This was written for the Cartson AU week on Tumblr, today's theme being 'regency.'
It's possibly not entirely historically accurate regarding what was going on between England and France either, but the gist is there and this was just written for fun … But, believe it or not, the Semaphore Towers were actually a thing!
The first time they met was at her father's funeral.
Peggy was standing beside the door to the church in her black mourning dress, greeting those who had come to pay their respects to her father as they passed. An unfamiliar man approached her; he was wearing a blue navy uniform and his dark blond hair was neatly combed. "Ma'am," he said respectfully as he approached, clicking his heels together and inclining his head at her. "Forgive the impropriety of introducing myself. I am Lieutenant Thompson, I was an associate of your fathers."
"Margaret Carter, sir," she introduced in turn, dropping into a slow and graceful curtsy.
"I am sorry for your loss, madam," Lieutenant Thompson continued; his voice had a drawling quality to it, though his sympathy was genuine. "You're father often spoke highly of you."
"Thank you, sir," she said simply.
Thompson glanced at the other mourners. "If you will permit me to ask, what will now become of his estate?"
"The estate passes directly to me, as does the responsibility of managing it," Peggy told him, knowing that there were many who opposed her decision to do so, but she was a grown woman of twenty-five, not some simpering society Miss out in her first season.
Besides, with the trouble brewing in France there was no way that she was leaving her estate on the south coast, not when it was so conveniently situated to Calais.
The gentleman's brows rose and a crease appeared between them. "Alone?" he asked, apparently concerned for her. "I know several Stewards who -"
"Thank you, but I assure you I am well up to the task," she said, aware that she was committing an faux-pas by interrupting him.
He was frowning at her. "Managing an estate is not just balls and dinner parties, Miss Carter," he told her almost condescendingly. "It is a business -"
"I am aware of that, Lieutenant Thompson," she replied in a crisp, clipped voice, interrupting him once more and putting the conversation to an end.
Recognising her tone as the dismissal that it was, he simply inclined his head towards her and walked passed her into the church without another word.
The second time that Jack Thompson met the enigmatic Miss Margaret Carter was at Almacks. Spying her elegant figure across the room, he made his way towards her. It had been some months since he had seen her and she was no longer in mourning, wearing a white ball-gown trimmed with dark blue ribbons, beautiful against her dark curls. Her countenance reminded him almost of a statue, all serene marble features, though her lips were a deep and natural red.
She really was quite lovely – wealthy and in possession of her own estate on the south coast of England to boot. As a second son, he had been required to join the Navy and make his fortune; he was working his way up the ranks, but marrying such a wealthy beauty would put him in excellent stead and only add to his coffers.
"Miss Carter," he said and she gracefully turned to acknowledge him, dropping into a curtsy as he inclined his head into a bow.
"Lieutenant Thompson," she replied, her voice unusually clipped and assertive for a lady in this room of simpering, gaggling hens.
"Might I solicit your hand for the next dance," he asked, and she wordlessly accepted. Slipping her gloved hand into his, she allowed him to lead her to the dance-floor and they lined up opposite each other.
"How goes the estate management?" he asked her as the music started and half of the couples stepped towards each other; they briefly touched hands as they circled around before returning to their original positions in the line.
"Well, thank you," she replied easily as the couple on either side of them also moved into the middle of the dance. "I am currently reading a treatise on crop rotation and animal husbandry," she added and he wondered if she was trying to shock him on purpose.
"Not a suitable topic for a ballroom," he censured, scowling faintly at her as they moved towards each other once again.
The movements of the dance required them to split into fours, linking hands to circle until they were on opposite sides than the one they had started upon. "No, several ladies were quick to look down their noses at me when I mentioned my intention to bring in a cross-breed of sheep to increase wool production," Miss Carter said blandly as the other couples stepped forwards. "Though perhaps you would prefer it if I were to discuss the political situation in France," she added with a raised eyebrow as they met in the middle once again, slightly closer than was strictly necessary – her dark eyes were unreadable, though her head was tilted curiously to one side as if she was appraising him.
Jack shook his head, speaking enough of France at the barracks and knowing that the tensions on the Continent were not a suitable topic of discussion for a lady. "Why do you do this to yourself?" he wanted to know as they circled each other, realising that she was being a blue-stocking on purpose. "You must realise that it is not seemly."
"To continue my fathers good work, do you need a reminder?" she retorted instantly, seeming to not even notice his censure and disapproval.
"I told you that there are Stewards willing to manage such tasks," he reiterated with a bite of annoyance in his voice. "It is not suitable for a lady to concern herself with such things."
Her countenance was cool and composed, though her eyes flashed with obvious anger. "Perhaps, as a second son and no estate of your own, you do not understand the calling," she said in a faux-musing tone that was clearly intended as an insult as she circled around him.
He shook his head at her again – he could not quite make her out, this beauty who was determined to fly in the face of society by running her own estate without the help of a Steward. "You're hiding something, Miss Carter," he said, and her eyes flashed once more as they circled around each other, looking almost worried for a brief moment. "And the only one you're fooling is you."
She raised her chin at him as the dance bought them close together once more. "And what's that, Lieutenant Thompson?" she asked coolly.
"The natural order of the universe," he replied simply, lightly taking her hand as the couples promenaded down the centre of the dance. "You're a woman, you can't do a man's work."
"I seem to have managed well enough thus far," she replied in a tightly controlled voice, evidently keeping her ire reigned in.
"And when the time comes for you to marry?" he pressed as they stood still so that the other couples move in a circle around them to promenade themselves. "Men don't want masters of an estate no matter how lovely they are or how impressive their dowries might be," he said bluntly, knowing that it probably wasn't proper to say such things to her given how short their acquaintance had been. "They want wives who will plan menus and seating arrangements, who will look pretty on their arm and only speak when spoken to." He took her hand again as they stepped into the middle, towards each other, once more. "No man will ever see you as their equal," he added as they circled each other.
She remained in the centre of the dance as it drew to a close instead of moving back to her place in the line, staring at him intently. "You mean that you never will," she replied with impressive composure, even as her red mouth frowned deeply. The other couples were bowing to each other and they both automatically did the same, though somehow the gesture seemed cutting coming from her. "Thank you for the dance, but I will thank you not to ask me again," she said smoothly as she straightened. "My dance-card is quite full for the rest of the evening." Her gaze swept over him once more, dark and impenetrable. "... Goodnight, Lieutenant Thompson."
The irksome thing about forming an acquaintance was that once they were formed it was often tricky to avoid the association. Jack Thompson was thrown into the company of Miss Margaret Carter several more times, during which she scarcely acknowledged him – they spoke cordially when required to at dinner parties or dances, inclining their heads if they passed in the street or the theatre, but they were not friends by any means.
Jack, however, was inclined to change that – he'd had dalliances before, even given one or two women a carte-blanche, but none had intrigued him the way Margaret Carter did.
So when the invitation to attend a ball being held at the Carter Estate found its way into his pile of correspondence, he did not refuse.
The ball itself was nothing out of the common way, though the hostess was a vision. She was wearing a dark red ball gown that went well with her dark hair and naturally red lips; such a dress would have been considered scandalous on a younger woman, though Miss Carter had acquired a reputation for not strictly following society's rules and, at the age of twenty-five, her attire was not considered immodest despite the bold colour.
As hostess, he was scarcely able to exchange more than pleasantries with her before her attention was called away elsewhere. He was also disappointed to find that her dance-card was already full and so consoled himself in the cards and billiards rooms rather than watching her dance with other men all night.
He had just finished up a game when he noticed a door that lead to what was quite clearly a study standing slightly ajar. His opponent had gone to get another drink, leaving him alone in the billiards room, and so he walked over to the door to look in. The study was meticulously tidy; it was masculine in its origins, but she had added her own feminine touches - an elegant tea cup that remained half drunk on the desk and flowers on the sideboard.
Curiosity got the better of him: knowing that he would find the estate ledgers in the room, he wondered how this lovely, headstrong, misguided woman was getting on in her self-appointed task of managing an estate.
The ledgers proved to be boringly well kept in a flowing, feminine script and he whistled low under his breath when he saw the figures she was working with – he hadn't realised the Carter Estate was so lucrative and his own interest in the woman was definitely piqued even further when he realised anew just how wealthy she was.
Moving on from the ledgers, he found several papers in one of the desk drawers and did a double take when he saw that they were written in French and – Jesus Christ – he spoke the language well enough to know that these were messages.
She was a French spy.
"Have you lost your way, sir?" Miss Carter asked coldly from the doorway to her study, cutting a regal and elegant figure in her red dress and her chin raised.
Jack held the papers up in one hand. "Care to explain these?" he asked darkly, not beating around the bush.
Miss Carter did not seem perturbed by his discovery of the messages. "It is considered impolite to go through a ladies belongings," she said, hiding behind a mask of cordial civility. "I am afraid that I must ask you to leave, Lieutenant Thompson. I shall call a footman to escort you out."
"Stop … right there Miss Carter," he said, drawing the pistol that was concealed beneath his blue navy coat and pointing it at her as she made to leave.
She paused at the sight of it and he walked around the desk towards her, pushing closed the door that she was lingering beside so that they were alone in the study. "Do you want to hear my theory?" he asked her, keeping her covered with the pistol. "I've heard that Napoleon once said that a spy in a good position is worth forty-thousand men in the field," he said, his drawling voice low and bitter. "So he chooses you, a woman at the top of society, with access to every single ballroom and drawing room, and he gives her a mask of eccentricity so no one looks to closely at what she is really doing."
Margaret Carter's chin was still raised, utterly intimidated by him. "And what would that be?" she asked, her eyes flashing.
"Passing information along to the French," he bit out, clicking the safety off his pistol lest she try anything.
She shook her head slowly and smiled, completely unamused. "You think you know me, Lieutenant Thompson," she said simply, staring at him with those dark eyes of hers. "Even at a glance you think you have seen all there is to see, but I have never been anything more than you have created in your own head - the improper young woman trying her hand at estate management, the spinster in the making since no man would have her ... the French spy."
Without warning, he reached out and grasped her arm tightly, yanking her forward. "Unhand me," she ordered sternly, but he simply forced her into the chair in front of her desk
"The possession of these letters is tantamount to treason," he said in a low voice, sitting on the edge of the desk so that he could loom over her in the chair. "I could take these to Nelson and have you tried and executed … but I don't want to do that, so you are going to give me an excellent reason not to, Miss Carter."
She looked at him for a long moment, seemingly weighing her options. She raised her chin higher before she spoke. "You know as well as I do that we are on the brink of something here," she said, her voice quiet and intent. "The country pretends not to see it, they celebrate peace while French aristocrats are executed just over the channel. Europe is at the hanging on the precipice of war and yet they read the business and society pages in the newspaper, caring more about who has become engaged to whom and the state of their petty investments, doing nothing while the French prepare for war."
She almost made it sound as if she was on their side, not Napoleon's.
"That's not entirely true," Jack told her, wondering what the limit of her information was – she certainly knew more than most. Many of the country was blind to the threat that France presented, but as a member of the Navy he knew the truth. "Nelson had sent out ships to guard against the French rebels."
"And yet all of your intelligence still comes from what soldiers overhear after a night on the town," she retorted, unimpressed. She shook her head at him, frowning deeply. "Don't you understand that that's not enough? They are already using the Semaphore Line to send messages -"
"I'm sorry ... the Semaphore Line?" he repeated, never having heard of such a thing.
"A line of towers that uses paddles and shutters to convey messages quickly across long distance," she said, clearly exasperated with his lack of knowledge. "They are much faster than a horse or rider, and with messages often encoded -"
"Well, if this Semaphore thing is real, and you've got that right about the codes -" he started to say, but she interrupted him.
"I am trying to save England from falling into a war that it is utterly unprepared for, thank you," she said sharply, still uncaring that he had his pistol in his hand, though it was now resting lightly on his leg rather than being pointed at her. "I remained at my father's estate because it is on the coast. Several times this year Mr Stark has able to convey me out by boat, within sight of the tower at Calais," she told him – and dammit, he was listening intently to every word that she said. "We have intercepted several messages which we passed on to the Navy via Mr Raymond, the proprietor of a rather exclusive club in Mayfair."
"Wait, that was you?" Jack asked sharply – several weeks ago the Navy had received a windfall of information, wrapped up like it was Christmas, courtesy of a woman that had dared enter a Gentleman's Club. He had only caught a glimpse of her, though she certainly hadn't had Margaret's – dammit, Miss Carter's – dark curls. "The blond in the club the night that he died?"
"Alas, some aspects of the job I have assigned myself do involve elements of disguise," she told him dryly, then shook her head sadly. "Mr Raymond was killed by the French for his involvement in this." She gave him a sharp look. "Does that convince you that something needs to be done?"
Jack got off her desk and paced the floor. He knew well enough that the situation with France was ready to boil over, and she was right in that people weren't paying attention. Nelson's ships would not be enough, not without inside information of where they should be deployed.
"We need a response team for this," he muttered under his breath.
"England doesn't have an intelligence office, it barely even has a foreign office," Miss Carter said from her chair, evidently hearing him.
He frowned at her. "England's spy network goes right back to the time of Queen Elizabeth," he corrected.
She actually rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, if you can call foreign travellers returning to whisper secrets to titillate the Queen espionage" she retorted, unimpressed. "Even now, only the Prince Regent has authority to organise any action. What ever actions the Navy is taking, it is not enough."
"So what do you suggest?" Jack wanted to know, holstering his pistol once more without thinking.
Miss Carter hesitated, then rose gracefully to her feet, her chin raised determinedly once more. "We set up an official spy network," she said simply.
Jack arched an eyebrow at her. "We?" he repeated.
"I would say I, but something tells me you are going to stick your oar in no matter what I say," she told him, watching him carefully.
She was right, they needed some sort of intelligence network. And, he hated to admit it, but if those messages from Raymond and initially come from her, then she was damn good.
He rubbed one hand over the lower portion of his face. "If this tower thing is what you say it is, the Carter Estate is ideally located to intercept messages," he said slowly, thinking it through as he said it.
Miss Carter blinked at him, clearly surprised. "Are you suggesting we set up headquarters here?" she asked, all astonishment.
"Would you object?" he wanted to know.
She shook her head instantly. "Of course not," she replied, still sounding surprised that he was going along with this.
He nodded. "There are some people I can contact – an old army friend, Daniel Sousa, Admiral Rodger Dooley … we'll get the ball rolling on this," he said. She looked stunned, but pleased, that he was actually taking her seriously – he knew how much of a threat the French were, and the messages she had sent via Raymond had been invaluable regarding sending out the ships to hunt French rebels. "You do realise this means I will be in and out of your house a lot," he added, tilting his head to one side as he watched her. "Practically living here."
She frowned deeply, her red lower lip stuck out in a tempting pout. "People will talk, we'll need a cover," she said, evidently following his train of thought.
He took a breath, watching her and weighing his chances – he had been fascinated by her almost since they day they met and now, with her espionage activities coming to light and the knowledge that she was on their side, he couldn't help but find her even more intriguing.
"Considering that we have been alone in here for the past half hour and you left an entire ballroom of guests unattended, it will be said that I've thoroughly compromised you," he said dryly and she raised one perfectly arched eyebrow challengingly at him. "Given that fact, there is an obvious cover that comes to mind."
Her mouth quirked, evidently trying to hide a smile. "If that was your idea of a proposal, I can tell you that your time in the Navy has roughened your edges and left you completely out of practice when it comes to wooing a woman," she said sardonically, apparently unimpressed.
"Well?" Jack asked, leaning back against her desk to watch her.
She was looking at him carefully, no doubt thinking hard. "Before I give my answer, promise me one thing," she said, and he shrugged, indicating for her to continue. "Give me your word, as a gentlemen, that you will not hold me back," she said simply, though there was passion for her work in her voice.
Given everything that she had done, he could not deny her. "You have it," he confirmed.
"Very well then, it seems that I accept," she said, holding out her hand for him to shake – how strange, to agree on an engagement by shaking hands. "Though if you make even one comment suggesting that I should stick to planning menus and dances then I assure you my door will be firmly locked at night," she added sternly, her hand still gripped in his own much larger one.
Jack grinned - did that mean her door would be unlocked if he behaved himself? He couldn't help but wonder.
Go on, leave a review - any other AU's that you want to see? :p