March 1840,
There is no happy ending for me. Choices that were made nearly twelve years ago have ruined my chances at finding my own little happy niche in the world and I suppose I am more than used to it at this point. I try my best to push away those memories, but I find it hard to forget so soon after my mother's departure back to the Brooke. She was fortunate enough to be able to steal away for a while and come and visit me here, much to her dismay I fear. She has never seemed comfortable here in the city and while I'm thankful to see her once and a very seldom while, she is never happy when she comes. Much of our discourse was far too telling to place down on paper, so, dear reader, I am afraid that you will have to piece together my past on your own.
What I can, however, disclose to you is that I have been residing in London for close to those twelve years aforementioned, with my godmother the Widow Lucas and her daughter Ruby, who stays with us purely out of convenience as her husband currently makes a stay in a debtors prison for rather grievous gambling debts. I was only sixteen when circumstances at home – The Brooke, my family's estate in Yorkshire – called me to stay here in London, which is now regrettably more home than Yorkshire ever was. Life has been rather monotonous, in part because my sixteenth year saw difficulties that shaped my present, but there was a glimmer of hope. A glimmer that-. Well, I suppose it would be a disservice to you if I did not, in part, describe to you what occurred the evening of my birthday, October 22nd 1839.
"We haven't the time to waste Miss Emma," Widow Lucas warned, invading my quiet place of solitude in the drawing room, where I sat curled in the window, watching people pass by below. The day was wearing down into a bleak Saturday afternoon and I had little interest in partaking in whatever the Widow and her daughter had planned for me today. I had seven and twenty birthdays and not a single one had meant anything to me, especially in more recent years when they had been a reminder that I was alone and always would be.
I rose from the window seat, brows furrowed together, "Perhaps you and Ruby should go without me. I hardly find that I'll be an agreeable today."
"But it is a day to celebrate, my dear," The elder woman cupped my cheeks in her hands, smiling at me, "I'd scarcely think that your parents would like to heart that their daughter spent her birthday sitting in a window seat, watching London pass by."
I shook my head, shrugging away from her touch, "I fear that life has already passed me by and the reasons behind that are mine and mine alone. Honestly, do you think that the Nolans desire their spinster niece to come to their gala tonight? No. There are far too many questions that surround me and there always have been and always will be. I'm not keen to go out on another birthday and hear the whispers of rumors behind my back. I'm eight and twenty today, far too old to be attending society as if I were eighteen again."
The widow canted her head, hands firmly grasped together in front of her, "And what if I said I had a letter from you mother requesting that you enjoy today?"
I laughed at that, "Then I would say give me evidence of this letter, let me read it for myself."
"Ah," The widow shifted on her feet, eyes downcast as she chuckled, "But you see Ruby believed it be something for the fire."
"Of course," I shook my head with a smile that was a genuine as I could summon, which was admittedly not much of a smile. "Are you going to spend the rest of the afternoon convincing me to attend tonight?"
"Yes, if I must." She assured me, with that spark of mischief in her eyes, "You will come tonight Emma."
"There is nothing there for me," I protested, retreating to the armchair by the fire, "Every birthday it is the same. My distant relations throw a ball, for their son, I attend, keeping quiet that my own birth was shared by his. I stand, lonesome in a corner, watching others dance to their heart's content. My card has at least one dance assigned to it, if I'm lucky." My heart sank as I recalled the birthdays past, that sullied any hopes of awaking cheerful to be given another year. "Tonight will be no different."
"With that attitude of course it will be no different." Her hands were on her hips now, that stern motherly expression on her face as she glared at me, "Miss Emma Swan, you may think yourself ineligible for marriage at this age, but that does not mean that there will not be a gentleman that will find you quite desirable. Even I have my fair share of suitors – even at this age."
I opened my mouth to speak, but closed it promptly, turning my gaze to the fire as I tried to gather the correct words to say. "My ineligibility does not lay in the fact that I find myself to be unwanted by men, but that there must be some regulated distance between me and any true attachments made. I've turned down my fair share of men," My voice faltered; because that was not quite the truth, though the widow would never know that. I had, as far as she knew, turned down two offers of marriage, but in truth of the two who had inquired, they had learned quite soon after of my past and vanished from my future.
"You're such a morose child." She retorted harshly, unwavering in her position, "You have a fine new dress to wear tonight, we leave promptly at five. No is not an answer, if you desire to stay in my good graces." Widow Lucas gave a bow of her head before she quit the room, leaving me to my own devices once more.
I pressed my lips together, staving off the tremble that shook the bottom, hands clasped together and head bowed. I didn't believe, entirely, in the presence of a God above, both like and unlike many who dwelt in the overcrowded and filthy city. I had been through enough to know that there was something that guided my ill-fated future, but I didn't believe enough to think that He - it, whomever it was, truly cared what pitiful pleas I had prepared for them to hear. But, it was my birthday, I deserved one little wish today. A vain wish, to not be alone this year. Because, despite how gracious and typically delightful the Lucas' were, they did not feel that void that I felt beneath my breast.
"Ah," I cringed as my uncle approached me, arms outstretched and that sickeningly false smile curving up beneath his twisted mustache that made him seem like the villain of a Radcliffe novel. "It is a pleasure to see you tonight dear niece." He took my hands, brought them up to his lips, before releasing them and turning his attention to my companion.
"Good evening Sir Nolan," Ruby's voice was as hallow as I felt, brushing off my uncle's overzealous attention by reminding him, gently, that Peter was set to come out of debtors prison very soon.
I excused myself from their company, making my way through the crowd to the corner I had grown so familiar with over the years. It was the optimal spot to see and not be seen. The grouping of guests had not changed drastically from year to year, distant relations of mine that were all well too aware of some dark mark on my past and were wary to associate with me. I would be wary to associate with myself as well, but one cannot rid themselves of their own person.
"And why is the spinster niece of Sir James Nolan making herself into a panel of flocked wallpaper?" I turned around to see who the speaker was – a past suitor, Augustus Booth.
"Mister Booth," I bowed my head as a curtsied, keeping my manners despite how tense his presence had made me. I gave the smallest of laughs and brushed off his harsh comment, "I fear that the story weather has not been kind to me."
He nodded and I doubt he believed my lie, any more than I believed he was speaking to me out of kindness and not out of bitter jest, "Has time treated you well since our last meeting?"
I gave a small sigh, "It has been life, neither one to treat me well or worse, the lines between the two have blended together."
Booth tucked his hands behind his back, standing taller, "A fitting answer, I find. Have you word from your relations as of late?"
"None," I shifted anxiously, feeling color tint my cheeks – color of frustration, not passion. "I'm sure you're well aware why letters between myself and my parents are so scarce."
"I'm well aware of many details of your life," His smile was absolutely sickening, "The Countess is my benefactor now, of course." Those words made my skin crawl, my stomach twist in knots, scrutinized beneath his gaze.
"I did inform you years ago that she had means to inform any potential suitor of my history," My lashes fluttered against my cheeks, trying to prevent tears from falling from my eyes. "If you'll excuse me."
Mister Booth caught my arm, eyes meeting mine. "I met him."
I forced a smile, jerking my arm from his hold, "She is your benefactor after all." He muttered in response, winding my way through the crowd to put distance between myself and the writer.
My heart was pounding in my chest, my breath caught in my throat as I slipped from the grand hall, out onto the patio, desperate for the reprieve that the cool evening air would bring. It was utterly unfair that the Countess would go to such lengths to insure that my life would never happy again. Even from Yorkshire it was as if her eyes were constantly following me, forcing me to pay penance for some long contrived hatred between her and my mother. I could have gone my entire life had I not made one tiny blunder, which gave her hold over my family.
I looked over my head at the sound of the door opening, quite surprised to find a strange of this society striding out onto the patio, unaware that I stood, concealed in the shadows. I had never seen him before, because I was certain I would remember a man who appeared as he did. He was out of sorts with the guests he'd just quit from, his garments a little warn, not quite fitting for his form. Thick black hair fell haphazardly over his brow, nearly shielding the eyes that seemed to reflect the light from the moon above.
"Excuse me," I whispered, making my presence known, much to the surprise of the gentleman. "You must forgive me; I wasn't intentionally concealing myself from you."
"No need to apologize," He replied, smiling at me with warmth that made my breath hitch in my throat. "Did you find that gaggle of guests too insufferable to tolerate as well?"
I laughed at that comment, "You perfectly describe the group I've spent years trying to name appropriately."
The stranger turned to face me, his eyes flickering over my face. My heart fluttered in a way so very different from the flutter of aggravation that had brought me to the patio. He was something entirely different – and Irish. "Are you a business partner of Sir Nolan?"
"Oh, far from that," He shook his head, holding my gaze, "And would a good lass as you be one to oust a man such as I?"
"Well," I started with a cant of my head, "It would depend entirely on what sort of man you were." My tone was entirely familiar, something that I scarcely could even summon with Ruby, who I spent nearly every waking moment alongside. I was not sure what it was that this man stirred in me, but it was not off putting.
He chuckled, "What strangers will tell one another beneath the pale moonlight," He stated wistfully, pressing his palms against the stone banister, "I truly hate this stuffy, self-righteous society." His eyes met mine again, "Chiefly because I have had so little in my life."
"Ah," I said simply, looking him over again, "You're a ruffian then?"
"I'd prefer to be called by name, but if you desire to place me neatly into a category, then yes. A ruffian I am."
"That's not what I desired to do," I corrected, shaking my head, "I would rather refer to you by name, so that one day I can place pen to paper and refer to you as something rather the dark haired ruffian on the patio."
"Lucky you," He said with an edge of bitterness in his tone, "Well, for the sake of your epistle, it's Killian Jones."
I started to curtsey, but he made no move to return the civility so I simply stated my own name, "Emma Swan, if you please." Eyes met again, "If being a ruffian was your only secret I'm not impressed."
Killian shook his head with a quiet laugh, "Yes, well, perhaps divulging my secrets to you would be a blunder. What if you were to step inside that hall, announce to the guests that Killian Jones, a ruffian, beneath a false name – oh I didn't mention that did I? – was an uninvited member of the gathering?"
"Well, that would be truly foolish of me," I gave him a look, chin tilted upwards, "Because I am well aware that many keep secret lives locked away within their chest. No one wants their pasts to be brought forward before a crowd, unless their insane."
"So the lady keeps her own secrets as well," He smirked at me, at me and I took a step backwards.
"Have we not all secrets?"
Again he laughed, though unlike many it was not laughing at me for my direct bluntness, but rather venerating my gumption, "You are not quite alike to the ladies inside, are you? You're not so willingly ignorant to the lives of others."
"You read quite a lot from me in such a short period of time," I stated, hands clasped behind my back, "Especially for someone who scoffed at the mention of literature."
"I scoffed at the mention of writing, which I am none too fond of," He pursed his lips, arching a brow at me, "Though reading and writing are nigh close to one in the same, I can write a little and read even less."
"As ruffians do." I said, with a teasing smirk.
"Ah, yes, the ruffian thing." Killian chuckled, shaking his head with a grin, "Yes well, I suppose now that that has been revealed, you'll forever spot a man like me and instantly assume that he is a ruffian."
"Are you to tell me that I shall walk onto the streets of Southwark tomorrow and spy a ruffian with exact same appearance as you?" I questioned, brows raised high, "Because I think I would be quite impressed if there is more than one of you."
"Aren't you vivacious," He retorted, hands behind his back as he stepped towards me, looking me up and down, "How does your dance card look?"
I flustered under his gaze, "As void as the sky is of stars tonight."
"I'll have you know there is one star above that I spotted, so you're in luck if that's how your dance card appears." Killian offered his arm to me, "Come, I hear the orchestra striking up the next turn."
Tomorrow I was going to have to seriously return to today, looking through the banter that we had shared and attempt to pick out the exact moment that I found someone with a spirit so kindred to mine that all pretenses that society had bred into me had been completely forgotten.
