A/N: Okay, new story. Can we call it Jane Austen-verse? I guess I just wanted to write something like that. I'll be multi-chaptered, slow build, love story. Let's see how it goes, 'kay?


"I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain."

- John Keats, Bright Star: Love Letters and Poems of John Keats to Fanny Brawne


The orange sun was hanging low on the horizon. A flock of partridges rose from the ground, when a horseman approached them in a cloud of noise and dust. He was beautiful and young – not a man, yet not a boy either. He didn't have a hat (a thing unimaginable in society), so his hair flew behind his ears, the black bangs a little bit too long for a nobleman. His blue eyes bright and striking, his cheeks rosy from the chilly evening wind. He was smiling, too. Occasional laugher bubbled up his chest: at that moment he was happy, he was free. A big, gray dog was chasing the horseman and his steed, and sometimes he would stop to catch its breath or bark.

Finally, the young man stopped and dismounted from his horse. He was almost at the border of his county, he didn't need to go any further. He wanted to, many many times before, but it was not his job. His job was to look after his father's lands, the lands that someday would be his. He didn't have time to want.

"Church!" he called out. The big dog appeared immediately, wagging his tail at his master. The man crouched down and buried his hands in gray coat. "Good boy," he murmured. "The cottages look good, don't you think? Peaceful. Everything seems to be in a good shape. We can go back."

Church barked in agreement. The man started walking down the hill. He took his horse by the bridle and let him rest before the journey home. It was late summer. He could walk for a while, he didn't have to worry about early nightfall. The air was warm and heavy around him. Sometimes he would feel like he was suffocating, but a few deep breaths always helped him to remember who he was, and that he was, after all, content with his life.


His name was Alexander Lightwood. He was the heir to the Lightwood family fortune, therefore it was expected of him to be responsible and guarded and wise. Only in time like this, did he let himself to be Alec. To wear an open face and sincere smile, and disheveled hair and no tie around his neck. When nobody was there to watch him (except Church), judge him or report on him to his father, Robert Lightwood. Lord Lightwood was usually absent, always on business trips, dealing with far more important problems than his family. Yet, he always knew what was happening at home – Alec thought his father was either God or just had very good spies. Then again, apparently there was only one true God; and spying on his own family sounded extremely repulsive.

To his mother, he was Alexander. He rather liked being Alec to his siblings: his younger sister Isabelle, and his adoptive brother Jace (with whom he was connected not by blood, but by something no less stronger). Very often though, it was not allowed. When Isabelle spoke her mind, he was supposed to say appropriate things, not to agree with her. Fortunately (or not) his little sister knew when he was lying. She would give him that very special look, as if she was despising him, when really she was just mocking him. She would then giggle, her laugh clear as silver bells, and dismiss the whole incident with one wave of her white hand. Alec never knew if he should be grateful of angry. He loved her very much.

When he finally approached the house, it was getting dark. The shadows were long, the one of the highest (and single) tower touched the tips of Alec's shoes. The manor was reddish-brown, in some spots covered with moss. The brick was cold – in summer, much like right now, Alec always had this odd feeling: like he was stepping from the warm sea of moors to a completely different world, the world separated by invisible bubble, cool and uninviting. But when you were finally there, you did not feel discomfort. The change was noticeable only at the beginning. Once you were inside, you didn't know it was possible to feel something different, something more.

The Institute was old, yet beautiful. Nobody really knew who came up with this odd name and why. It was so long ago that nobody remembered, it just stuck, and it suited the house. Some would say it was because of all the books stacked up in the Lightwoods' great library, the maps hanging on the walls and hiding in rolls in the corners, the magnificent sculptures and rare paintings – the Institute was treasury of information and culture.

Alec led his horse, Demon, to the stables. The stallion's black sides were steaming, and he was snorting over his master's head. Alec put one hand on the black head to caress the little white spot between Demon's eyes, trying to comfort him. The horse whined and tried to nibble at Alec's coat. The young heir laughed quietly at that. Jordan, the stable boy (or maybe Alec should have said, stableman- they were the same age) was already waiting for them. He bowed awkwardly, but smiled at Alec through his brown curls and it made up for lack of gracefulness.

"Please, take good care of him," said Alec. Quietly, as if in fear of breaking the heavy bubble of this late summer evening.

"I always do, my lord," Jordan responded and took Demon's bridle from the heir's hand.

After that, Alec decided to enter the house through back door. He didn't want to bother the servants or maybe he just wanted to hide the sighs escaping his lips. Both reasons were a sign of weakness in his father's eyes. But when he looked at the house, he always saw an estate, a stack of bricks that needed to be manage; he saw numbers and problems – not a home. It was still his home, for now. He obviously was attached to it. But the word 'legacy' hung above his head and the walls, and he simply couldn't stop thinking about it. He knew he should be grateful. Proud. Happy. He just hadn't ever had a choice. Maybe a concept of choosing his own happiness was truly ridiculous, it certainly sounded ridiculous in his head right know. To Alec, it seemed like the only available solution was to sneak up to his bedroom and clear his mind by sleeping. He ordered Church to stay downstairs, and without ringing for his valet Simon, he retired to bed.

(His plan worked only partially. He still dreamt of butterflies.)


The next morning, Alec woke up with an unsettling feeling in his stomach. He didn't remember his dream, but it left him shaky in a giddy way. It was difficult to explain: he opened his eyes, the curtains around his bed were drown, for one second he felt safe, like he was a little child enveloped in his mother's gentle singing. Then suddenly he remembered: he was eighteen years old, his mother had last sung to him years before the accident, and he certainly wasn't a child. What was he dreaming about? He felt… irritated.

He might have pulled the bell string a little bit too forcefully, and he immediately tried to calm his nerves. Simon shouldn't have to see him like that. Alec could deal with his own demons, he could.

There was a knock at the door and Simon the valet came in. He was young, only two or three years older than Alec; he had brown hair and a kind smile. He was also doe-eyed, a thing that constantly made him look like a kicked puppy.

"Good morning, my lord!" Simon said cheerfully.

Alec was ready to get dressed, and they started their morning routine. "Tell me, Simon, is Jace up already?"

"Yes, my lord. He left his bedroom about half an hour ago."

"And miss Isabelle?"

"I believe so, yes. Her voice could be heard downstairs shortly after dawn."

Alec snorted in response. "I don't doubt that."

Simon Lewis always seemed to be rather infatuated with Isabelle Lightwood. He talked about her on every possible occasion (though Alec's presence intimidated him a little bit - she was the heir's little sister after all), he followed her with those puppy eyes (when he thought nobody was looking, of course), he carried out her orders though he didn't have to - technically he was only Jace's and Alec's servant. Alec thought it was all rather… adorable, for the lack of better word. Isabelle was kind enough not to crush the poor boy's heart, and for that Alec was grateful – Simon was a good valet, he would hate for him to go.

"I think you're ready, my lord," Simon finally announced, after adjusting a simple white cravat around Alec's throat.

"Thank you, you're dismissed."

The valet bowed and left the room. Alec went through his mail, which Simon had brought him (as he did every morning) on a silver tray. There was nothing interesting there, just couple of things he would have to look into later. After that, he went downstairs, and he didn't even look in the mirror to assess Simon's hard work.

The dining room looked awfully empty when he entered it. It was a large airy room, windows reaching from the floor to the ceiling, white walls covered in golden ornaments, three golden chandeliers; long, long mahogany table, too many chairs around it. Only two of them where occupied: the one at the head was vacant, but on the right and left sat Jace and Isabelle. Jace was stuffing his mouth with sausages and eggs, and he so much as waved at Alec when he spotted him. He was sitting in a patch of early sunlight – a few rays had been caught up in his golden hair, creating some sort of halo around his head. Alec found it extremely ill-fitted, his brother was no angel. But he smiled when Jace's golden eyes rested on him for a second, and then the younger man was back at being disgusting and making truly repulsive noises.

Isabelle seemed unmoved by the things taking place in front of her. She looked stunning today. She was wearing light white dress that was baring her neck and shoulders in very flattering manner. The sleeves were trimmed with lace, and the material was creamiest than Isabelle's fair skin. Her dark, almost black hair was loosely pinned together, a few stray bangs hanging around her regular face. Her lids were half-closed, she was reading a paper (breakfast forgotten on her plate).

Alec – obviously – ought to do something about it. "Izzy, how many times do I have to repeat, do not read while attending meals." He moved to sit beside Jace, purposely ignoring the glaring seat at the head of the table. No matter how hard his siblings insisted, it was not his place, not yet.

"Oh, the pot is calling the kettle black!" Isabelle fired back. She abandoned her paper in favour of narrowing her eyes at Alec. "How many times have I seen you with a book under a table, hm? How many?"

Alec folded his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. Jace just laughed.

"She's got the point, brother. You're hopeless. She, at last, is reading some useful stuff."

"Books are not useless!" Alec muttered.

Isabelle chortled, and Jace rolled his eyes. "Like I said, hopeless."

Their little quarrel was interrupted by a servant, who brought Alec a new plate and a small teapot of hot water for his morning coffee. Isabelle picked her paper, so Alec (seeing no point in arguing any further), started eating without another word.

It was so quiet. Alec could easily blocked the sounds coming from his right (he had seventeen years to get used to them, after all) and Isabelle was not her normal talkative self. The news must have been really absorbing. Their mother's absence downstairs wasn't as glaring as it was at the beginning, first few days after the accident . Now, two years later, they were used to it as well, they knew she was in her bedroom, mourning. Only another parent could understand her loss, but Robert thought his responsibility was to business, not his wife and his family. Alec swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.

"What's so fascinating?" he asked grumpily few minutes later, after hearing Isabelle gasp for the hundredth time.

It was like Isabelle was only waiting for this. She folded the paper neatly and put her small hands on top of it (Alec knew it was no use, she was going to start gesticulating with enthusiasm as soon as she opened her mouth). She looked at him pointedly, then at Jace, and Alec could swear he could see a blush of excitement slowly forming on her cheeks. She began, "I was reading the gossip column-"

"Obviously," Alec and Jace said at the same time.

"- and," Isabelle seemed unfazed by their rudeness, "everyone is going on and on about some Indonesian-Dutch Prince. Can you imagine? Apparently, he's very important and rich and handsome-"

"Isabelle!"

"- and he's coming to London for the next Season." She leaned back against her chair, looking very smug.

"Isabelle…" Alec started, but Jace interrupted him, "How handsome is he?" The blonde boy looked almost worried, but Alec could tell he was just mocking their sister.

"Isabelle," he intervened again. "The Season won't start for another… five, six months. It's September!"

Izzy just raised one perfect eyebrow. "Your point?"

"You're getting excited about something that might not even happen," Alec sighed.

Isabelle Lightwood was going to debut at the Court the oncoming Season. She was sixteen, and the only daughter in the family, there was no reason why she should wait any longer. Only, Alec was really worried. Izzy obviously couldn't wait (she was even a little mad when Mother didn't let her debut this year, but she had been mollified only when she'd found out that Clarissa Morgenstern was going to wait another year, just like her). Alec knew what Izzy was expecting: endless balls, tea parties, hordes of cow-eyed adorers at her feet. It maybe was like that, at the beginning. But in reality, it was just a market, where noblemen could ogle potential wives, pick them carefully while girls were just standing there obediently lined up against the wall. Oh, Izzy wasn't going to like that. He wanted to protect her- from disappointment, but above all, form unworthy husband. But how was he going to do that, when she was so eager, she would probably just run off if she had to wait another year, and Alec sure as hell wasn't going to lock her up.

His train of thoughts was interrupted but Jace's rarely-serious voice. "Aww, Alec, why must you always ruin all the fun?"

"Because he's the older brother, it's his job," Izzy said, surprising the whole room. She smiled at Alec, then suddenly she was ice-faced again. "But Alexander Gideon Lightwood, I'm not naïve. You may think so, because I'm a girl, but I'm also a Lightwood. I don't faint at the sight of blood. Jace probably does." The golden boy stuck his tongue at her, and Alec fought the urge to kick him under the table. "You're being overprotective. I can handle men, don't you worry."

There was a short silence, and then Jace snorted, "Right, I wonder how exactly you are going to 'handle' those men. This way?" He batted his eyelashes and pursed his lips. This time it was Izzy who kicked him in the shin, and she didn't seem to have some inner fight against it. But Jace deserved it, what he'd said was rude.

"I don't think about you badly. Not because you're a girl or for any other reason. I don't. At all," Alec just murmured and Isabelle rolled her eyes, but smiled at him nonetheless. It was their private smile, like they knew each other's thoughts, could read each other's minds without even trying.

Alec took a sip of his now-cool coffee, attempting to finish his breakfast. Jace now just seemed to lounge around, his feet kicked before him, his full belly in the air. Isabelle stood up, straighten her beautiful dress (it flowed to the ground like it was made of cobweb and mist, but she made a special show of arranging it around her ankles) and thanked for the meal. Then she turned to leave the dining room, but she stopped near the door, as if she'd forgotten something.

"Ah, one more thing, Alec," she threw over her shoulder. "Simon told me that Jordan told him that there's a man looking for a house in the vicinity. He wants to buy Idris House or he's already bought it? Anyway, you would probably want to look into it. Help him or just welcome him in our county. That's what you do, right brother?" She left with a warm smile and a flip of her black hair.

"I'll take care of it later. Tomorrow, probably," Alec murmured, putting away his silver cutlery. He was not hungry anymore, besides he had many things to do. He stood up, ready to leave. He asked Jace, "Do we know his name?"

His brother just shrugged. "Don't ask me, man. You always say you don't need my help, so I wouldn't register his name even if Isabelle shouted it to my ear."

"Alright. I'll see you at dinner." He was almost out of the door when Jace's yell stop him, "You don't need my help, right?"

"No!" was Alec's only reply.


Tell me if you'd like to read more. If so, you'll meet Magnus in the next chapter, annnd... if you have any questions or some piece of advice (that would be appreciated :)) go right ahead.

Thank you for reading!