A/N: My first bit of Victoria fanfic, specifically Skerrettelli fic. I was rooting for them in S1, wanted so much more of them in S2 and got so many warm fuzzy feels with them during the Christmas special - which is what compelled me to write this...
Victoria and Nancy & Francatelli (for the best part) belong to Daisy Goodwin.
The Sweetest Thing
Her heart was fluttering wildly and refused stubbornly to be calmed for more than a few moments after she had walked away from him in that little nook that was barely concealed. She rather liked the sensation, even if it threatened to interfere with her work for the rest of the evening and longer besides.
If she could do little about controlling the reactions of most of her body then at least she was able to paint a more sombre expression upon her face, concealing the wild joy that she felt inside. That took rather a great deal of effort in the current circumstances, but it remained the easier of the tasks.
She had been somewhat nervous facing him, as well as still carrying dejection around within her. There had been no question in her mind that she had come to the right conclusion – she could not possibly enjoy her unexpected good fortune when it would in turn deprive so many others of their freedom and such other apparently simply-given rights. But, for once, it would have been so nice to have something, a bit of luck which did not contain any conditions or consequences casting looming shadows against the light which was promised.
Oh well; she could hardly complain about her lot. If she was going to consider luck in all of this then she had been blessed very well indeed. A girl coming from whence she had hailed and in such circumstances, becoming dresser and confidante to the Queen. Such a highly respected position that she could never have dreamed of such a time ago.
There had been other dreams, even longer past and put firmly to one side. She certainly had never expected those to be revisited.
It was easy to dismiss the windfall, the more she considered. Not only because of its moral foulness but as it had been so unforeseen. She had not time to formulate grand ideas surrounding it and had not spent an equal amount beforehand anticipating the bequeathment. You can't miss what you never had in the first place.
"But will you give me the right answer to my question?"
She had been waiting for that. No matter how hard she tried to dismiss the notion, told herself it was hopeless and that it could never come to be, not when they had given themselves over to their respective professions. They were both ambitious individuals, driven by hopes and faith in their talents and abilities; both of them believing that they could make better lives for themselves than those who went before them. Perhaps a shared ethic was part of the attraction, someone who understood exactly how it felt to strive and had an unwavering determination deep within.
The whirling sensation struck with more intensity in the pit of her stomach and she stifled a smile as she thought on, imagining him sitting in front of her again, looking up at her with such yearning.
No, it was much more than that, and perhaps considered less, given that the other aspects she had in mind were not quite so deep and meaningful.
Whatever way she looked at it, resistance was impossible. Holding out until they were both at the end of their patience would have proved far more painful. It had hurt too much up until now, her heart remembering the way it ached and grieved over the terrible decision she had made previously to give him up, without regard for either of their happiness.
The seed had been planted long ago, and the tears that she had shed in the time that he had been gone had watered it to great strength.
"I would call you Mrs Francatelli tomorrow."
The very idea, as remiss as she was to dwell on it in the depths of sorrow, caused her to brighten inside and gave reason to pass through the darkest of days.
She had pondered - finding it easier to do so since he had returned to the palace - how different life could have gone if she had accepted him then, pushed away the thoughts of financial security and professional prestige. She knew now that neither of those factors had contributed to what had made her so scared and reluctant to follow where her heart had been ever so keen to lead. It was pointless, really, but every now and then as she sat reading at the table or even as Her Majesty disclosed something offhand about the Prince or her children she couldn't help but indulge in daydreaming, which may have been smoother than the reality of the matter.
On the other hand she had soothed her fractured soul by reminding herself that it had been a quandary. She loved her job and was immensely proud of how far she had come. It pained her that women of her standing should have to take a sharp turn down one road or another in their lives, the options so confined.
Things had shifted, much to her thrill and delight. It had taken some time and healing on both their parts, understanding and empathy and renewed connection which had to be nurtured carefully. Before he had asked her out to sail on the Serpentine she had spent so long willing him to make the move. It hadn't been up to her to move the situation along, not after the way she had treated him with such coldness and detachment that she had never wanted to wear as a disguise. Now all of that longing seemed so distant, as though it had been a completely different lifetime. Colour rushed to her cheeks; she supposed that they had rather made up for the lost time since.
The flame flickered to life again, burned with a new intensity despite her attempts to temper it. Since they had become something more than colleagues and good friends she knew that she could not give him up, not again.
She may have surrendered a fortune but what she had been granted now was priceless.
They would steal moments to be alone, chances being taken with more frequency of late. The risk was always in her mind, although it was quickly quelled the nearer she came to him, hesitation fading upon her lips as they curved into a beaming smile, her happiness beyond compare to anything she had ever known before when they were together, just the two of them.
I don't know how I survive it, to be so close to you so often and not touch you – he'd place a hand upon her waist, or brush his fingers against his cheek – not kiss you – their lips met as they hid themselves in a corner, restrained as they were not out of doors, free to blend into the crowds of London. She had warned him, as well as herself, about being so intimate in the palace but she knew they were equally as wanting as one another and it was becoming increasingly difficult not to give in. These special moments were to be cherished, after all; she hadn't thought they would ever have the chance again at one point.
And yet they were pushing, one just as much as the other, a little bit more each time. It was a wrench to pull herself away from the irresistible taste of his lips and step back from all of the heady feelings that he brought out in her; she could so very easily become lost, cling tighter to his shoulders and whisper that this was it, the time had arrived without care or concern for any moment past this one.
"I want you so much, Nancy."
Those words, spoken with such evident craving, echoed in the cavern of her chest, making her head light and her limbs weightless.
She knew that this wasn't a dalliance founded on passion alone and the thrill that came from indulging in the forbidden. Everything in her spoke to something higher and much more profound; the way she had physically hurt when he had been away from her and how she felt redeemed when he returned and she was once again in his good graces. Each day since they had become involved with one another she registered her heart growing more attached, reaching out to his and finding incomparable joy in the reciprocation.
Eliza had been wrong, though her perspective had been understandably tainted given how poorly she had been misused. Not every man was only after one thing or was so cruel to flee when they had fulfilled their own selfish desires. Some men were capable of so much more. Good, kind and decent men; men who had love and care at the heart of every word they spoke and deed they performed.
She had also had luck on her side in that respect.
Breath was ragged; fingers upon skin, and more readily fabric, issuing soft and sincere apologies. She smoothed the front of her skirt, her gaze smiling even as she kept it pinned to the floor for some time before she looked back up into his eyes, as dark and as tempting as the chocolate treats he crafted.
Nancy – the way he uttered her name always made her feel a little weak – you deserve more.
Not more than you. Never more than that.
He sighed, taking his hand from her and resting it against the wall instead. I won't let you...
I know you won't, she told him, her breathing not quite having evened out completely, her own hand placed just above where his heart pounded. She followed his eyes as they looked down towards her fingertips. I trust you.
And she did trust him, absolutely.
He was ever so handsome when he smiled, really and truly. She always thought him very handsome, observing him often enough when he was at work, so deep in concentration and absolutely absorbed. But when he looked at her the way he did right at that moment, he was even more so.
His thumb ran against the curve of her cheek, edging to her earlobe and brushing against her plaited strands of hair in the process.
Oh, Nancy. You had me from the moment you walked in...
She stopped halfway up the staircase, perching for a few moments, in need of catching her breath. She couldn't stop for long but thankfully there was a little time before she really was needed. Thoughts of him took over, surrounded all of her senses. The smells of food that had followed her up the stairs, the imprint of him upon her fingertips.
She'd craved touching him especially so, perhaps to convince herself that it wasn't a dream.
The sound of his voice, so full of ardour and sincerity, telling her how much she meant. She was sure that she heard him sigh too as she reluctantly left him behind. His face was before her as she closed her eyes, gaze burning through her wonderfully and his lips curving into a daring smile.
It was the taste of them that held her captured most of all. The tip of her tongue darted out and little sparks shocked her from within, a giggle stopped in her throat as she discovered the remnants of their fervent kissing.
Mr Francatelli – Charles – was promised to her, and she in return was unbelievably happy to be promised to him. Ever since he'd left her that exquisite sugar initial she'd felt special, something she wasn't used to but which she cherished most dearly.
She exhaled, giving her heart a chance to slow its hammering, and her opened eyes fell to the hands that were crossed in her lap. There was only the smallest tinge of sadness in thinking that, at least for most of the time, the third finger along upon her left would remain bare. It didn't matter to her; if nobody else knew the truth then they would, and that was all that was really important.
She hadn't lied, either. She wouldn't care in the least if they were brought up in front of the Queen herself with nothing to confess, given that there was no sin to repent. She had to wonder whether Her Majesty would think it so terrible. There were rules and regulations, as well as respect and deference, but beyond the barriers they had much in common.
When a woman was in love then her wills became yet stronger. Her Majesty surely knew that.
But then, this wasn't about Her Majesty, as much as she held her in regard. She'd spent too much of her time up to now paying too much mind to what other people may or may not think, and it was within the last few years that she'd learnt to stand tall and keep her ground.
Anyway, she had followed her head for long enough.
Her hand crept further up, tracing the lapels of his chef's jacket and the cravat around his neck until she became bold enough to touch upon his skin. She felt him move slightly beneath her fingertips, a pleased sound leaving his lips before she moved quickly to meld them to her own.
Oh, Lord help her, she really could not get enough.
Whatever must you think of me, Mr Francatelli?
His eyes were smiling down towards her, one hand caressing her waist as the other outlined the slope of her neck with a phantom touch.
I think you are utterly wonderful, Mrs Skerrett.
She smiled to herself, wondering for how long she would lay claim to that particular married name.
Now there was no question; she would do nothing except follow her heart.
He should have been asleep long since, the hour being in the depths of night, but instead he lay in his bed wide awake. It was not a situation unusual to him; indeed it was common for inspiration to strike him when there was nothing but silence and the absence of light, his head filling up with ideas for his next recipes and creations.
There had been another occupation of his restless thoughts for quite some time – someone, as opposed to many multiple ingredients and equations of timings in order to perfect the quintessential soufflé. Tonight she settled within every corner of his mind, including those which he hadn't been aware existed until this very evening. His insides were still shuddering, not yet recovered from the frantic and nervous state he had worked himself into prior to asking the question that he had hung the certainty of all his future happiness upon. The palms of his hands were uncomfortably clammy, as were the soles of his feet upon the bed-sheets, and his heart – for pity's sake, his heart had been affected the worst of all, hammering out a hasty and heavy rhythm that reverberated around the whole of his body. He feared that he would never be the same again, be held forever by the simultaneous mental and physical trance that had possessed him for years but had tonight reached its peak. Heaven knows how he would compose himself enough to carry out the simplest of tasks, never mind excel to the highest of his self-imposed lofty standards.
And yet he had received the answer he desired, what he had up to now only believed would become true when he had the capacity to lose himself to slumber and surrender himself to dreams. He didn't want to consider how dreadful he would have felt if she had turned him down, even if he would have tried harder than he ever had to understand her intentions.
She whirled about his head, smiling as she did so, always moving gracefully. He followed her with every turn she made, catching the sound of the laughter that left her lips, happy to stay forever in her thrall, perpetually a few steps behind. The only one who could ever keep him in such a position and willingly so.
She flourished against the light that shone behind his eyes, glowing like a goddess. No ethereal being could ever match up to her, none other so beautiful as to compare to his beloved.
Nancy.
He shifted from his side onto his back, sinking his head fully upon the pillow as he stared up at the ceiling. It hadn't taken long to become reacquainted with the paper-thin cracks that lined the covering, noticeable only to the kind of eye that had been trained to pick up on the slightest of imperfections. Any frustration he expected to weigh him down on moving backwards and returning to his old job fizzled out remarkably quickly. In some respects it was like he had never been away, picking up the well-remembered tools that fit so well between his fingers and casting on, filled with new determination to prove himself more than ever. Freedom was certainly not to be underestimated but it had been a lonely life; truth be told, not the kind he had envisaged when accepting the invitation to realise his ambition.
Besides, the life he had come back to was charmed in many ways. Not many could say that they resided in one of the grandest palaces in the world, personally commended by the ruler of one of the finest nations.
"To be the Queen's favourite...that's something, I suppose."
"I think you're more than that, Mr Francatelli."
He couldn't fool himself to the reason why he had returned. Even if Her Majesty herself had taken to the streets of London unaided, tracked him down to his workshop and purchased everything in sight to buy his loyalty, it wouldn't have been enough to persuade him. There hadn't been a day that had gone by nor the smallest particle within it where he hadn't thought of Nancy. He conjured her up as an illusion, working beside him as he had so dearly wished. He would have taught her to make particular desserts, starting off small and fairly simple. She would have complained at first, arguing that she didn't want to take over and intrude when it was his livelihood, but he knew that she was capable of turning her hand to anything. He wouldn't have just anyone as his sous chef, after all.
He would have stood by the counter, observing with a keen eye and holding himself back from interfering, letting her work her magic. She was the one who had suggested serving wafers with the hot chocolate and together they had invented the finest creation he had ever come up with: the bombe surprise. He would have smiled when she cursed herself for spilling flour and chastised himself for getting distracted by the fall of the apron upon her figure and the way her hips swayed a little as she entered into a rhythm led by concentration and conscientiousness.
It would have proved utterly hopeless, recipes going half-made as he went forth, circling his arms about her waist. She would have uttered something about getting the job done before craning her head back into the crook of his shoulder, giggling and half-heartedly trying to push his hands away from where they rested upon her but then sighing and yielding as his lips pressed against the soft skin of her neck, his fingers unlacing the ties of the apron.
Maybe he had given up on it all too easily, but there had been little question. So much of his heart would have been stranded elsewhere if he had stayed put, and if she ever came to see him she would have discovered a shell of a man who should have by all rights been content and fulfilled but instead was damned and wretched. What was being prosperous and successful if you weren't happy?
He hadn't been embellishing the truth all that much to say that he had nothing but his pastry brush. He wished that he had more to give her; she ought to have the world, and more besides.
"If you'll take a woman who's given up a fortune."
He had got over-excited about the prospect of the hotel; a business of their own. A new life, ready and waiting. When she told him of the conditions that were attached on her acceptance he knew in the next second that she would do nothing other than refuse. He found that pride outweighed disappointment to a far greater degree. She was fair-minded and had the kindest heart, caring unfailingly for the welfare of others. It was one of the qualities he loved most about her – since they had confirmed their attachment to one another he had given up talk of admiration, knowing that it was too light a word to accurately describe the depth of what he really felt.
She cared deeply, and he felt as honoured as he was to be held in the Queen's regard for his work to be accepted into Nancy's heart, to have her watch out for him and worry over him. You push yourself too hard, she had told him when he had stayed up until almost the dawn making a birthday cake for one of the children, on the Prince's command. That's what you must do to achieve perfection, he'd replied with a smile, his breath stilling when he had looked up and saw her with such softness in her eyes, the candlelight complementing her – or perhaps it was that she complemented it.
That particular memory was always joined with another in his mind, one which caused him to hate himself. He'd been cold towards her for too long after his return, punishing her unfairly for his own stupidity. How he could have ever doubted her affection he would never truly understand. He had still been learning, never having experienced such strength of emotion before, but it was hardly any excuse.
The tears brimmed in her eyes; he could see them shining as she looked intently towards him. He had to divert his gaze as they stood in the otherwise empty kitchen, feeling a before-now unknown pain in the centre of his chest.
I... – she hesitated, and if it wasn't for the strange ache affecting him he would have sworn that this moment had happened before – I wrote you a letter. The day after you left.
He looked back up at her, everything in him compelling him to do so.
She teethed at her lip, both of her hands stretched across the panel of her dress.
I thought perhaps...it would be better, if I said everything that way. And because I was too late, anyway.
The instinct for sharpness was killed; it hadn't resolved any of his broken feelings.
I didn't receive anything.
Her eyes raised to the ceiling momentarily, her fingers now knotted tightly together.
I never sent it.
Curiosity and something stronger welled up within him; he longed to read the words that she had written, felt as though he wouldn't be able to rest again until he knew for certain, but he could see that she was fragile and couldn't face pushing her away any further out of his reach.
He bowed his head, a hint of a smile rising unbidden on his lips at the revelation.
I just...hope that you can forgive me, Mr Francatelli. The gentle pleading in her voice was almost too much to bear, and yet he didn't wish for her to hold her tongue. And I hope that we can be friends again.
His heart contracted; he could never be only friends with her. He made a conscious effort to follow where she led in being courageous and listened to his heart when it beseeched him to show a softer nature. It took longer than it should have done for him to ask her out properly; he convinced himself that he was waiting for the finest of summer days to arrive for all that he had planned to go accordingly, but really he was too scared that he had not done enough to redeem himself for his harshness towards her.
It wasn't always easy to get away, at least not without arousing some kind of suspicion. But then there were certain tasks they needed to perform as part of their jobs respectively which required them to leave the confines of the palace and head out into town instead.
On an autumn day when it was too chilly to stay walking out of doors they stopped at a tea-shop, his looks at the counter filled with a large assortment of cakes and pastries disapproving. Even by sight he could tell they weren't anywhere close to matching up to his. She asked sweetly for a slice of chocolate sponge and he begrudgingly parted with his money, but it was worth it to see her smile.
Better than strawberry tarts?
She blushed prettily, glancing up with the fork poised between her fingers.
Not a bit, she replied, much to his delight. The tip of her tongue darted out to swipe up a speck of icing sitting at the corner of her mouth. I do love chocolate, though.
I would make you a chocolate cake every day. No two would be the same, and every one more delicious than the last.
A giggle escaped her lips, echoing in the quiet establishment. I'd be the size of a house in no time.
He was getting ahead of himself again, the shadows within the room barely concealing his grin as he considered what the future may hold. It was enough of a joy to think of being married to her, never mind imagining two or even three children running around.
She had accepted him. He would live off the exhilaration her answer and then the beam of her smile had brought him for a good while yet, the blood rushing in his veins and all of his nerves fizzling. It had been a dream for such a long time – years that seemed to have been almost unbearable in their passing – that it was still proving difficult to consider that soon enough it would be reality.
To have and to hold.
Her acceptance had been a blessing that he couldn't have counted upon, as much as he had hoped. He was determined to be what she needed, make her as proud to bear his name as he was to have gained her love. When the sun rose – which wouldn't be in too long – he would meet the new day as a better man, doing all that he could to provide for her and protect her, even if he must do so out of plain sight.
There was nothing stopping his heart from loving her, though.
He lay his palm over where it beat fiercely within his chest, eyes closing and conjuring the most wonderful vision as he reminded himself to breathe steadily. She was lying next to him, her hair in loose waves flowing over her bare shoulder. He knew it was but an illusion – at least for the time being – but it didn't stop him from reaching out a reverent hand to touch her, shivering at the silkiness of her skin.
By God, he wanted her.
Her voice sounded closer, more vivid in his memory.
"Not as much as I want you...Charles."
He found himself wishing for a thousand nights to fade away in mere moments so he could lie with her for real.
She sat in her usual spot at the long table, book held in hand and her head slightly dipped. The pursuit was somewhat pointless; she had been stuck on the same page since she'd opened it half an hour or so previous, taking in only a few words of relevance.
Filling in the time.
Sentences swam blurrily before her eyes; she blinked quickly to focus before glancing over the spine, doing so at just the right moment. As their eyes met, her heart stuttered in her chest again and she felt a little too warm, even though it was a bitter winter's day and even colder down here. A smile broke over his lips as he planted both hands in his pockets, setting his shoulders back. Her gaze stayed firmly upon him, seeing his attempt to saunter over and join her halted before it could even begin when a procession flooded suddenly into the hall.
She stifled a smile behind the open pages, suppressing a burst of laughter at the unimpressed scowl upon his face. He managed to seem civil enough to be passable to Mr Penge, the two of them exchanging a nod before the latter sat down in his chair at the head of the table. Charles could never stay idle for long, busying himself with little tasks. She went back to reading the same two or three lines, being aware of the occasional look being cast in her direction.
The scrape of her chair sounded exceptionally loud upon the floor and she found herself clearing her throat to try to cover the sound. Two pairs of eyes were upon her, and she addressed the most immediate by speaking.
"I've remembered, there's a dress I must attend to. If you'll excuse me, Mr Penge?"
The elder nodded, steepling his hands as he leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes and thankfully not paying attention to the look she threw back to the chef, whose knowing smile had returned.
She waited in her little parlour for what seemed like a long time, though it must have only taken fifteen minutes or so. Just enough that suspicion couldn't arise, even though it wasn't unusual for any of them to be here, there and everywhere.
He kept his footsteps as quiet as possible, so to add the element of surprise. It was to no avail as he could see her stealing glances through the glass, waiting for him to appear, and the smile that bloomed in her cheeks caused his head to fuzz pleasantly. It had become their special hiding place and she no longer scolded him when he closed the curtain, moving herself eagerly into his arms.
"I could have been anyone," he said teasingly, resisting the urge to close his lips over hers immediately, "Brodie coming to have a little chat with you to pass some time away."
A small frown temporarily clouded her pretty face. "I can get rid of him easily enough. I'd only have to mention the word 'delicates' and he'd scurry off like a mouse."
She watched him as he tipped his chin down, chuckling at her riposte. His eyes were dark in the candlelight when he looked back at her, sending a spark to shoot sharply to the centre of her chest.
"You're not having second thoughts, are you?"
He knew he was being foolish the second after he had asked and yet he didn't quite expect her to reassure him so fervently, throwing her arms about his shoulders and pressing her mouth to his. He gathered her to his frame, cradling her by the waist and exhaling happiness when she pulled slowly away, her eyes twinkling when they opened once more.
"Does that answer your question, Mr Francatelli?"
She felt the curve of her smile, her lips already missing his. His hands provided a measure of comfort as they splayed at her sides.
"Hmmm...I think I might require some further assurance."
She squeaked out a laugh as he both leaned in towards her and brought her closer to him, dotting small kisses upon the lower portion of her cheek and the line of her jaw. She inhaled a quick breath, fighting her body's natural instinct to close her eyes and tip her head back.
That would have to wait a little while longer.
Their foreheads touched for a few sweet moments, the breath of his sigh caressing her face as she slipped her hands up to rest upon his chest. Her eyes lifted upwards, studying his expression as it sat in peaceful thought.
"How long will it take?" she asked, not speaking it too loudly, even when they were completely alone.
"Not too long." He pulled back to regard her properly, finding her so earnest that it brought a faint ache to the back of his throat. He returned her intent gaze for every inch, his eyes flitting across her fine features. "I can start making enquiries this week. By the end of the month," – his voice hitched slightly, his hand pressing lightly to the small of her back – "we should be husband and wife."
She beamed a glowing smile, feeling like she was floating above the ground at the mere thought of it. If she hadn't been so frightened of her own feelings, so unsure of the things she knew now that she truly wanted, it could have already been so.
The pure joy that shone upon her face caused his heart to thump harder within his chest. He covered her hands with his own, allowing her to feel the thundering before he lowered them to rest between their frames, keeping them entwined in a pure and tender manner.
"I promise you, I will give you the very best. Whatever happens." He wouldn't think of the worst, and would only hope for the best, which wasn't hard to do knowing that she would be by his side for life. "I love you."
Her heart leapt, both overjoyed to hear him say the words that were ever so special and glad that he could give her the courage to return them so pointedly.
"I love you too."
He cupped her cheek, his wide smile rising to his eyes before it disappeared against her lips. He heard her muffled sigh and felt the quirk of her mouth, tugging upon her bottom lip until he realised they were swiftly on the verge of tipping over into dangerous territory once more.
Her hands trailed down, smiling as she arched her body back.
"We should probably make a rule," she uttered, the distinctive tone of her voice capturing his attention. "No kissing until after the wedding."
He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, a soft groan escaping his throat before he gazed back down towards her, cheered by the beautiful smirk on her face.
"If there was ever an incentive to hurry things along..."
She couldn't stop herself from giggling, her cheeks flushing at the barely disguised look of desire in his eyes, the adoration that lay beneath the surface layer making her feel completely cherished.
"You of all people should know," she countered, her eyes meeting his with a glimmer within as she ran her fingers back up towards the lapels of his jacket. "Things are made all the sweeter the longer you wait for them."
A/N: Hope you enjoyed that! It was a lot of fluff, basically. (and Francatelli needs to be recognised as a character on here!)
I suppose more fic depends on whether we get to see the wedding or not...