the night. He wore a worn out brown jacket over stained white shirt and trousers. The jacket was perfect in hiding the revolver and its holster, which he carried for personal protection.
That night he was neither James nor Nicholas. His name was Matthew Hawthorne, younger son of the Baron Sudeley. He walked on the sidewalk of the subdued marketplace. Occasional carts and carriages pulled by horses passed him by except for one closed carriage that stopped beside him.
“Good evening, sir,” greeted the coachman. He was perhaps the same age as Nick though a bit shorter than him. He spoke with a hint of French accent. “Might I ask for directions to Newgate?”
“A fine night to visit a dearly beloved confined in the prison,” Nick commented, fixing his cap as he gave instructions to the place he asked. The man thanked him and Nick watched the carriage went on its way. It meant the operation was a go, the first phase was a success, and this was now his show.
The information was confirmed when Antoine Dupont mentioned the prison name, which was according to their protocol. If any part of their plan for that night had failed, then Tim would have asked for directions to their rendezvous point instead. What Nick would do if that was the case would be to head back to where Mr. Martin Brown was detained to make sure he understood the reason behind the lie, but because the information was validated, he stepped into Mr. Hawthorne’s shoes.
The meeting place took place in a closed fruits stall. A person was already waiting for him inside, taking advantage of the shadow of the night. Unlike Nick who was dressed as a casual middle class, the other person had covered himself in a black cloak and was carrying a dueling cane.
The man made a show of withdrawing and checking his pocket watch. “You are late, Mr. Hawthorne,” he muttered. “I have been standing for a quarter of an hour already.”
“We are wasting more time talking about time which we cannot take back,” he answered in a voice not entirely his own for he had worked to attain the proper hoarse voice that would mask the difference between his voice and Matthew’s. “Let me hear what you want to say, this beard makes my chin itch.”
The man shifted his weight. He had a lot of weight. That was something the cloak failed to hide from Nick. The stranger was a broad man though not the broad muscular type, but the broad fat man type. His voice was quiet and other than checking his pocket watch, he showed no other distinguishing gestures. “This is why I dislike working with the upper class. Nobody asked you to come in disguise. Very well, there are rumors of a weapon prototype that is being mass manufactured for the use of the British soldiers. My other agent is not available so it looks like I will have to turn to you, Hawthorne, because of the urgency of the matter. What I need is the time and the mode of shipment.”
“And how to you propose I get that?” A minor setback in the vocal department did nothing to stop the arrogance from oozing out of him. That was Matthew Hawthorne and thanks to Claire he had the chance to befriend and study the gentleman.
“You are an intelligent man, your brother is a member of the parliament, you are the one who enlisted for this job. Do you suppose I will plan out the operation for you, Hawthorne?”
Nick snorted. “What about your other agent. Can I not collaborate with him?”
With a sigh, the man turned to leave. Just as Nick suspected, his face was protected not only by the shadows, but also by the hood of his cloak that was pulled up over his head. “I will need answers, Matthew Hawthorne. My employers are not patient people. We compensate for your efforts well, but we are not patient people. Remember that. Your bloodline will not save you if you disappoint me. Good evening.”
“What I am saying is that -”
The man shook his head and turned his back to Nick. “She is not available, or else I will not turn to you.”
She? The other agent cannot be a woman, might be just a grammatical mistake. He reached behind his jacket as if to scratch his back. “I didn’t mean about the other agent. What I’m saying is that you need to put your hands where I can see them.”
The other man turned to see the barrel of a standard government issued revolver pointed at him. “Do it now,” Nick coaxed. “or I pull the trigger.” The stranger didn’t waver. He stood there like a shadow watching him, probably cursing in his head and abusing his brain in thinking how to get out of the situation. But there was no getting out. He was theirs and he would help Nick destroy the network.
Such thoughts were running in his head when he heard the gunshot and someone say, “Cocky young lordlings.” The gunshot registered in his head before the pain did. Then saw the hole on the stranger’s cloak, at about his waist and realized one thing - he underestimated his enemy. The man was holding the gun beneath his cloak all along. Nick imagined the face hidden by the cloak smirked at Nick's foolishness as the "cocky young lordling" fell to his knees desperately putting pressure on the wound at his side.
Another shot was fired. Nick braced himself for the pain he thought would follow, but there was nothing. Instead, the man turned away from him and started running. He tried to get up, but his legs wouldn't carry him. The target was getting away. He tried again, only to fall on his face. The last thing he could remember was Antoine calling him by his real name.
********
“Are you sure you can hold yourself upright until the end of the ceremony, Nicholas?”
Nick watched Bennett pace around the room in his frock coat and his hat held with both hands. It was already the morning of the wedding, and to Bennett's opinion, everything was in order except for Nick. They were already at Westminster, in the room assigned for the groom. All were dressed and prepared to play their part. Even Nick, who presently preferred sitting than pacing. An empty glass which once was half filled with scotch was on the coffee table. “Again, you ask that question. And again, my answer is yes.”
Nicholas would not admit it, but he did think he was going to die after he saw the blood spreading out from the dirty shirt he wore the night before. The shot was fired at about two meters from him. The bullet pierced through skin and flesh, and possibly his liver according to the Physician. He was placed under strict observation, but they all knew he could not let their covers be blown because of his brash actions.
“What about until the end of the day?”
Nick turned to the voice of his friend, Antoine. He was attending the ceremony as part of the Rochford family. He was to be called Timothy Perrault, a cousin from his mother's side of the family, who was raised in France. That morning, Antoine presented himself with his blonde shoulder length wavy hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck. He claimed the spot next to his friend and offered the glass. “To dull the pain, James.”
“Which one? The hole on my abdomen or the pain of having to wed an adulteress?” The two men chuckled, clinked their glasses and drank their respective scotches.
Bennett turned sharply at his boys. “Enough, both of you. Timothy, do not call him that name. And you, Nick, enough alcohol for the morning. You cannot face your bride smelling like a drunkard.” He opened his mouth to say something else when a knock sounded on the door. “Come in,” he called out instead.
A man opened the door and announced that the ceremony is bound to start and the groom must already be present. They all thanked him and promised to oblige. Bennett cast a look at Nick. “I cannot leave Claire at the altar. This is just a flesh wound,” he answered the stare then he slowly got to his feet, but kept a hand on the backrest of the chair to steady himself.
Bennett barked a humorless laugh. “Bollocks! That is anything but a flesh wound. You could have died last night,” his handler pointed out while Tim gathered Nick’s coat and helped him put it on.
“Good thing I didn’t. Now I have a bride to marry.” And make peace with, he thought. “Let us be on our way.”
******
As was the custom, the groom stood at the other end of the altar to wait for his bride. Nicholas kept his posture casual and his thoughts anywhere else but the encounter last night and the pain of the gunshot wound. Although a bit pale, he was undeniably striking that morning wearing black frock coat over double breasted waistcoat and intricately tied red cravat. He stood calmly by the feet of the altar, tall and broad on the shoulders, waiting for the doors to reveal his lovely bride.
Nicholas had not seen Claire in the two weeks since he had shown them their house. How had she been? Did she even think of him during those times? He hoped that their last meeting had a lasting impression on her, because…
The double doors opened. She was standing at the center with her father, but as soon as his eyes caught sight of her, Nick regretted not coming to see her at least once in the past weeks. She was the picture of perfection in her white gown. He watched her walk down the aisle, unable to properly react, hypnotized by her every move. Their first kiss played out in his mind. He would kiss her again. Today. It made him thankful that the bastard in black cloak didn't kill him.
The duke and her daughter reached the end of the aisle. “I will take care of your daughter, my lord,” he told the duke before he could say anything. Then Nick smiled and offered his arm to her after the duke left.
“I might have to apologize,” he whispered, still smiling. “But first I want to tell you that I missed you dearly.” He led her to the front of the altar where they knelt as the ceremony began.
The publicity was a success, every person in London was excited about the wedding of Lord Abbott’s daughter and one rich untitled man from Yorkshire. A few conservatives had questioned among themselves the duke’s decision to marry his daughter off to an untitled man, but then there was Claire’s reputation to consider. On the other hand, some called Nick and his father an opportunist for taking advantage of the said lady’s unfortunate circumstances. Nevertheless, it got Nick where his handler wanted him to be, plus he was told that the Queen was pleased.
Her majesty was most possibly pleased by the latest development, wherein there were no reports of missing documents, English forces in Crimea led victorious campaigns against Russia, and her secret service intercepted malicious messages before it reached the wrong ears.
This was how Nick found himself in another disguise instead of going out drinking scotch with his new found acquaintances the night before he was wed. He posed as a middleclass working man walking on Covent garden wearing a beard to protect his face from the chill of the night. He wore a worn out brown jacket over stained white shirt and trousers. The jacket was perfect in hiding the revolver and its holster, which he carried for personal protection.
That night he was neither James nor Nicholas. His name was Matthew Hawthorne, younger son of the Baron Sudeley. He walked on the sidewalk of the subdued marketplace. Occasional carts and carriages pulled by horses passed him by except for one closed carriage that stopped beside him.
“Good evening, sir,” greeted the coachman. He was perhaps the same age as Nick though a bit shorter than him. He spoke with a hint of French accent. “Might I ask for directions to Newgate?”
“A fine night to visit a dearly beloved confined in the prison,” Nick commented, fixing his cap as he gave instructions to the place he asked. The man thanked him and Nick watched the carriage went on its way. It meant the operation was a go, the first phase was a success, and this was now his show.
The information was confirmed when Antoine Dupont mentioned the prison name, which was according to their protocol. If any part of their plan for that night had failed, then Tim would have asked for directions to their rendezvous point instead. What Nick would do if that was the case would be to head back to where Mr. Martin Brown was detained to make sure he understood the reason behind the lie, but because the information was validated, he stepped into Mr. Hawthorne’s shoes.
The meeting place took place in a closed fruits stall. A person was already waiting for him inside, taking advantage of the shadow of the night. Unlike Nick who was dressed as a casual middle class, the other person had covered himself in a black cloak and was carrying a dueling cane.
The man made a show of withdrawing and checking his pocket watch. “You are late, Mr. Hawthorne,” he muttered. “I have been standing for a quarter of an hour already.”
“We are wasting more time talking about time which we cannot take back,” he answered in a voice not entirely his own for he had worked to attain the proper hoarse voice that would mask the difference between his voice and Matthew’s. “Let me hear what you want to say, this beard makes my chin itch.”
The man shifted his weight. He had a lot of weight. That was something the cloak failed to hide from Nick. The stranger was a broad man though not the broad muscular type, but the broad fat man type. His voice was quiet and other than checking his pocket watch, he showed no other distinguishing gestures. “This is why I dislike working with the upper class. Nobody asked you to come in disguise. Very well, there are rumors of a weapon prototype that is being mass manufactured for the use of the British soldiers. My other agent is not available so it looks like I will have to turn to you, Hawthorne, because of the urgency of the matter. What I need is the time and the mode of shipment.”
“And how to you propose I get that?” A minor setback in the vocal department did nothing to stop the arrogance from oozing out of him. That was Matthew Hawthorne and thanks to Claire he had the chance to befriend and study the gentleman.
“You are an intelligent man, your brother is a member of the parliament, you are the one who enlisted for this job. Do you suppose I will plan out the operation for you, Hawthorne?”
Nick snorted. “What about your other agent. Can I not collaborate with him?”
With a sigh, the man turned to leave. Just as Nick suspected, his face was protected not only by the shadows, but also by the hood of his cloak that was pulled up over his head. “I will need answers, Matthew Hawthorne. My employers are not patient people. We compensate for your efforts well, but we are not patient people. Remember that. Your bloodline will not save you if you disappoint me. Good evening.”
“What I am saying is that -”
The man shook his head and turned his back to Nick. “She is not available, or else I will not turn to you.”
She? The other agent cannot be a woman, might be just a grammatical mistake. He reached behind his jacket as if to scratch his back. “I didn’t mean about the other agent. What I’m saying is that you need to put your hands where I can see them.”
The other man turned to see the barrel of a standard government issued revolver pointed at him. “Do it now,” Nick coaxed. “or I pull the trigger.” The stranger didn’t waver. He stood there like a shadow watching him, probably cursing in his head and abusing his brain in thinking how to get out of the situation. But there was no getting out. He was theirs and he would help Nick destroy the network.
Such thoughts were running in his head when he heard the gunshot and someone say, “Cocky young lordlings.” The gunshot registered in his head before the pain did. Then saw the hole on the stranger’s cloak, at about his waist and realized one thing - he underestimated his enemy. The man was holding the gun beneath his cloak all along. Nick imagined the face hidden by the cloak smirked at Nick's foolishness as the "cocky young lordling" fell to his knees desperately putting pressure on the wound at his side.
Another shot was fired. Nick braced himself for the pain he thought would follow, but there was nothing. Instead, the man turned away from him and started running. He tried to get up, but his legs wouldn't carry him. The target was getting away. He tried again, only to fall on his face. The last thing he could remember was Antoine calling him by his real name.
********
“Are you sure you can hold yourself upright until the end of the ceremony, Nicholas?”
Nick watched Bennett pace around the room in his frock coat and his hat held with both hands. It was already the morning of the wedding, and to Bennett's opinion, everything was in order except for Nick. They were already at Westminster, in the room assigned for the groom. All were dressed and prepared to play their part. Even Nick, who presently preferred sitting than pacing. An empty glass which once was half filled with scotch was on the coffee table. “Again, you ask that question. And again, my answer is yes.”
Nicholas would not admit it, but he did think he was going to die after he saw the blood spreading out from the dirty shirt he wore the night before. The shot was fired at about two meters from him. The bullet pierced through skin and flesh, and possibly his liver according to the Physician. He was placed under strict observation, but they all knew he could not let their covers be blown because of his brash actions.
“What about until the end of the day?”
Nick turned to the voice of his friend, Antoine. He was attending the ceremony as part of the Rochford family. He was to be called Timothy Perrault, a cousin from his mother's side of the family, who was raised in France. That morning, Antoine presented himself with his blonde shoulder length wavy hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck. He claimed the spot next to his friend and offered the glass. “To dull the pain, James.”
“Which one? The hole on my abdomen or the pain of having to wed an adulteress?” The two men chuckled, clinked their glasses and drank their respective scotches.
Bennett turned sharply at his boys. “Enough, both of you. Timothy, do not call him that name. And you, Nick, enough alcohol for the morning. You cannot face your bride smelling like a drunkard.” He opened his mouth to say something else when a knock sounded on the door. “Come in,” he called out instead.
A man opened the door and announced that the ceremony is bound to start and the groom must already be present. They all thanked him and promised to oblige. Bennett cast a look at Nick. “I cannot leave Claire at the altar. This is just a flesh wound,” he answered the stare then he slowly got to his feet, but kept a hand on the backrest of the chair to steady himself.
Bennett barked a humorless laugh. “Bollocks! That is anything but a flesh wound. You could have died last night,” his handler pointed out while Tim gathered Nick’s coat and helped him put it on.
“Good thing I didn’t. Now I have a bride to marry.” And make peace with, he thought. “Let us be on our way.”
******
As was the custom, the groom stood at the other end of the altar to wait for his bride. Nicholas kept his posture casual and his thoughts anywhere else but the encounter last night and the pain of the gunshot wound. Although a bit pale, he was undeniably striking that morning wearing black frock coat over double breasted waistcoat and intricately tied red cravat. He stood calmly by the feet of the altar, tall and broad on the shoulders, waiting for the doors to reveal his lovely bride.
Nicholas had not seen Claire in the two weeks since he had shown them their house. How had she been? Did she even think of him during those times? He hoped that their last meeting had a lasting impression on her, because…
The double doors opened. She was standing at the center with her father, but as soon as his eyes caught sight of her, Nick regretted not coming to see her at least once in the past weeks. She was the picture of perfection in her white gown. He watched her walk down the aisle, unable to properly react, hypnotized by her every move. Their first kiss played out in his mind. He would kiss her again. Today. It made him thankful that the bastard in black cloak didn't kill him.
The duke and her daughter reached the end of the aisle. “I will take care of your daughter, my lord,” he told the duke before he could say anything. Then Nick smiled and offered his arm to her after the duke left.
“I might have to apologize,” he whispered, still smiling. “But first I want to tell you that I missed you dearly.” He led her to the front of the altar where they knelt as the ceremony began.
I'm soooooooooooo sorry! It's been a hell week at work. So many deadlines and the people I need in my team have problems of their own, which makes their availability my problem as well. *sighs* And then we just learned that the project we were expediting will be delayed by so many days!
Anyway, it's finally the weekend and I have the right to forget all about what's happening in the office. So.... I'm back! And I'm really sorry for the long delay, I was kidnapped by the real world.
Anyway, it's finally the weekend and I have the right to forget all about what's happening in the office. So.... I'm back! And I'm really sorry for the long delay, I was kidnapped by the real world.
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