A/N: Recently edited, the second part will come soon.
Mr Hooper upon marrying his wife with her two thousand pounds was considered a fortunate man, even more so, when he over time accumulated a great estate and ten thousand a year. Importance was never of a great consequence to Mr Hooper, unlike Mrs Hooper who strode into society desiring to keep her head high in the ton.
She wished for an advantageous marriage for her eldest daughter Molly whose bloom was well admired, though her insatiable curiosity and candour threw off any mild tempered young gentleman through her best years, until, she was teeming on spinsterhood.
Mrs Hooper, however, found an offer from a highly esteemed family of the nobler kind, with barouche boxes enough to satiate her elegant mind for weeks, but the proposal she then put forward to her then 27 year old daughter was countered with a blank refusal.
"Sir Holmes' son is close to your age and I am told is quite the intellect!" she said rather vexed, her adorned curls flying about her reddened face.
"Mama!" her daughter had exclaimed in a loud sigh, her intentions clear the minute she stormed out of the library, her book still clutched in her hand.
Mrs Hooper was familiar with the lengths her daughter would take to avoid her 'inadequate' proposals, and she could never catch her, her daughter being a great walker employed her legs with great exuberance. She was at her father's study before she knew it, wheezing haplessly behind her, as she spoke in a more agreeable voice. "Papa-," but her daughter did not speak any further than those words she had absorbed in her upbringing, quieting down to her astonishment.
It was when she saw Mr Hooper that she understood, for a most severe expression was in her husband's face. This was not the amused countenance she was used to, nor her daughter; his mouth was a firm thin line, his grey brows furrowed. "You will do as your mama wishes-,"
Not once in her daughter's twenty-seven years had he ever been amenable on the subject of 'these advantageous suitors', all of them seeking fortune where they only had titles, or so her daughter repeatedly said. "But-,"
"There will be no buts – no arguments – or quarrelling over this matter any further young lady – you will do as you're told-," said Mr Hooper in such a way that made her daughter run stunned out of the room.
Mrs Hooper was startled by her husband's passionate ejaculations, pursuing her daughter at the prospect of soothing her nerves, unable to bring her much consolation in her grief.
When she had left the study she had not seen her husband's defeated expression. Neither did she see the letter he had crumpled in his hand, which he soon submitted to the fire, watching the parchment burn to a crisp.
This particular letter had forced his hand, and made him acquire the help of the young gentleman Mr Holmes in the protection of his daughter from the charlatan Mr Moriarty.
Miss Hooper had grown accustomed to Bartholomew - of the narrow over-grown paths and secret passageways that would eventually lead up to the great estate. The past fortnight had been for her an outlandish experience with no comparison. No one paid heed to her silent suffering, or allowed her to revel in it other than make her understand that she was to attend the chapel in some few days.
Her impending husband that she had yet to lay eyes upon contorted into a vile villainous creature – snaking out as if from a novel by Mrs Radcliffe – a cruel man, she could only presume. She would not enter into matrimony joyfully, not even inclined to chose anything but the plainest of wedding clothes, despite her mother's protests and queries into finer silk.
There would be no glad tidings or joyous exclamations in this forthcoming marriage; her own father had thrust her into. Mr Hooper whom she had never assumed would ever put upon her such a cursed task.
Alas, she was sadly mistaken about her own father's character.
He had turned dark, keeping himself in his study at all times, and only partaking in meals silently without breathing a word of any cheerful note to set her spirits higher. Her only comfort was her younger brother Tobias who had at first argued chiefly that is must have been some jest put upon her, except upon speaking with Mr Hooper he was sorely mistaken. "I am dreadfully sorry dear sister to find you so downcast, but perhaps there will be some happiness to be fond with your husband. I hear a great many talk of him in the ton."
"And it is…good?" she said with a deep-set frown, at which her brother heartily laughed.
"You mustn't make him the villain quite yet! Though I have heard him spoken to be quite an unusual gentleman."
Miss Hooper did not know if that bode well or not, her feelings however were already made up upon the subject. Whatever her brother said would not cease her growing prejudice against the one who would secure her future unhappiness.
It was during one of her walks where she was studiously occupied in one of Mr Hooper's rather interesting volumes regarding medicine (an occupation, that she was sure, if she had been the proper sex she would be most occupied in) that she met upon a gentleman on horseback.
She started, threading backward carefully in fright, her hand brought upon her bosom in surprise over the stature of the man astride the stallion.
He had a most interesting face with a set of startling eyes, which flitted between forest green and the deep sea. "Oh!" she uttered in shock, unable to keep her surprise from being uttered.
Miss Hooper knew how her mama detested her walks, as she was often frightened that ruffians might overtake her if she did not thread carefully, but this man did not bear any resemblance to such.
His clothes were fully black and fit his fine figure; his attire suited more for a burial, though the white of his cravat shook that thought away, letting her assume he relished the stark contrast against his pale skin.
All in all he seemed to be a gentleman, but did he not look entirely gentleman-like with the wild dark curls that protruded from underneath his hat, almost feral in its appearance.
There was something about his air, which gave her the belief that he was like the sturdiest mare in their stables. His expression so stoic that she was astonished when he tilted his hat to her in salutation, before riding off without a word in greeting.
They had not been introduced, so she would not know what to say if he had indeed spoken. But she noticed the brief upward tug of his mouth, as he disappeared from her line of sight, making her more flustered than she was in a want for, like he knew a dark secret of some kind.
It wasn't before she returned to Bartholomew intending to have some luncheon, when she was even more put out to find that very gentleman in the sitting room. "Mr Holmes - Molly – your fiancé," said her father in the harshest of tones.
She was struck silent by Mr Holmes' deep bow that seemed almost sardonic, contrasting his eyes that were full of some indistinguishable emotion. "He will be dining with us…I am sure you would not mind to give him a short tour of the grounds?" said her father, while she tried to regain her composure. This was her fiancé – the man in black – who certainly did not look like a villain, despite his affectations.
She stared in silence, intending to protest at the inducement. "I believe Molly is in need of some luncheon. It would be cruel to set her out on another walk on an empty stomach - Mr Hooper," said Mr Holmes, distressing her with his acute observation and his deep voice.
Her eyes could not be more fixed upon him than they were already, torn in confusion of wanting to have nothing to do with him, and wanting to know more about his character.
"I – yes, papa. Indeed I am…famished…" she said averting her gaze, keeping her hands folded in front of her.
It was difficult not to be struck by the fact that he had elected to use her given name, but she knew that their betrothal allowed him to take such liberties, even if she secretly disapproved of his untoward familiarity.
"Very well then, I suppose that Mr-," her father begun.
"I am fine Mr Hooper – some coffee, however, wouldn't be amiss," Mr Holmes said with an attempt at a smile.
Miss Hooper did not have much understanding of the courtship between a man and his fiancé. It was a concept wholly unfamiliar to her, but she was quite certain that the tangible silence that Mr Holmes kept was not one a betrothed man should keep. He did not seem entirely accustomed to social niceties, though he did thank her for the coffee, which she had administered on her own (bothering the servants for such a thing did not suit her disposition).
Astonishingly enough Mr Holmes did not complain, though he said very little already, as he only frowned slightly at the coffee. "So…Mr Holmes," she began wishing to push the tête-à-tête that would most likely take place anyhow forward, "We -,"
"- are to be married, yes. I am well aware Miss Hooper."
She could not understand the man, somehow he felt the necessity to keep up appearances when they were very much alone, which she felt somewhat dissatisfied with. For a minute she had been hopeful that the impertinence he had previously the gall to show beforehand would appear once more, but he had only disappointed her.
She mimicked his earlier grimace, sitting suddenly upright in her chair with a mild sniff. "Do you always finish other people's discourse for them, sir?"
"If I find them pointless Miss Hooper, then yes - especially when I know there are other enquiries you'd rather grieve me with," he said with a sigh, settling his cup aside with a bang on the china platter.
Turning rigid in her seat she said. "I do not wish to marry you," unable to keep the contempt from her voice, her eyes almost unable to meet his.
He did not seem shaken by this news, his hand only adjusting his cup slowly in its saucer. "Nor I you," he said coldly, his gaze upon the table.
No brightness existed in her eyes, as her veil was drawn before her and her future anticipated her, looking excessively troubled by the proceedings.
At her hesitant first steps she saw his entire countenance alter, though the mien soon went to the familiar dour expression she had grown accustomed to and she assumed she had been remiss in her attentions.
"- Therefore is not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God-,"
Miss Hooper's 'I do' was said quietly, the ring gently placed upon her finger with sympathy she did not expect from the gentleman - her husband to have. Departing from the wedding in their curricle she was promptly forced to face a gathering, where all congratulated her on her good fortune and title. It was indeed not the consolation she sought throughout the affair, but she kept any disagreeable look to herself.
After all she was Mrs Holmes and she would have to make due.
Mr Holmes barely spoke a word throughout the whole, and those he said were of a disagreeable nature - slighting guests who all took it in their stride, clapping him on the back with merriment, assuming that it was indeed his nerves more than any natural aspect within him.
Mrs Holmes dared not correct their presumptions and lead most of the exchanges herself, occasionally with her husband supplying a curt nod from behind her. When they were finally sanctioned to quit Bartholomew's festivities she finally let the depth of her sorrow be exposed, knowing what to expect when their journey took them to their new home.
Her mother had enlightened her in the particulars of what a gentleman anticipated from his bride; liberties that he was free to take. She was bound by duty and would have to 'suffer' through the unpleasantness, as her mother has told her. But upon arriving at their estate Mr Holmes retired to his own rooms, only bidding her goodnight with a low bow and after that, she did not see him for the next fortnight.
It became known to Mrs Holmes that her husband had the propensity to withdraw at great intervals, either to his smaller house in London, or occupy himself with rather peculiar activities. Mr Holmes was indeed an eccentric gentleman, invigorated by a great deal many things, though none of them were the pursuits that drove other gentlemen to distraction.
He was proficient in many of those activities, though he detested them according to one of the maids, for there was a great deal of gossip about the master in the household, but very few of the staff were intimately familiar with his character. She only gained some information by her own observations, and when he on occasion talked to her. They had scarcely spoken to one another in their home, having none of the felicity she had often envisioned for herself if she had married for love, which had been her original intent. To say Mr Holmes was a mystery to her was a great understatement, and she found herself enquiring into his eccentricities, gaining some knowledge at least on matters such as 'science and deduction'. None of which was familiar to her.
Mrs Holmes knew only one thing for certain, which no gossip or idle observation could give her – he did not share their marital bed. She had rejoiced at first, but in time she had found it rather distressing, for it only told her how little he seemed to care for her. He spent most of his leisure time with his friend Mr Watson, both of whom employed themselves with cases of a curious kind.
Her familiarity with those cases existed only because of Mr Watson's brief visits where he could inform her of their exploits, yet none were ever told to her by her husband who seemed bent upon to continue eluding her. She had not been troubled by it to begin with, keeping mostly to herself and throwing herself into being mistress of their estate, but as time flew – so did her relief in such work.
She did not fully comprehend why she was so forlorn about the subject of her husband, until one night she had taken to bed, and he strode into her chambers with the stormiest of expressions in his eyes.
Drawing her sheets up under her chin, she had stared at the man. He had stood only in his breeches, his brows drawn together in a puzzled expression. She gasped the second he jumped upon the bed like a wild creature, hovering above her mortified face, his breath tickling her skin.
It had been the closest they had ever been to each other.
Her bosom heaving underneath the weight of his body that covered hers easily, his piercing eyes dancing across her form, before a smirk played at his lips. Her own eyes could not be drawn away from him, briefly only catching the sight of his bare pale chest. When he caught her stare he leaned down toward her lips, his face so close – before he suddenly withdrew, alarm writ upon his face, soon slamming the door of her chamber shut.
Her heart had thumped soundly, forcing her to call for her maid, at which the maid quickly brought out a soothing cup of tea, but it did not still her concerns.
She begged the woman to leave her, before she restlessly quitted her bed and begun wandering throughout her room, attempting to steady herself, unable to alleviate her mind before her feelings, became fully known to her.
"I…love him, oh - what cruel misfortune."
It was cruel to esteem a man she had long detested, a man whom she had long forced herself into loathing, but found that she could not.
The knowledge of her affection made the days seem bleaker, as Mr Holmes did not call for her, or visit her bedchambers unannounced again. All of his days upon the estate were spent fully occupied in his laboratory, bolted inside there for hours, never seeming to need any respite.
Mrs Holmes did at times consider herself brave, though her daring could never be exhibited if he kept himself away from her. She did not discern if she was prohibited to enter his laboratory, as the servants were certainly forbidden to enter (his request to have the room untouched when he was there or away kept to).
Devising a plan Mrs Holmes left her chambers, before the entry of her maid one morning. She was determined to have some conversation with her husband, as she could no longer endure the silence between them.
Perhaps he did not desire her, though she remembered the wildness in his eyes too vividly, the inducement - which she found, she would not have protested towards if asked.
The house was still quiet, only the brief movement of some of the staff was heard; their morning absolutions being taken care of, while she sprang in the empty halls in only her nightdress. She knew the impropriety of her apparel, but there was no time if she were to lure him out.
But to Mrs Holmes' astonishment the man was not in his secretive laboratory.
None of the furnishings, or fittings gave her the belief that it was for the use of acquiring knowledge, or science, with its luxurious set of furniture.
Her disappointment was heavy indeed, for her husband did not have any interests, whatsoever, and only wanted to keep out of sight.
It wasn't before she was called upon to visit the room herself not long after trespassing, when she fully realised the rooms potential, and that her husband had made it with her in mind.
At the very beginning of their marriage Mr Watson had consoled her of her husbands nature. "Holmes' heart is quite secret. No one knows of its intricate workings, but I am quite assured that his heart…belongs to you Mrs Holmes, whatever he might say."
She had refuted him, arguing her point forward, but in her current position – she felt she had horrendously mistaken his cold nature for suppressed passion, which she did not know if she could live through.
When she had been called, she found herself dreading to enter what several of the servants claimed were his actual chambers. His deep voice sounding out to her, his back straight as he stared right at her. "And what did you find out in your pursuit to figure me out Mrs Holmes?"
His knowing did not throw her off, understanding as he was if anything was out of order in any way, even making the chief maid Mrs Hudson tremble when he had found her dusting within the laboratory by mistake. "That this is not a room of science," she said, not allowing herself to be disquieted by his look of contempt.
"It is."
"And what science would that be, sir?" she said rather angrily.
Oh, how she regretted those very words, though, if she were given the chance she would have them uttered again and again, despite the knowledge of what would then come to pass.
Mrs Holmes had retained her virtue for quite some time, longer than she would have ever presumed, but she never suspected it would be taken from her in that very chamber instead of their marital bed.
Neither had she any inclination to assume that she would be unclothed in front of her husband, done by his own amorous hands that stroked her into submission with attentive care that almost seemed practised.
Being bound to a pillar with silken ropes and a cloth covering her eyes, was perhaps not what she anticipated at all, neither did she have the impression that she would enjoy the torments devised by her husband, while he murmured against her ear in a most forbidden tone. "There are different types of science Molly, perhaps I shall make you thoroughly acquainted with this specific branch…some punishment must be had for your wilful disobedience."
She could only wriggle weakly against her bindings, while his hand lovingly stroked her, seizing the cold conflict between them and reaping a new age entirely. One which the servants would speak of low tones about, informing that their master and mistress were fully employed when in the laboratory.